“I canceled it,” she admitted. “He didn’t laugh at my jokes.”

Alina hadn’t planned to spend her Saturday afternoon weeding her stepdad’s overgrown vegetable patch. She had a date later—someone from a dating app who seemed nice but forgettable. Yet here she was, knee-deep in soil, wearing an old band t-shirt and cut-off shorts, because Mark had mentioned he was feeling overwhelmed.

And she was too. Whatever happened next—whether they’d pretend that moment never happened or talk about it someday—she knew one thing for sure: she’d be back next Saturday. Not for the garden. For the conversation. And for the chance to see that smile again. Want me to continue the story or write a different version?

Mark smiled—that slow, rare smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “His loss.”

Mark was her mom’s husband of three years. They’d never done the whole "father-daughter" dance; Alina had been almost twenty when they met. But he was solid, kind, and after her mom left for a six-month research trip overseas, he’d quietly continued making sure the fridge was stocked and the lawn was mowed.

They worked side by side for an hour. He taught her how to tell a weed from a sprouting carrot. She told him about her art history exam and how her professor didn’t appreciate modernism. The conversation drifted easily—about her mom’s terrible cooking, his failed attempt at baking bread during lockdown, the stray cat they both pretended not to feed.

“I should probably get cleaned up,” she said, pulling her hand back.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mark said, stepping onto the patio with two glasses of lemonade. He was in his late forties, with a quiet intensity and hands that knew how to fix things.

Then came the moment. Alina reached for a trowel just as Mark bent down to grab the same one. Their hands brushed. She looked up. He looked down. For a second, the garden went silent—no birds, no traffic, just the soft weight of something unspoken.

He laughed softly, setting the glasses down. “Guilty.”

He picked up his lemonade, looked out at the newly weeded patch, and said softly, “Alina, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Alina stood, brushing dirt from her knees. “Hey, Mark?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, clearing his throat. “The date tonight?”

“Yeah?”