The car ride was a joyful mess of snacks, nursery rhymes, and Eliza trying—unsuccessfully—to prevent Lyra from peeling the labels off every juice bottle in the back seat.
"Why did we think bringing three toddlers and a cooler full of sticky fruit was a good idea again?" Eliza asked dryly, glancing at Will, who was humming along to the ridiculous llama song playing from the speakers.
Will smirked. "Because we love our friends, and we're masochists."
Ahead of them, Evelyn and Leo's SUV veered off the paved road onto a gravel path that led to a cozy wooden cabin nestled between trees just beginning to blush with early autumn colors.
It was the first time in a long time that they'd taken a proper break—just a simple weekend away with close friends, no press briefings or project deadlines, no towering office buildings or boardrooms filled with expectations. Just them, the kids, and the sound of leaves rustling underfoot.
As soon as they parked, Lyra burst from her car seat like a tiny whirlwind and made a beeline toward the lake's edge, where the others were already laying out picnic blankets and baskets. Eliza called after her with a laugh, knowing she wouldn't go too far—Will was already on her trail, holding her pink sunhat and waving a bottle of sunscreen like a threat.
Evelyn met Eliza with a warm hug and a knowing smile. "You look like you could use this weekend."
"I feel like I could use this weekend," Eliza said, gratefully accepting a lemonade. "We've been deep in Foundation planning again. The new site's going to be our biggest yet."
Leo popped up behind them, carrying a small portable grill and nearly tripping over a rogue pinecone. "Bigger than the urban housing center?"
Will returned just in time to answer. "This one's a community health hub. Rehab, education, job training—all in one. Eliza's idea, obviously."
Evelyn nudged Eliza gently. "She's unstoppable."
"She's also off duty," Will interjected firmly, sliding an arm around Eliza's waist and planting a kiss on her cheek. "No more Foundation talk. Today's about sandwiches and watching the kids try to figure out how frisbees work."
The day melted into warmth and laughter. Lyra and her tiny companions chased butterflies, dug in the soft soil for imaginary treasure, and took turns trying to sit still on a plaid blanket for at least thirty seconds at a time.
At one point, Lyra tugged at Eliza's sleeve, face beaming. "Mama, look! Uncle Leo said I can help turn the corn!"
Eliza knelt beside her daughter. "Be careful, love. It's hot."
"I'll help her," Leo called, already crouched by the grill. "We've got this!"
Later, while the kids napped inside the cabin on a mountain of shared blankets and half-limp stuffed animals, the adults stretched out under the trees with drinks and warm cups of tea. The air smelled like charred corn, pine needles, and the kind of tired contentment that came after a full day in the sun.
Will leaned closer to Eliza and whispered, "We should do this more often."
She turned to him, her eyes soft. "Let's. Let's stop promising we'll make time later and just…make it now."
He kissed her then, slow and sure, while their friends teased them and the wind carried laughter through the trees.
It was nothing grand—no gala, no headline moment.
Just peace. Just them. And sometimes, that was the rarest and richest thing of all.