Alexander had barely taken three steps down the hallway when Cynthia's voice stopped him.
"Alexander."
He turned.
She was standing in the doorway again, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, her expression conflicted—as though she had just made a decision she wasn't entirely ready for but refused to run from.
"Yes?" he asked.
"You didn't come all this way just to say goodnight," she said softly.
He studied her for a moment, then nodded once. "You're right."
She stepped aside without another word.
He came back in.
The door closed again, but this time it didn't sound like an ending.
They returned to the living room, not sitting immediately. Alexander loosened his jacket slightly, a sign—subtle, but real—that he was letting his guard down.
"There's something I wanted to ask you," he said.
Cynthia crossed her arms, not defensively, but thoughtfully. "Ask."
"There's a trip," he began. "Next weekend."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's vague."
He smiled faintly. "It's meant to be."
She waited.
"Mysisters is going to the beach," he continued. "It's not formal. No schedules. Just… space. Friends too. People who talk too much and ask uncomfortable questions."
"That sounds dangerous," she said.
"It is," he admitted. "Which is why I'm asking you."
Her heart skipped. "As what, exactly?"
"As yourself," he said carefully. Just… come with me."
Silence stretched between them.
"A beach," she repeated. "With your sisters"
"And friends," he added.
She let out a quiet laugh. "That's reassuring."
"I won't pretend it's casual," he said. "But I also won't pretend it's something it's not."
She walked to the couch and sat, motioning for him to do the same.
"When were you planning to mention this?" she asked.
"I wasn't sure you'd say yes," he replied honestly. "And I didn't want to pressure you."
She looked at him. "You standing in my living room is already pressure."
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head slightly. "Don't be. I just need to understand."
"Understand what?"
"What this means," she said. "For you."
He didn't answer immediately.
"My family has seen me with many people," he said slowly. "None of them mattered enough to invite."
Her breath caught, but she didn't interrupt.
"This isn't a declaration," he added. "It's an opening."
She studied his face. "And Daniel?"
He stiffened slightly—but didn't deflect.
"Daniel is free to ask," Alexander said. "And you are free to choose."
"That's convenient," she said.
"It's honest," he corrected gently.
Cynthia leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if the answer might be written there.
"A beach with your sister and friends means assumptions," she said. "It means people watching. Comparing. Asking."
"I know," he said.
"And I don't want to feel like a symbol," she added. "Or a statement."
"You wouldn't be," he said firmly. "You'd be my guest. Nothing more unless you want it to be."
She looked at him again. "You're very careful with words."
"I've learned they matter."
She smiled faintly. "Too much, sometimes."
"Perhaps," he agreed.
She stood and paced slowly, processing.
"Who exactly will be there?" she asked.
"My sisters," he said. "A few cousins,evans and Friends from before I became… unbearable."
She laughed despite herself. "That's generous."
"I wanted to be clear," he said. "No surprises."
She appreciated that more than she let on.
"And you?" she asked suddenly. "What do you want from this weekend?"
He met her gaze directly.
"I want to see you relaxed," he said. "Away from office walls. Away from expectations."
"And if I say no?" she asked.
"I'll respect it," he said without hesitation. "And I won't ask again."
That startled her.
"You won't?"
"No," he said. "Because this only works if you choose it freely."
She sat back down, her fingers intertwining in her lap.
"You make it very hard to say no," she murmured.
"I'm not trying to," he said. "I'm just being myself."
She exhaled slowly.
"A beach," she said again, softer now. "Sun. People. You."
He waited.
"I don't want to be rushed," she said. "I don't want to feel like I'm stepping into something I can't step back from."
"You won't be," he said quietly. "I promise."
She studied his expression—serious, restrained, sincere.
"Alright," she said finally.
His breath hitched. "Alright?"
"I'll come," she said. "For the weekend."
He didn't smile immediately. He simply looked relieved.
"Thank you," he said.
She raised a finger. "On one condition."
"Name it."
she said. "No power dynamics.
"Agreed," he said instantly.
"And," she added, "if it becomes uncomfortable, I leave."
"Of course."
She stood and extended her hand—not a romantic gesture, but a symbolic one.
He took it.
Their handshake lingered longer than necessary.
When he finally left again, the hallway felt different.
Lighter.
Outside, Alexander smiled to himself—not triumphantly, but quietly.
Inside, Cynthia leaned against the door once more, heart racing—but this time, with anticipation instead of uncertainty.
A weekend awaited.
And whatever happened there would change things.
Not dramatically.
Not recklessly.
But undeniably.