On Monday morning, the autumn light lay pale and silvery over Richmond, the kind of morning that seemed to hold its breath.
Richard arrived at Isabelle and Robert's house just before ten, dressed simply in a dark coat and a soft grey sweater and dark jeans. Gone were the suits and tie. He felt strangely nervous, like a boy going out by himself for the first time.
He rang the bell.
The door swung open to reveal Isabelle, her hair pulled back and her eyes bright.
"Richard," she said warmly. "You're early."
"I was afraid of getting stuck in traffic," he replied, though the roads had been clear, she smiled and opened the door wider.
Robert appeared beside her, grinning.
"Morning. Big day planned?"
"Something like that," Richard said, trying not to sound as if his heart were climbing its way up his throat.
Then Helene stepped into the hallway, fastening her coat. The soft blush of her scarf framed her face, her hair was shining with the faint sunlight. She looked… lovely. Simply, quietly lovely.
"Good morning," she said. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."
"Not at all," he said, and he meant it. He could have stood there twice as long just to watch her walk toward him like that.
Helene pressed a gentle kiss to Isabelle's cheek. "I'll see you later, cherie."
Richard nodded politely to them both. "We'll be back this evening."
Robert winked at Isabelle the moment Helene turned away, which made Richard's ears warm, but he ignored it and followed Helene to the car.
When they settled inside and the doors clicked shut, a calm hush wrapped around them. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting. He could feel the shy flutter beneath her composure.
He reached for the small gift bag beside him and offered it to her, his expression warm, but faintly uncertain.
"I brought you something. I hope you'll like it."
Her eyes widened in that sweet, unguarded way of hers.
"Oh… Richard, you shouldn't have."
Her voice softened into something almost shy.
She eased the box from the bag and unwrapped the paper with careful fingers. When the scarf appeared, soft and luminous in the morning light, she drew in a quiet breath. Her hand rose to her mouth, then her fingertips brushed the fabric as if it might disappear.
"Richard… it's stunning. I love it." She looked up at him with a smile that seemed to bloom from somewhere deep and unsuspecting.
"Do you really?" he asked. A slight tension sat in his voice, as if he feared he had misjudged. "Because I can exchange it, or find something else…"
"I really do love it. Thank you." She slipped off her old scarf, folded it into the empty bag and lifted the new one around her neck. She smoothed it gently, then looked back at him with a small, luminous pride.
"I'm going to wear it right now."
He had not looked away from her, not once.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
Her cheeks warmed. "It's a beautiful scarf."
"You have made it more beautiful."
She drew in a steadying breath and let it out. The moment felt suddenly tender in a way that made her heart flutter. Wanting to steady herself, she asked lightly, "So… where are we going today?"
He smiled, the softness returning to his voice. "I thought we might spend the day at Kew Gardens."
Her eyes widened with a surprised, almost childlike delight. "Kew? Really?"
"They're wonderful this time of year. And… I hoped you might like them."
She gave a small, helpless smile, the kind that warmed the air.
"I would. Very much."
She laughed, mostly at how she felt. It was a low and warm laugh. He felt it settle beneath his ribs.
Kew Gardens unfurled before them in sweeping paths of copper leaves and cool air. The great glasshouses shimmered like pale green cathedrals beneath the soft autumn sun.
They walked slowly, as if the world had granted them a gentler rhythm.
"You were right," she murmured as they stepped beneath a canopy of turning leaves. "This is beautiful."
He watched the way she touched the world lightly, with quiet appreciation.
"I thought you'd like the colours."
"The air smells like apples," she said. "And earth."
Richard inhaled. "Yes, I suppose it does."
They wandered through the Arboretum, stopping when something caught her eye. She brushed her fingertips along the edges of the different coloured hydrangeas, smiled at the wild scatter of leaves across the path, and let the wind lift her hair without fussing with it.
Helene's presence had the effects of a small fire on a winter evening. Warm. Steady. Calming.
They climbed the Treetop Walkway slowly. The metal creaked beneath them, the height turning the air sharper. She held the railing, not fearful, but thoughtful.
"It feels like being suspended in a thought," she said quietly.
Richard stood close enough to feel the faint brush of her coat against his. Close, but not touching.
"I'm glad I asked you to come," he said.
Her cheeks warmed. "So am I."
When they descended, they stopped for tea in a quiet corner of the gardens. The cups warmed their hands, and the rising steam blurred the edges of the moment, making everything feel softer.
"This is the longest I've been away from the children in years," she said, smiling into her cup.
"Are you missing them?"
"A little. But…" She lifted her gaze to his, shyly brave. "This is nice."
His heart loosened.
Afterwards, they walked through the Palm House. Her breath caught at the lush, humid air, at the towering palms arching overhead.
"It feels like stepping into another world," she whispered.
He nodded. "I remember bringing my kids here when they were small. They thought this was a jungle."
A shadow crossed his expression, brief, but she noticed.
"You're a good father," she said, putting her hand on his arm softly.
He looked at her, almost startled by the gentleness in her voice. "I try."
"Most people never even try," she murmured.
They moved on, the warmth of the glasshouse clinging to them as they stepped back into the crisp afternoon.
Lunch was quiet and companionable. Simple and warm. Their conversation drifted from small memories to hopes they hadn't said aloud in years. They walked slowly through the Japanese Garden, pausing in every pool of the afternoon sunlight.
By their second stop for tea, they were sitting close enough that her arm brushed his whenever she breathed. Neither seemed to mind as neither of them moved away.
Around four o'clock, he hesitated before speaking. "Helene… would you like to have an early dinner with me? Or would you prefer to head home?"
She paused for a heartbeat, then smiled. "I would like dinner."
Relief washed through him, warm as the teacup still in his hands.
By five, the sky had deepened into a soft blue bruise and the crowds were thinning as people hurried home. Richard's driver drove them to a quiet, elegant restaurant not far from the gardens. The windows glowed from the gentle lights inside.
As they were seated at a table, a hush settled around them. The tables were spaced widely. The ambience was gentle. It felt cocooned, private, intimate.
The meal unfolded slowly, as if time itself had softened around them. There was no rush, no urgency, only the quiet rhythm of two people learning one another's contours in conversation. They spoke of the roads their lives had taken, of missteps that still echoed sometimes, of the strange and private ways grief reshaped a person when no one was watching. Their voices drifted into lighter places too, small joys, half-forgotten hopes, the hesitant but unmistakable comfort of being seen again.
He found himself studying her in the gentle light, the way her eyes grew tender when she listened, how she seemed to hold space for whatever he offered. And she watched him in turn, watched the subtle unspooling of his tension, the way laughter returned to him slowly, as though he had not felt its ease in years.
By the time they stepped back out into the night, something had shifted between them. A quiet certainty. A thread of warmth winding them closer.
The drive back to Isabelle's house was wrapped in a comfortable silence. Helene sat with her hands folded in her lap, the soft rise and fall of her breath the only sign of nerves.
When the car stopped, Richard turned toward her. The glow from the streetlamp brushed along her cheek.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For today. It was… one of the loveliest days I've had in a very long time."
Her voice caught as she replied almost imperceptibly. "I feel the same."
He leaned in slowly, moving with a quiet, deliberate care that gave her every moment to move away if she wished. She didn't. She grew still instead, her gaze lowering as if the nearness of him made the world slow to a hush.
His lips touched hers. Gentle, fleeting, a brush that felt more like a question than a kiss.
Colour rose warm across her cheeks, but she remained exactly where she was, soft and shy and wholly present.
"I would very much like to see you again," he murmured. "I wanted… to make it clear that you are more than a friend to me."
Helene's breath trembled. She nodded, unable to find words.
They got out of the car, walking slowly toward the door. He kept a respectful distance, though the air between them felt charged with something tender and new.
Just as she reached for the handle, the door swung open and Robert appeared, leaning against the frame with a grin far too knowing.
"Well," Robert said, cheerfully, unhelpfully. "Evening, kids."
Helene turned bright scarlet. Richard pretended, badly, not to notice.
"Goodnight Helene," Richard said, dignified, but not entirely steady.
"Goodnight," she whispered before rushing inside.
Robert gave him a little wave as the door closed.
On the drive home, Richard let the quiet settle around him like a soft blanket. The day replayed in gentle waves. Her laughter. The way she looked at the turning leaves. The press of her lips. The warmth of her hand brushing his.
For the first time in years, the future did not feel like a landscape of duty and habit.
It felt like possibility.
It felt like light returning after a long winter.
It felt, unmistakably, like hope.