Stacey waited until the moment felt right.

Not rushed.

Not staged.

Just… open.

Duane was standing near the dresser adjusting his watch when she said it.

“I got a surprise for you.”

He glanced up slow, one brow lifting. “That supposed to make me excited or nervous?”

She grinned. “Depends how much you trust me.”

He studied her face like he was checking for hidden clauses. “Define surprise.”

“Nope.” She grabbed her purse. “All you gotta do is dress comfortable and get in the car.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not suspicious exactly—just cautious. Duane wasn’t a man who liked walking into unknown rooms without at least checking the exits first.

“This ain’t got nothing to do with church, do it?”

She bit back a smile. “No.”

“Wedding stuff?”

“No.”

He folded his arms. “Then why you smiling like that?”

Because I love you. Because you’ve been carrying something I can’t see. Because I want you to breathe again.

But she didn’t say any of that.

She just tilted her head. “You coming or you interrogating me?”

He stared another second… then shook his head and laughed under his breath.

“Aight. I’m coming.”

—

Outside, the late afternoon air was warm but soft, sunlight stretching gold across the pavement like the day was easing itself toward evening instead of rushing.

Duane stopped mid-step when he saw the car.

A black Mercedes-Benz S-Class, polished so clean it looked like it had never touched dust in its life. The chrome trim caught the light like jewelry. The body sat low and confident, quiet power resting on four wheels.

He blinked once.

Then again.

“…Stacey.”

She leaned casually against the driver door, keys spinning around her finger. “Yes?”

“This yours?”

“Rented,” she said sweetly.

He let out a slow whistle, walking around it like he was inspecting a piece of art. His hand brushed the hood lightly.

“Alright babe…” he murmured. “I see you.”

He opened the passenger door and paused, peeking inside. Leather seats smooth as butter. Spacious legroom. Interior glowing soft and elegant instead of flashy.

“Damn,” he said, sliding in. “This is nice.”

She climbed in behind the wheel.

“Wherever we going,” he added, settling back, “I’m down for the ride.”

He glanced over. “You sure you don’t want me to drive?”

She started the engine, jazz already playing low through the speakers—one of his favorite playlists, horns smooth and slow like conversation after midnight.

“You don’t even know where we going,” she said, pulling off gently. “Just sit back and enjoy the scenery. I got you.”

Something about the way she said it—

I got you.

—made his shoulders loosen a fraction.

—

The drive didn’t feel like travel.

It felt like atmosphere.

Miles rolled by in soft rhythm while saxophones melted into basslines and old-school R&B hummed like memory. Stacey drove steady, unhurried, one hand on the wheel, the other resting relaxed near the console.

At a red light, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small velvet pouch.

Duane looked over. “What’s that?”

She handed it to him.

Inside were two of his favorite cigars.

His eyebrows lifted. “Now you spoiling me.”

She reached into the cooler at her feet and handed him a small glass bottle.

Gentleman Jack.

His grin spread slow. “Oh you definitely up to something.”

“Just relaxing my man,” she said lightly.

He poured a stiff shot into the travel glass she’d packed, leaned back, and exhaled like the week had finally loosened its grip on him.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I could get used to this.”

She watched him from the corner of her eye.

That was the point.

—

By the time the city faded behind them and the roads began to curve upward into mountain air, Duane had stopped asking questions.

Not because he wasn’t curious.

Because he was comfortable.

Trees thickened around them, tall pines rising like quiet witnesses. The air shifted cooler, cleaner. Sunlight filtered through branches in long golden streaks that danced across the windshield.

He rolled the window down slightly, letting the breeze move through the car.

“Smell that?” he said softly.

Stacey smiled. “I do.”

Silence settled again—but this time it wasn’t heavy.

It was peaceful.

—

When they pulled into the gravel driveway, Duane sat up straighter.

The cabin stood ahead of them, warm cedar glowing beneath the fading light. The stone chimney rose strong through the center, and soft amber lamps glowed from inside like the place had been waiting for them specifically.

He stepped out slowly, eyes scanning everything.

“…Okay,” he said under his breath.

Stacey watched him take it in—the balcony, the trees, the stillness, the sky stretching open above them like a promise.

“Aight,” he nodded, impressed. “You did this.”

She shrugged playfully. “Little something.”

He walked toward her, hands sliding into his pockets, gaze softer than she’d seen it all week.

“You full of surprises,” he said.

“Only the good kind.”

Inside, the cabin felt like a deep exhale.

Candles flickered softly throughout the space. The fireplace glowed low.

The air carried the faint scent of cedarwood and vanilla. Groceries already stocked. Wine chilling like it had nowhere else to be.

Duane turned slowly in place, absorbing it.

“No noise,” he murmured.

“No noise,” she echoed.

—

Dinner was quiet in the best way.

Not silent.

Just easy.

Conversation flowed without effort—random memories, jokes, stories they’d told before but laughed at again anyway. No pressure. No expectations. Just presence.

Afterward, they stepped outside for a walk.

Night had settled gentle over the mountains, stars scattered wide across the sky like somebody had spilled light. The air was crisp, cool enough to make closeness feel natural instead of intentional.

Their fingers brushed.

Then laced.

Duane’s grip was relaxed.

His shoulders loose.

His breathing steady.

Stacey felt it before she understood it:

He was unwinding.

Not performing.

Not bracing.

Just… being.

Hope stirred softly in her chest.

Maybe here, away from noise and obligation and expectations, he’d finally feel safe enough to open the door he’d been standing in front of.

Maybe they’d leave this mountain with more than memories.

Maybe they’d leave with understanding.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t push.

Didn’t lead.

She just walked beside him under the quiet sky, letting the moment breathe the way she’d prayed it would.

And beside her, Duane looked out across the dark tree line, jaw thoughtful, eyes distant—not troubled…

Just deep in a place he hadn’t visited out loud yet.

Stacey squeezed his hand gently.

Whatever was inside him…

It was close now.

Close enough that she could feel it.

And something told her—

Before this weekend was over,

he was finally going to say it.