63
The group slowly began to disperse after the yoga session, slipping into quiet pairs, some holding hands, some not. The sky was painted with late afternoon gold, and the trees swayed like they were breathing too.
Kingsley and Katherine walked a little away from the main lawn, finding a shaded bench beneath a tree. Neither of them spoke right away. The bench creaked faintly beneath their weight.
He looked at her—not too directly—and said, “I didn’t know it would feel like that.”
She turned toward him, brows slightly lifted. “What?”
“The yoga,” he said, then shook his head. “No. You.”
Katherine looked down at her hands in her lap. “You always say things like that when you’re trying to make me feel something.”
“I’m not trying,” he said quietly. “I already feel it.”
She didn’t reply, but her fingers moved, brushing a leaf off her knee as it bothered her more than his words.
He tried again. “When you were lying back, and I was holding your head… it felt like the old days. Before the divorce. Before Beth. Before everything.”
She gave a small, bitter laugh. “You always want to go back. But we can’t go back, Kingsley.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. “I’m not asking to go back. I’m asking if we can build something new. Not out of pity. Out of truth.”
Katherine glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, she asked quietly, “Why did you really come here?”
He didn’t hesitate. “To find you. To be around you. To understand why I lost you, and how to never lose you again.”
Silence stretched between them like the slow exhale of dusk.
She finally nodded once. “Thank you. For not letting me fall earlier. I hesitated on purpose, you know.”
“I know,” he said. “I felt it.”
Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away this time.
Not far off, under another tree, Carolina and Devon sat in the grass, close but not touching yet. A breeze lifted the hem of her cardigan and tangled it around her wrist. Devon gently unwound it, his fingers brushing her skin.
“You were so good at that yoga stuff,” Carolina said with a half-smile.
“I just didn’t want to drop you,” he said. “That would’ve been the end of everything.”
She laughed—quiet, genuine. “I guess that’s what I was afraid of too.”
Devon sobered a little. “I know I messed up, Care. I know I’m not the guy who always makes the right choices. But I swear I’m trying to be.”
She didn’t say anything at first. Then she leaned her head onto his shoulder, just lightly. “I see that. I just… need time.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
And for a while, the four of them sat there, two pairs in the quiet hush of maybe—forgiving, rebuilding, hoping—not alone anymore.
Dinner that evening felt different. Softer somehow, even as trays clinked and conversations wove loosely through the air. The dining hall glowed with warm light, golden against the settling dusk outside.
Kingsley and Katherine found their seats across from Devon and Carolina—this time deliberately, without the shy hesitations of before. It wasn’t labeled or claimed, but something unspoken had shifted.
The four of them shared a table in silence at first, plates steaming between them.
Then Devon looked up and nodded at Kingsley’s plate. “You’re actually eating kale?”
Kingsley grinned. “Katherine’s influence. I think my stomach’s still in denial.”
Katherine rolled her eyes fondly. “You literally chose it yourself.”
He pointed at her with his fork. “Under pressure.”
Laughter slipped around the table. Carolina, chewing on a roasted carrot, added, “You should’ve seen Devon the first week. He thought ‘quinoa’ was a skincare product.”
“Still sounds like one,” Devon muttered.
Dinner melted into a web of teasing, casual storytelling, and the kind of laughter that eases out of people who’ve cried recently. There was no music playing, but the hum of it lived in the way they looked at one another—each of them marked by something tender they couldn’t yet name.
The path to the firepit glimmered faintly under a string of soft lanterns like the stars themselves had dropped lower to light the way. The retreat’s staff had laid out woven blankets, large logs, and thick mats in a wide, inclusive circle around a roaring bonfire that danced orange and gold into the indigo night.
Kingsley and Katherine arrived with a little space between them, but not much. She held a warm cup of cider in both hands, steam curling around her chin. Kingsley had one too, though his hands were slightly trembling—not from the cold, but from the proximity. She’d let him walk beside her in silence. It was a gift he didn’t dare take for granted.
Across the fire, Devon and Carolina were already curled up on one of the bigger logs. Devon was holding a bag of vegan marshmallows and offering them to anyone who walked by.
Carolina grinned and waved when she saw Katherine and Kingsley. “We saved you a spot!” she called, patting the blanket beside her. Katherine and Kingsley exchanged a glance before settling in beside them.
A facilitator stood at the center of the fire ring, grinning wide like he was about to perform a magic trick. “Alright, beautiful people,” he called out, arms spread. “Tonight’s for fun. You’ve cried enough for three years in one week. No therapy talk, no shadow work. Just fire, stars, and maybe a little roast—if not of the marshmallow variety, then of your jokes.”
Laughter scattered around the circle.
“Let’s start easy. The first person to solve this gets the Super Deepest Brain Award,” he announced, dramatically gesturing.
“I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have nobody, but I come alive with wind. What am I?”
Silence.
Then a few guesses:
“An echo?” someone said.
The facilitator clutched his heart. “Yes! Who said that?”
A petite woman in a red hoodie lifted her hand. “That was me.”
“Genius detected,” he said, bowing. “You win tonight’s nonexistent prize.”
Cheers and clapping rippled around. Someone else stood.
“I’ve got one,” said a tall man with dreadlocks and a lazy smile. “Okay:
The more of me you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”
Devon leaned toward Carolina. “Footsteps,” he whispered.
She gasped and raised her hand. “Footsteps!”
“Boom. Got it,” the man nodded.
“Alright,” said the facilitator. “Let’s rotate. Jokes, riddles, weird facts. Come on, unleash your inner campfire gremlin.”
Katherine nudged Kingsley. “You better say something.”
He looked at her with mock offense. “Is that a challenge?”
“I’m saying you’ve been making bad jokes since 2009. Now’s your time to shine.”
He raised a hand. “Alright. What did the zero say to the eight?”
The group leaned in.
“Nice belt.”
Groans and laughter rose like steam. Katherine covered her face with her sleeve, shaking her head. “You really haven’t changed.”
“I regret nothing,” Kingsley grinned.
Then Carolina spoke up. “Okay, I have one. What word is spelled incorrectly in every dictionary?”
The circle quieted.
She giggled. “The word ‘incorrectly.’”
“OHHH!” Devon clapped dramatically. “You menace!”
More laughter. A guy in a tie-dye poncho stood up and announced, “Okay, I’m just gonna freestyle a riddle, like off the dome.”
Everyone booed in delight. “Do it!”
He cleared his throat dramatically. “I’m tall when I’m young, and short when I’m old. What am I?”
Katherine whispered to Kingsley, “Is it a candle?”
He raised his brows. “You’re on fire.”
She smiled slightly. “Literally.”
Back at the circle, the group had already guessed it.
Then came another:
“What can fill a room but take up no space?”
Several people called out guesses. Someone finally got it—“Light.”
More warmth. More laughter.
People shifted, changed seats, and passed around cups of tea, cider, and leftover snack bars. Some wrapped themselves in blankets. Someone brought out a harmonica and played a few silly, off-key tunes to entertain between riddles. Others took the opportunity to roast marshmallows over the fire—devouring them two at a time with sticky fingers and contented hums.
The flames hissed and popped.
Then came personal jokes.
Devon lifted a hand. “I’ve got one. What did Carolina say to me when I said I wanted to meditate under the stars last week?”
Carolina shook her head. “Don’t you dare?”
He grinned. “She said, and I quote, ‘Unless the stars are going to do your laundry, maybe you should meditate on that.’”
The group cracked up. Carolina flushed and smacked his shoulder playfully.
Kingsley offered another: “When I told Katherine I was going to the smoothie workshop, she told me, ‘Don’t you dare blend one more green thing without adult supervision.’”
“Because he puts spinach in everything!” Katherine called across the fire.
The jokes turned into playful impressions, then exaggerated “wise guru” advice. One woman stood and declared, “Your chakras will be blocked forever if you don’t stretch before brunch!”
Someone else added, “You must only cry under the third tree from the left.”
The fire sparked high as if in agreement.
Soon the jokes softened, the circle began to lean in—not just physically, but emotionally. People weren’t just laughing at riddles anymore; they were laughing with relief. With the comfort of being safe, surrounded, seen.
Kingsley felt Katherine’s shoulder touch his again. Not deliberately. Not quite accidentally either.
He didn’t move.
And neither did she.
At one point, Devon stood and began poking the fire with a stick.
“You ever think about how this is the only place where a bonfire means healing, and not, like, a tailgate with beer and shouting?”
“I’m still waiting on the beer,” Kingsley said.
They laughed again. The kind of laugh that comes after tears has made space for it.
The fire kept burning, and so did the warmth between them all—slow, real, and glowing beneath the stars.
As the laughter finally began to dim, like embers cooling beneath the fire’s golden breath, the facilitator stood once more. His voice came softer now, almost reverent.
“I want to thank you all for tonight. You brought joy here. You made this fire warmer with your laughter. But before we go, I’d love for us to end together. As one voice.”
There was a ripple of nods, murmurs of assent. Some leaned forward, setting down their mugs. Others reached for the hands beside them without being told to. It just felt right.
The facilitator smiled. “This is a simple song. It’s not about singing well—it’s about singing together. It’s called ‘We Are the Light’. I’ll sing the first line, and you just follow along. If you don’t know the words, hum. Your presence is the melody.”
Then, in a gentle, earthy voice, he began:
🎵
We are the light that we’ve been waiting for,
We are the truth that we’ve been told.
We are the ones who rise and open doors,
We are the love that makes us whole.
🎵
The group caught on slowly like sparks catching twigs. Some hummed, some mouthed the words until they came with more confidence. Soon, thirty voices, raw and imperfect, braided into something beautiful under the open stars.
Katherine sang softly. Kingsley could hear her beside him—steady, clear. He didn’t try to harmonize. He just let her voice guide him.
🎵
We are the light that we’ve been waiting for…
We are the love… we are the love…
🎵
The last words drifted into the dark like feathers, settling softly on each shoulder. Then silence.
No applause. No chatter. Just the quiet crackle of the fire, and the soft rhythm of hearts beating near each other.
Carolina reached over and leaned her head on Devon’s shoulder.
Katherine didn’t move away when Kingsley’s hand brushed hers, palm to palm.
The facilitator’s voice came one last time. “Thank you. Go gently into your night.”
And with that, the fire circle began to rise, slowly, silently. People wandered off in pairs or alone, wrapped in warmth.
Kingsley held Katherine’s hands as they walked back together, they didn’t speak
They didn’t need to.
Not tonight.