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Hudson looked pleased with himself. I was laughing, one hand gripping the shirt while the other rested against his stomach. It captured happiness without strain.

Lucy wrote our names and new time along the bottom.

HUDSON & SLOANE — SECOND ATTEMPT

Then she pinned it directly at the top, at the complete opposite position as our first photo. The two photographs on the wall created a small timeline.

Before the truth and after it.

Hudson studied them. “I like the new one.”

“Me too.”

Lucy handed us the second copy.

Hudson took it, then glanced toward her. “I have one request, Lucy.”

“What?”

“Please don’t share this with Trevor.”

Lucy nodded solemnly. “No problem. I’ll keep it on the DL.”

Hudson frowned.

I leaned closer to him. “That’s young-people talk for keeping a secret.”

He slowly turned his head toward me. “How old do you think I am?”

“Emotionally or chronologically?”

Lucy covered a laugh with her hand. “I won’t send the photo to Trevor.”

“Thank you.”

We walked out of the restaurant with our photograph, a new record, two more T-shirts we didn’t need, and enough sodium in our bodies to preserve us through winter.

The parking lot had darkened while we were inside. Hudson stopped beneath the awning and studied the picture.

I leaned into his side. “Are you glad we came?”

“Yes.” Hudson pulled me closer against him.

I tipped my face toward his. He kissed me beneath the broken GOLDEN WO sign while a family of five, carrying takeout containers, walked around us.

It wasn’t the waterfall. There was no private view, no rushing water, and no dramatic mountain trail. Only a buffet parking lot, tired legs, full stomachs, and the scent of fried rice escaping every time the door opened.

I loved it just as much.

Maybe more.

After dinner, we went back to my apartment to watch a movie. We sat on my couch with Hudson’s heavy arm draped over my shoulders and a low-budget movie flickering uselessly on the TV.

I leaned into his chest, letting my head rest right over the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart. His fingers idly twirled a loose strand of my hair, his touch so light and deliberate it made a quiet shiver trace down my spine.

“You’re quiet,” Hudson murmured, his voice a low rumble against my cheek.

“I’m just…” I turned my head slightly, looking up at the sharp, handsome line of his jaw. “I’m processing the fact that you’re actually here. On my couch.”