Love Between Duties
I never thought I’d swipe right on a dating profile again. After my divorce, my world shrank to soccer practices, packed lunches, and late-night laundry. But one rainy Tuesday, while my son Noah was finally asleep, I scrolled through *JustSingleParents.com*—not really believing in it, just… hoping. That’s when I saw Grace.
Her profile photo showed her laughing, hair slightly windswept, holding a toddler’s hand while balancing grocery bags. The caption read: “Looking for someone who understands that ‘date night’ might mean 20 minutes of quiet coffee after bedtime.”
I messaged her: “I’ve got the coffee. And the quiet. If you can steal 20 minutes, I’ll bring the cookies my son insists are ‘magic.’”
She replied within the hour: “Only if they’re chocolate chip. And only if you promise not to judge me when I fall asleep mid-sentence.”
That was three months ago. Now, I’m standing on her porch at dusk, holding those same cookies, Noah’s latest batch, and a single white camellia from my garden. Inside, her daughter Maya is asleep, and Noah’s with his grandma for the evening. For once, time is ours.
Grace opens the door in a soft linen dress, her bare feet padding against the wood floor.
- You came. - she says, her voice warm like honey stirred into tea.
- Wouldn’t miss it. - I reply, handing her the flower. Her fingers brush mine, just a whisper of contact, but it sends a quiet thrill through me. We’ve held hands during walks, hugged hello and goodbye, but tonight feels different. Slower. Deeper.
We sit on her couch, mugs of chamomile steaming between us. Rain begins to patter on the roof, a gentle rhythm that matches the quiet beat of our breathing.
- You know, - she says, tucking a leg beneath her, - I almost didn’t message you back. I was scared… that letting someone in would mean risking my daughter’s heart. Or mine.
I nod.
- I felt the same. But then I realized—Noah deserves to see me happy. And maybe… we both deserve to be seen.
She looks at me then, really looks, her hazel eyes catching the lamplight.
- You see me. - she says softly. - Not just the mom. Not just the single part. Me.
I reach for her hand. Her skin is smooth, warm, and when our palms meet, it feels like coming home after a long journey. I trace slow circles on her wrist with my thumb, feeling the steady pulse beneath. She leans closer, her shoulder grazing mine, and the air between us thickens with something tender and unspoken.
- Matthew, - she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, - do you ever just… stop? Really stop?
I turn to her.
- Right now, I am.
She smiles, then lifts her free hand to touch my cheek. Her fingertips are feather-light, exploring the line of my jaw as if memorizing it. I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the ensation—the simple, sensual luxury of being touched with intention, with care.
When I open them again, she’s inches away. Her breath mingles with mine, sweet with chamomile and the faintest hint of vanilla.
- Grace. - I whisper.
And then we kiss—slow, deep, and unhurried. It’s not fireworks. It’s embers glowing steadily in a hearth, promising warmth long into the night.
Later, as we sit wrapped in a shared blanket, listening to the rain, she rests her head on my shoulder.
- Thank you. - she says.
- For what?
- For reminding me that love isn’t just for fairy tales. It’s for tired parents who still believe in soft touches and quiet moments.
I press a kiss to her hair.
- JustSingleParents.com didn’t just match us, Grace. It gave us permission to want more, and to give more.
And in that stillness, between duties and dreams, we found something rare: a love that fits gently into the spaces our children left open… and fills them with light.