We moved from the kitchen into the bright space of the greenhouse. Sunlight poured through glass overhead, turning everything green and gold. Rows of chairs faced a simple arch of branches and flowers. The air smelled like leaves and earth and something alive.
Guests turned as we appeared. Not in whispers this time, but in warmth. My coworkers smiled. Daniel’s friends grinned. Ethan stood beside Clare’s seat, looking proud and a little stunned at his own life.
My father stood when he saw me, eyes shining in a way I’d never seen at any of my graduations.
Then Daniel appeared at the front, waiting. No grandeur. No performance. Just him, in a suit that fit him well, eyes fixed on me like nothing else existed.
As I reached the aisle, Daniel took a small step forward, almost involuntary, like his body moved toward me before his mind could pretend to be composed. He didn’t look like the president’s son in that moment.
He looked like a man in love.
When I reached him, he whispered, “There you are.”
I smiled. “Here I am,” I whispered back.