Roman Sahota lived a damn good life in spite of everything that had happened, all right?

He had three amazing daughters, a phenomenal co-parent, and his diabetes wasn't killing him at that present moment. That was all good.

"I feel like I'm never going to be the person I was with her," Roman said.

So why did it all come back to the fact that he didn't want her to be his co-parent, he wanted her to be his wife? Again?

"And how does that make you feel?"

Roman would do better counselling himself in a bathroom mirror than this man was doing for too much of his money per hour. "Shit."

"Have you tried dating anyone else since the divorce?"

Had he? He'd tried everyone. Other women, men. Tried dating non-binary people. Tried dating multiple people at the same time on even the slightest guess that maybe he was into polyamory. He was sure they were all very nice and maybe some multiversal theorist—or his ex-sister-in-law—could tell him that in another universe, it might have worked out with one or two or seventeen of those people.

But in this universe? In Roman's now? His problem was that none of them, not one, were Florence Meadowlark.

"Dating was never really my thing," Roman said. "I think I should be lucky I even had the chance to be with Flo while we were together."

"And the wedding band you're still wearing?"

"Sentimentality."

"Would probably help if you didn't wear that on a regular basis," the therapist said. "You have to let go before you are able to fully move on."

"What if I don't want to?"

"If you didn't want to, you wouldn't be sitting in this office right now."

Ew. They were right.

"Sometimes I feel like... like there was only one soulmate for me in the world," Roman said, wiping at the Cheeto stain on his shirt. "And then someone's damn husband dies and three years later they look happy again. I don't understand how it's been three years since it looked like we might get divorced and almost a year since we have and, suddenly, it's like I'd rather roll over and die than keep living without her."

"I thought you said the divorce was mutual."

Roman put his hands over his eyes. "That's what sad people say when they don't want to admit that they're so in love with someone that they would divorce them to make them happy."

He had never felt so defeated in his life. Thank the lord the end of his therapy session came soon after that. Normally, he hated that sessions were timed. He liked being able to talk to his clients as they needed, the clock always sucked. Except right then.

Roman grabbed his coat and practically sprinted out of the office when his appointment was over. When his phone rang, he should have looked at the caller ID. But few people called him those days, his parents were dead, Florence acted like he was dead sometimes, and Everleigh and Maverick lived in another continent. The only people who consistently called him were genetically his and even then, it was usually to ask him for cookies the next time they came over to his townhouse. (Maybe Roman needed to stop obliging whenever the girls asked.) (Would probably help.)

"Yello?"

"Hi."

Roman stopped in his tracks. "Florence?"

"Hey." Florence's voice was calm and collected. That either meant she was angry or needed something. It was usually just that he got the girls for another couple days, which was never a problem. The one good thing about their breakup was there was no custody battle, they both got their girls for equal amounts of time, as best they could.

Roman looked at his watch as he forced himself to start walking again. Trying to find his sea legs and not vomit on the upper deck. "Did I miss a pickup time?"

"Oh," Florence said, "no. Um. Can we talk about something?"

The last time she'd said that it was a couple months prior and she had wanted to introduce someone she was dating to the girls. As it turned out, the three of them scared him away. Roman took them out for ice cream after they'd done it.

"Sure."

"I'm... outside your place," Florence said.

"Nav has a key," Roman said.

Navi was on the verge of nine but had been traumatized enough by her wonderful aunt showing her Halloween the year before that she wanted a key to Roman's townhouse so she could get in quickly if anyone were to be stalking after her. Roman had tried to tell Navi that while it was good to be cautious, Michael Myers wasn't real. The long talk he'd had with Everleigh ended with them going to a hardware store to have a key cut because she was scared a man wearing a William Shatner mask was going to kill her on the way home from school. (Everleigh's assurance of "it's only on Halloween!" was not helpful.) (Won a damn Nobel Prize but couldn't figure out that maybe that wasn't the best thing to say to a literal child.) (Roman was going to have to put her in therapy with one of his coworkers if Everleigh kept it up.)

"That didn't feel right."

Roman pressed his lips together. Dodged people on the sidewalk. Even on a Wednesday afternoon, Christmas shopping was in full swing. No part of the shops were clear, and no part of Roman wanted to be anywhere near them. His therapist's office was only a few blocks away, it was always worth the walk. Apparently he hadn't factored in Christmas.

"You can always let yourself in," Roman said. "I've never disallowed that."

"Don't say shit like that."

"It's true."

"Roman."

He would burn up a thousand suns if it meant he could hear her scold him like that until the end of time. There was nothing he wouldn't do for that damn woman and it was fucking embarrassing. Jaw off the ground, knickers for brains. Get it together. Florence Meadowlark had broken up with him on a blustery Tuesday morning in the height of February's winter and it had been ten months of suffering since. At least she hadn't done it on his birthday. That might've been a double knockout, considering he was born on Valentine's Day. Hallmark holiday as it was.

"I'll be there soon," Roman said.

And he was.

Practically sprinted there, sure.

But he was there. He tried not to trip over himself when he saw Florence. Unlike her sister, who was addicted to bleaching her hair whenever she had the thought she potentially wanted to jump out of a moving vehicle, Florence stuck with their naturally brunette hair. They'd gotten it from their mother. Curled loosely, Florence's ended just below her jaw and was, at that moment, falling in ways that made Roman want to brush away from her eyes.

Her eyes. The ones he'd looked into when he vowed to never leave her. Then again, she'd made those vows too and look where they were. Awkward, staring at each other. Like they didn't know every inch, every stretch mark, every freckle.

"Mi casa or whatever," Roman said, motioning inside the townhouse after he unlocked it.

"I don't think you should say things like that, Rome."

"I recognize that we're not together any more," Roman said, "but that doesn't mean we don't actively have to see each other when we're swapping houses for the girls. You can treat me like I'm your friend."

That word tasted like damn vinegar on his tongue. He was going to throw up on the carpet outside if he wasn't careful. If she wasn't going to go in first, he was. He lived there, after all. Roman stepped through the threshold and tried to ignore the fact that there were weeks old newspapers piled by the door in hopes one day he'd actually put them in the bin.

"I'm not saying we're not friends," Florence said. But she kind of implied it.

Roman didn't turn back around. He pulled a bottle of juice from his fridge. "Then why are you still standing outside?"

"Oh."

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"Yup." Roman took a long sip. Looked at his... at Florence. Shook his head a little and laughed. "You're still standing outside, Flo."

Florence knit her fingers together, shoulders tense.

"Are you okay?" Roman asked.

"This is... awkward."

For two people who saw each other weekly the last ten months and daily for too many years before that, that was an understatement.

"Only awkward because you're making it awkward," Roman said. Because he was an ass.

"You are not helping."

"I don't think I'm hindering, either."

Florence muttered something that Roman didn't think he wanted to catch.

"Florence," Roman said.

"Yes?"

"Please come inside," Roman said, motioning with his arm. "Would you like a drink?"

"Um," Florence said. She bit her lip.

"It's not a hard question."

"I really need to tell you something."

"Go ahead."

Florence took a step forward. Good. She was more comfortable entering his townhouse than she was telling him what she had decidedly visited to tell him.

Roman grabbed another bottle of juice from the fridge while Florence decided what the hell she wanted to do. He walked it over to her, holding it out. An olive branch in the form of a cheap, premixed juice concentrate he'd spent a Saturday night doing. Pathetic.

"Thank you." Florence gently took the juice. Chugged it in one go. Made a face. "You were never good at mixing this, Rome."

Roman laughed. "Nope."

"Okay," Florence said, taking a deep breath. "Um. Are you in an okay mental state to hear something completely bonkers?"

Short of her telling him she was pregnant again, almost nothing was off the table.

"Just got back from therapy," Roman said, "ready to go."

"I need you to be my date for Christmas."

Roman choked on his drink. And not because he was shit at mixing the juice. "What?"

"You know my parents, Rome," Florence said, putting her head in her hands. "I just... They love you and I couldn't tell them and now it's Christmas and—and it never seemed like the right time."

"There isn't a right time. You just have to do it." Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh my God."

"Are you wearing your wedding ring?"

"No."

"Pretty sure that's—"

"You didn't tell your parents we got divorced," Roman said. "Please don't talk about my choice of jewellery."

"You try looking my mum in the eyes and telling her you divorced the one person she adopted into the family without a second thought," Florence said.

"Think Mav would have something to say about that," Roman said. "I'm not the only one."

"You fell into our lives like... like an annoying little pest who wouldn't go away."

"Thank you?" Ouch.

"Maverick was like mail in the box that somehow felt like it had always been there."

"You're being mean," Roman said. "That's not a great way to get me to agree to this."

"Please?"

"Well, since you put it like that." Roman tossed his hand in the air.

"Roman." Florence's voice was low. "I need you."

And there he was. Putty in her damn hands.

"What exactly do you want?" Roman asked. "Christmas for you guys is... massive."

"I don't know," Florence said. "This was stupid, I shouldn't have... I'll go."

"I didn't say no."

"You—" Florence looked at him for the first time since she'd stepped into the townhouse. Not through him. At him. "No. You didn't."

"What boundaries are we setting here?"

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"I—" Roman held his hands up in surrender. "That was the first thing you said?"

"It's a boundary."

"I didn't say I wanted to sleep with you, Flo." But he... did. Would. In a heartbeat. She could tell him she wanted him to drown and he'd ask which lake. "I meant, like, touching—not that kind of touching. But, like, do I put my arm around you—do I, do I kiss you?"

"Act like you would before, I don't know," Florence said.

"That's kind of hard."

"Why are you still wearing your wedding ring?"

"Don't—" Roman held his hand up. Promptly switched hands when he realized it was his left hand. "Sometimes it's nice for the girls."

"Really?"

"Why?" Roman asked. "Did you pawn yours?"

"No, I have mine," Florence said. "Somewhere."

The pang in his chest hurt. Ached. Like she'd shot him and then stuck her finger in the wound and twisted. Full Inglourious Basterds. The Brad Pitt to his Diane Kruger. A damsel in god damn distress.

"That'll really sell them on us being together," Roman said. "Well done."

"I usually wear them when I go see my parents," Florence said. "Relax."

"You want me to relax when you've just asked me to be your date for Christmas?"

"I'm sorry."

"You want me to save your skin," Roman said, "you don't even know where your wedding bands are—"

"It'll take five minutes to find them—"

"And you want me to relax?"

"I'm sorry."

"Florence, you realize this is—"

"You told me you wouldn't think this is crazy."

Roman sighed. "You're right."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't make me regret this."

"Wait—"

"If I get to set the rules—" Roman was crazy. Bonkers. Cuckoo for cocoa puffs. He was a selfish, selfish man who wanted nothing more than to be able to be in love with her again and he was God damn certifiably fucking insane. Check him into an asylum, put him on every med available. Roman Sahota was a real dumbass who had no care for his own wellbeing.

"Whatever you want."

"I'll do it." Where the fuck else was he going to go for Christmas? Tesco for some shitty frozen turkey dinner? Might as well hang out with people who somewhat loved him, mostly. "But if either of us say it's done, it's done. The other one doesn't get to argue."

Florence nodded. "You can tap out any time."

"This is..." Roman looked around his townhouse. A god damn pig sty. He didn't have the girls that week, it didn't need to be clean. "You realize, despite my promise, that this is crazy, right?"

Florence nodded again.

"All right." Roman nodded before he could overthink it like he did every single moment of their marriage when he couldn't sleep at night. "I'm in. You need me, I'm there."

What a damn wedding vow that was. A damn way to make him want to run himself off a cliff at Formula One speeds so the crash would kill him faster. (Maybe if he begged Brendon Ellis, he could hit him with that sweet sweet Windsor sponsored beauty and Roman could at least enjoy the lead-up to his untimely death.) (At least the champ would kill him quicker than Christmas with the Meadowlarks who didn't know he wasn't part of their family anymore.)

Florence took a couple steps forward and hugged him. Roman didn't dare pinch himself for fear of it being painless.

*

Moving some of his belongings into Florence's townhouse—she kept hers consistently clean and Roman cleaned his biweekly. It was a no brainer that they would live there. Troy and Dawn didn't need to know that Roman lived in unkept filth while his kids weren't home.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, bud!"

Roman dropped his suitcase as Navi ran up to him. He knelt down so he could hug her, joined quickly by Raya and Lyra. Lyra was small enough that Raya could reach over her. God, they were getting big. Hugging all three of them at the same time was going to be impossible soon enough. He wanted to savour every single moment.

"I thought I said stay in the house and you could tackle him later," Florence said.

Roman was more curious how she'd handled the topic of Mum and Dad haven't really spoken to each other and have lived by themselves for ten months but maybe don't mention that to any of your relatives, okay?.

"Okay," Roman said, maybe trying to stand when he was moments from being tackled to the ground was a terrible idea, but he still tried. "Everyone under the age of ten needs to grab one of dad's bags from the trunk. And, no, none of your Christmas presents are in there."

Yes they were.

"Anyone who tries to sneak a peek," Roman said, "I'm telling Santa."

The screams were like they'd seen Michael Myers walking up the driveway. All three of them ran toward the car, Lyra grabbed the suitcase from her mother and hauled ass back into the townhouse.

Florence put her hands on her hips. "That was mean."

Roman shrugged and laughed. "You were the one who wanted to tell them about him."

"Mean."

Roman held his hands up in surrender. "I'll make up for it."

"How?"

"They love cookies," Roman said, "and I'm a great baker."

"You eat that many cookies," Florence said, "you're going to go into a diabetic coma."

Roman mimed a curtsey. "What a way to go."

"Get inside," Florence said, swatting him in the shoulder. "You big meanie."

Roman laughed. "How I've missed this."

"For the record," Florence said, taking his wrist in hers.

Roman prayed he didn't look too hopeful at the slightest touch. If they were going to pretend they were in love, well, he was going to have to pretend he wasn't in love with her. Too much of a fake thing could feel too real. Then maybe he'd want to be in a diabetic coma.

"Yes?"

"I've told them it's a new tradition," Florence said. "You staying for Christmas."

Ah. That was the way to handle it. Roman would've said they were having a sleepover or something stupid as shit.

"Got it."

"I am sorry," Florence said. "About this entire mess."

"It's okay," Roman said.

Florence squeezed his wrist. "Any time you want to tap out... say the word."

Roman gently took her hand off him.Squeezed it reassuringly. "We're okay."