A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 59: CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

KYLE

Ashley’s glare could’ve melted steel, but I just smirked, easing the car into park.

“Relax, Freckles,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. “This is just a date, not a hostage situation.”

She scoffed. “Feels like a hostage situation.”

“Then I must be a pretty damn good captor, considering you are agreeing.”

Her lips parted—probably to throw back some sharp retort—but then she glanced out the window and froze.

Bingo.

The riverfront stretched before us, just as beautiful as it had been all those years ago. The city lights reflected on the dark water, shimmering gold and silver. But it wasn’t just the scenery that had her speechless.

It was the setup.

A wooden dock jutted out over the river, its surface lined with string lights casting a warm golden hue. At the very end, a table draped in crisp white linen stood waiting, flickering candlelight dancing across polished silverware and delicate glassware. Two plates, two wine glasses, and a bottle of her favorite red already breathing.

Ashley inhaled sharply. “Kyle…”

I stepped out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door before she could snap out of it. “Come on,” I said easily, offering my hand. “Truce, remember?”

Her gaze flicked from the setup to my outstretched hand. She hesitated—like she knew touching me, even for something as simple as this, was dangerous. But then she squared her shoulders and slid her hand into mine.

Victory.

Not the kind I wanted, not yet, but a victory nonetheless.

I led her down the wooden path toward the table, letting go of her hand the moment we reached it. Her fingers curled slightly, like she noticed the loss. Good.

I pulled out her chair, waiting until she reluctantly sat before taking my own seat across from her. She ran a hand over the linen, glancing around like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to yell at me or be impressed.

I poured the wine, watching her carefully. “What’s wrong?”

Ashley arched a brow. “What’s wrong?” She let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Kyle, how the hell did you even pull this off? You planned all of this without knowing if I’d even get in the damn car. What if I never followed you?”

I leaned back, swirling the wine in my glass, watching her with barely concealed amusement. “You say that like I didn’t already know you’d end up here.”

Ashley shot me a glare, but there was curiosity beneath it. “Oh, so now you’re psychic?”

I smirked. “Not psychic. Just know you better than you think.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she picked up her own glass. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Glad we agree.” 

Ashley stared at me for a moment, then at the table—the effort, the attention to detail, the memory of something that should’ve been long forgotten. Something softened in her expression, just for a second. Then she masked it just as quickly.

“So?” I prompted, setting my glass down. “Do you like it?”

She hesitated, pursing her lips like she didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of an answer. But finally, she sighed. “It’s… nice.”

Nice.

I huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s all I get? Nice?”

Ashley took a sip of wine, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “You expecting me to throw myself into your arms and declare my undying love?”

“Wouldn’t complain.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, keep dreaming.”

I grinned but didn’t push further. Not yet. Instead, I reached for the covered dish at the center of the table and lifted the lid, revealing an arrangement of dishes I knew she’d like. Roasted vegetables, her favorite pasta. The kind of meal she used to crave after long days when she didn’t have time to cook.

Ashley’s eyes flickered with something unreadable.

“You remembered,” she murmured.

“Of course, I did.” I held her gaze. “I remember everything.”

For a second, just a second, she looked like she might let herself believe me. Like the walls she’d built so carefully might crack.

Then she straightened, reaching for her fork. “I hope you don’t expect me to be impressed every time you pull something sentimental.”

I smirked. “Oh, Freckles, I haven’t even started.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head as she stabbed a piece of salmon. “God help me.”

I watched her as she took her first bite, waiting for the verdict. The second her lips parted in reluctant approval, I knew I’d won this round.

Gotcha, Freckles.

I raised my glass. “To our truce?”

Ashley eyed me for a long moment before sighing and clinking her glass against mine. “To our truce.”

We drank, the silence stretching between us—charged, but not uncomfortable.

“ Kyle, you set up an actual date. We said no romance.”

She said, breaking the silence.

I smirked. “And I said no avoiding and no fighting. Sitting in silence and refusing to enjoy yourself would be avoiding. And arguing about it? That’d be fighting.” I leaned back, satisfied. “So really, I’m just making sure you hold up your end of the deal.”

She exhaled, shaking her head, but I caught the faintest twitch of her lips.

I lifted a brow. “What?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

Her expression turned defensive. “I’m not staring.”

“You were definitely staring.”

Just as Ashley was about to fire back a sharp retort, the soft music playing from the speakers cut out with a harsh BZZZZZT—followed by a voice.

“And that was ‘Thinking Out Loud’ by Ed Sheeran, bringing us back to—whoa, whoa, hold up, folks! We’ve got a breaking news moment here at the riverfront!”

My entire body tensed. Across from me, Ashley froze, fingers tightening around her wine glass.

No. No way.

“Looks like the infamous Kyle Blackwood and his ex-wife are having a super intimate dinner date. Is this a reunion, a business meeting, or just two exes pretending they don’t want to jump each other’s bones? Listeners, call in and let us know!”

Ashley turned to me so fast it was a miracle she didn’t snap her own neck. Her expression was a perfect storm—shock, fury, panic.

“Tell me that is not—”

“DJ Rico.”

Her breath left her in a slow, seething exhale.

The worst possible person to witness this. A bottom-feeder radio host who built his career off spinning gossip into full-blown media storms. He’d been a problem in the past, but this? This was a fucking catastrophe.

Ashley’s grip on her wine glass tightened like she was contemplating shattering it in her hand. “I hate you.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “I didn’t do this.”

“Then why is the universe punishing me?”

Before I could answer, a voice boomed through the speakers—way too loud, way too fucking gleeful.

“Kyle, my man! Give us a wave!”

We turned just in time to see him—leaning out of a food truck, mic in one hand, phone in the other.

A live microphone.

A camera flash went off. Somewhere, a woman gasped. A child shouted, “Mom, look! It’s them!”

Ashley went stiff as a corpse. I could feel the moment the full weight of it hit her—the realization that this wasn’t just some stupid inconvenience. This was about to be a public scandal.

Her voice was quiet, lethal. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Get in line.”

“Folks, you are not going to believe this! Kyle Blackwood and Ashley—THE Ashley—having a private, lunch down by the water? Romantic tension? A secret reconciliation? You tell me!”

Ashley slammed both hands onto the table. “I swear to God, Kyle—”

I held up a hand. “Not my fault.”

Didn’t matter. The damage was done. The murmurs were getting louder. A couple had their phones out, recording. A group of tourists whispered excitedly among themselves. The distant ping of notifications confirmed it—this was already blowing up.

Ashley’s breathing turned shallow. “We’re leaving.”

I was already on my feet. “Agreed.”

We moved quickly but calmly, cutting through the growing crowd. I felt Ashley’s presence close behind me, her steps sharp and deliberate, heels clicking against the wooden dock.

But DJ Rico wasn’t done.

“Oh! They’re on the move, folks! Where are they going? Their place? A hotel? Is this the start of a lovers’ reunion?”

My patience snapped. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles cracked. I was this close to turning around and tossing his mic into the river.

Ashley didn’t even look at him. Just muttered under her breath, “This is a PR disaster. A nightmare.”

She was right. This wasn’t just an embarrassment—it was bad.

She had spent years separating herself from me in the media, building her own reputation, her own brand. And now, thanks to some opportunistic bastard with a mic, we were going to be splashed across headlines again.

I reached the car and yanked the door open,rushing in.

The moment the car doors slammed shut, silence swallowed us whole.

For a second, neither of us moved. Just sat there, breathing hard, processing.

Then I let my head fall back against the seat, staring at the roof.

Fuck.

This park was private.

I paid a fortune to rent it out for the afternoon. No interruptions, no gawking strangers—just me, Ashley, and a carefully planned lunch that, while slightly manipulative, was never supposed to turn into a goddamn media frenzy.

Yet somehow, in broad daylight, the world now knew.

How the hell had Rico even gotten in? How did anyone?

I exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel. This was supposed to be discreet. I’d planned every detail down to the last perfectly chilled wine glass, but it had still blown up in my face.

No, worse.

It had blown up in Ashley’s face.

I risked a glance at her.

She sat rigid in the passenger seat, hands clenched into fists, jaw tight. Her breathing was slow and controlled—the kind of calm that 

She let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “This is a disaster.”

I started the engine, jaw clenched. “I know.”

“There will be articles. People will speculate. The internet loves scandals like this.”

I gripped the wheel. “I know.”

She exhaled sharply. “How bad do you think it’s gonna get?”

I didn’t even get the chance to answer before my phone buzzed violently in my pocket.

I already knew the answer.

Bad.