They decide to go eat out in the restaurant
The restaurant Cassian chose wasn't extravagant, but it wasn't forgettable either. It sat tucked between glass-fronted offices and a narrow row of trees, the kind of place that relied on restraint rather than spectacle. Soft lighting. Neutral colors. No music loud enough to intrude on thought.
Mira noticed all of it.
She noticed how the host didn't ask for a reservation but already knew Cassian's name. How the table was set a little farther from the others. How the chair Cassian pulled out for her was positioned just slightly closer to the aisle, giving her space without making it obvious.
It was considerate in the way only practiced control could be.
She sat down slowly, smoothing her dress over her knees. Her appetite still hadn't arrived, but her body felt strangely alert, as though it was waiting for instructions it hadn't yet received.
Cassian sat across from her, jacket draped neatly over the back of his chair. He looked calm. Not relaxed, he rarely was—but steady. Anchored.
The menu lay open between them.
Mira scanned it without really reading.
"Everything looks… ambitious."
"That's one word for it," he said.
She glanced up. "You sound experienced."
"I've eaten here before."
"That doesn't mean you enjoyed it."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "I didn't say I enjoyed it."
She huffed softly, setting the menu down. "Comforting."
Cassian picked his up, scanning it briefly before closing it again. "You don't need to decide yet."
"I know." She paused, then added, "I'm not nauseous or anything. Just… full. Emotionally."
"That happens," he said evenly.
She blinked. "You say that like it's a known medical condition."
"In my experience, emotions are more disruptive than illness."
"That explains a lot about you."
He gave her a look—dry, unreadable, faintly amused. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The waiter appeared before she could respond. Cassian ordered without consulting her, but she noticed he kept it light. Nothing heavy. Nothing overly spiced. Water instead of wine. Tea instead of coffee.
She didn't object.
When the waiter left, Mira leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. The room hummed quietly around them—cutlery clinking, low conversation drifting in fragments, life continuing at a pace that felt almost offensive.
"It's strange," she said after a moment.
Cassian looked at her. "What is?"
"The world," she replied. "It didn't even pause."
"No," he agreed. "It rarely does."
She exhaled. "I half-expected everything to stop. Traffic lights freezing. People turning to stare. A dramatic announcement."
"That would have been inconvenient."
She smiled despite herself. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, tone dry, "you married me."
Her smile lingered, then softened. She shifted slightly in her chair, her hand brushing her stomach before she could stop herself.
Cassian noticed.
He didn't comment. Didn't stare. Just acknowledged it with a brief stillness, as if mentally cataloging the gesture and storing it away.
The food arrived soon after.
Mira stared at her plate for a moment before picking up her fork. She took a cautious bite, then another. It wasn't bad. It wasn't remarkable either. It was just… food.
Normal.
"See?" Cassian said. "Harmless."
"I didn't accuse it of violence."
"You looked like you might."She laughed quietly, the sound surprising her. It came easily—lighter than she expected. She covered it with a sip of water, then shook her head.
"This is absurd," she said. "We're sitting here debating food like nothing happened."
"Something did happen," he reminded her gently. "But that doesn't mean everything else disappears."
She considered that. "You're very good at compartmentalizing."
"It's a survival skill."
"Is that what this is?" she asked. "Survival?"
He paused just long enough for her to notice. "Right now," he said, "it's management."
She nodded slowly. Management felt accurate.
They ate in companionable quiet for a few minutes. Mira found herself watching him when he wasn't looking—the way he cut his food precisely, the way his posture never fully relaxed even seated, the way his gaze flicked up at the room without lingering.
Always aware.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"You just did."
She rolled her eyes. "Something serious."
He set his fork down. "Go on."
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully.
"You don't seem… unsettled."
"I am," he replied.
Her brow furrowed. "You are?"
"Yes."
"You don't look it."
"That's intentional."
She studied him for a moment. "So what does unsettled look like for you?"
His gaze held hers, steady and direct."Preparation."
That answer settled something in her chest.
She nodded, returning to her food. "Good. Because I don't think I could handle panic from both of us."
"You won't," he said without hesitation.
She glanced up. "That was fast."
"Accuracy usually is."
She smiled faintly, then sighed. "I keep thinking about… hypotheticals."
"That's also normal."
"I don't do well with hypotheticals."
"Most people don't."
She hesitated, then said quietly, "What if it's more than one?"
The words hung between them, understated but unmistakable.Cassian didn't flinch.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, considering her with calm focus. "Then it's more than one."
"That's it?" she asked.
"That's the reality."
She tilted her head. "You're not even a little alarmed?"
"I didn't say that."
"But?"
"But numbers don't intimidate me."
She stared at him for a second, then laughed.
"Of course they don't."
"Two cribs take up more space," he continued evenly. "That's manageable. So does the noise. And the logistics."
"You've already thought about cribs?"
"No," he said, then amended, "Not specifically."
She raised a brow.
"I think in frameworks," he added dryly.
"Ah. Of course."
He studied her. "Does the idea frighten you?"
She considered it honestly. "Yes. And no. It's overwhelming. But also…" She shrugged. "Strangely impressive."
"Impressive?"
"My body," she clarified. "The fact that it might just decide to overachieve."
That earned her a genuine huff of amusement from him. "Ambitious."
"Apparently," she said. "Very on-brand for my life lately."
"If it helps," he said calmly, "you won't be doing this alone."
She met his gaze. "I know."
And she did.
They finished eating without rushing. When Cassian paid, Mira didn't bother pretending she could stop him. Some battles weren't worth fighting.
Outside, the air had shifted. Afternoon settling in. Traffic thicker now, the city louder, more insistent.
Cassian opened the car door for her again. She slid into the seat, adjusting her dress, settling back. The leather was cool against her skin.
The engine turned over.
They pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Mira watched the city pass—shops, people, reflections in glass. Her hand rested over her stomach again, fingers curled protectively. The motion felt automatic now, unselfconscious.
Cassian's hands stayed steady on the wheel.
The silence stretched—not empty, not awkward. Just full.
Ahead, the road opened, long and unbroken, carrying them forward.
The car continued on, the city blurring around them, and neither of them broke the quiet.