Daniel squeezed her fingers, pride flashing across his face. “Tomorrow?” he said. “You didn’t tell me.” She smiled. “I wanted it to be perfect.” They ordered champagne. They toasted—to Clare, to her father, to the future. Daniel’s arm stayed around her shoulders longer than usual, his thumb tracing small, absent circles against her sleeve.
Clare felt a swell of warmth then, something close to relief. She had been right to wait. Right to tell them this way. Together. When the food arrived, Daniel slid a small packet across the table toward her with practiced ease. “Before food,” he said quietly. “Doctor said it helps with absorption.” She took it with a sip of water and returned to her plate.