It was that little smile. As he walked toward her, bag of soccer balls slung over his shoulder it was hard not to see him as some woman might see him some day, as a husband and a father and the solid center of her life.

Mindy pushed that thought away quickly enough, but when he smiled...oh when he smiled she could also see the little boy he was once upon a time. Someone who needed love and care. Someone who loved and cared freely in return before life had taught him to hold those feelings back in reserve. She knew his father had done that to him, taught him that giving away your love made you vulnerable. She knew Christina had done this to him, shown him how love given can come back to hurt you.

How many other people had hurt him, made him hide this part of himself? Kids at school, taunting the chubby, desperately unhappy kid? Girlfriends who didn't ultimately make the kind of impact his wife would one day, but managed to chip away at his self confidence all the same? Teachers and tutors who tried to challenge a bright kid, but didn't understand that challenges to his intellect felt like attacks on the one thing he had that was always his own, leaving him even less likely to put himself out there?

Her? How much of it was her fault too? If she was being completely honest with herself, the sick feeling that kept her up last night hadn't been about Cliff. A little wave of shame washed over her as she thought of the things she'd said in the desert. The exact type of things that he'd probably heard before, the kind of things that made him slow to show himself to other people. Things she didn't even mean.

When they said their goodbyes, Mindy hugged his little sister like they were friends of old, like they were family, and Danny felt his throat tighten a little. Why couldn't he bond with people like that? Mindy had the knack, and the sister he'd almost definitely need a decade to know was already wrapped around Mindy's finger.

As he watched Mindy with Danni it was probably only natural to imagine what kind of mother Mindy could be. Warm. Present. The two of them side by side made him think too of what kind of little girl Mindy had been; sunny and smart, resilient, a little dramatic, a lot kind. In a moment of frustration he'd tried to bring her down to earth, told her that she shouldn't even try, that when something was over it was over. Yet here she was, as firmly ensconced in his life as ever, pulling his family toward her, pulling him toward her with her warmth, and her open heart. She could conquer anything with that kind of love.

He'd seen life kick Mindy pretty hard, and every single time she came back with more optimism, more hope, and more love. He could only assume that it was something inborn, something so bright and alive that even a hard life couldn't have tarnished her. Not the way he had been tarnished.

Her heart wasn't in it. She sat on a plane ostensibly taking her home to Cliff and there was nothing she really wanted to say to him. Danny had been right. Cliff gave up so quickly, without even giving her a chance to to tell him what happened. Which is probably why everything she wrote seemed trite, and none of it true. Why was she chasing him? And why was she chasing him when the man sitting next to her was owed an apology first?

She said her piece, and he said his, the apology so easy because it was true. He was great. For a fleeting moment she thought his apology might turn into something more. That he might mean something more when he said Cliff had been lucky to have her. Instead he asked about her letter, and to her surprise offered his help. More surprising still was how easily he'd come up with the words for an apology letter. Had he written this letter before to someone? Was he thinking of them still as he murmured the words, his eyes lit by the soft glow of the computer screen? The longer he spoke, the more the words felt familiar to her, and the more aware she became that this was not just an apology, but a love letter.

Everything he'd always wished he could say came pouring out as he watched her type. He'd been a man who owed many apologies, but when he began to speak he was thinking instead of the kind of apology letter he'd always wanted from Christina. Just one acknowledgement that he'd given away his love freely and he'd been ill used.

The further he got from that first sentence though, the further he got from Christina. So he stared at the keyboard as he let the words come truer and truer, now dangerously close to slipping the name he felt linger on his lips as he spoke. But much like the morning she told him how she felt about Cliff, he knew he had to rein that in, to let her live her own bright life without his darkness to hold her back. To let her be happy.

She'd offered him tonic water, but as she stood at the cart she found that her thoughts were so occupied that her eyes just slipped over letters, taking nothing in. Her mind instead raced over words whispered in the dark. She'd been so distracted by the other versions of Danny she'd imagined today, the father he could be, the boy he once was, that she'd failed to see the man in front of her. A little turbulence shook her from her thoughts and she picked up two bottles and a can before making her way back to their seats. Handing all three to him awkwardly, she stared unabashed at him, seeing for the first time a man who loved and could be loved. A man who whispered beautiful things to a woman, a man with eyes lit up with worship, with warm hands and a big heart that he'd share if she'd only ask.

He shoved the extra drinks in the storage pocket in front of his seat, and opened his tonic water carefully. He could feel her eyes on him as he sipped, but she didn't say anything. He'd been a little shaken by the turbulence, but he'd decided to stay away, to let her seek something good, something better than anything he could offer her. He screwed the cap back onto his bottle, and turned to her with a quizzical look only to find her hands already reaching to cup his face.

In a perfect world he'd have made the first move, maybe followed her back to the galley, held her face and kissed her breathless. Instead she moved. Her lips were soft and warm and unexpected, so unexpected. His eyes were open, looking at long lashes as her eyes closed for the kiss. It was over too quickly before she was leaning away to meet his wide eyes with her own as though asking him permission to continue. With the very slightest nod he told her what she needed to know and she leaned in to capture his lips again, this bold, optimistic, too beautiful, too sunny woman that he loved. He closed his eyes and kissed her back.

Mindy's last coherent thought as she dove into him, staking her claim, was of tonic water. As it happens, tonic water was just a tiny bit sweet.

Notes:

Still blocked, but practicing my narrative writing and hoping challenges help.