NEW YORK CITY — DECEMBER 2005 Central Park, early afternoon. Light snow falling.

Hayden held a hot pretzel in one hand and your gloved fingers in the other, navigating the slushy park paths with the care of someone who had, admittedly, fallen twice already.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered through a mouthful, “they should salt the whole park. Not just where tourists go.”

You snorted. “You are the tourist, Hayden.”

He gave you a betrayed look. “How dare you. I’ve been here, like, five whole times.”

“And slipped on black ice three of those times.”

“That’s slander.”

You were about to volley back when a tiny voice cut through the air.

“Hey! Are you in a movie?”

You both turned. A little boy, probably seven, stood next to a bench, his puffy jacket nearly swallowing him whole. His curly hat was slightly askew, and he was pointing directly at Hayden like he was accusing him of a crime.

Hayden blinked. “Uh. Sometimes?”

The boy squinted. “You’re Anakin Skywalker.”

Hayden crouched slightly, smiling. “Guilty.”

The boy gasped and spun toward a woman on the bench — his mom, who looked startled.

“MOM! He’s the guy who turns into Darth Vader but still has feelings!”

You laughed into your scarf. Hayden looked genuinely flattered. “That’s… accurate.”

The boy marched right up to him. “My name’s Eli. I’m building a snow robot. You wanna help?”

You raised an eyebrow. Hayden looked at you — a silent permission? — and you just waved a hand.

“Go save the galaxy, Skywalker.”

So he did. He dropped to the snow with no hesitation and helped Eli build what became less a “robot” and more of a vaguely cube-shaped snow creature with stick legs. At one point, he gave it a pinecone for an eye and said, “He sees the Force.”

Eli was delighted.

By the time they finished, the boy’s mom had come over, thanking Hayden (and you) profusely. Eli gave him a very formal handshake — “Thank you, Jedi Master” — before running off with his mom, snow robot left standing sentinel under the trees.

Hayden came back to your side, brushing snow off his jeans. He looked ridiculous. His hair was wet. There was a leaf stuck to his elbow.

And you were done for.

“That…” you said, unable to help the smirk spreading, “was dangerously attractive.”

He arched a brow, smug. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” You nudged him with your shoulder as you walked. “Big ‘dad energy.’ Very compelling.”

He scoffed, cheeks pink. “Helping one snow-covered kid with a pinecone cyborg and suddenly I’m father material?”

“Not just father material,” you said, looping your arm through his. “You material. But… multiplied.”

Hayden gave you a suspicious side-eye. “Are you saying you want a baby?”

You gave him an exaggerated gasp. “Did I say baby? I just said you looked good kneeling in the snow and managing small emotional people. If that makes your brain go straight to babies…”

He bumped your hip with his. “You’re not subtle.”

You stopped walking and turned to face him, standing nose to nose in the middle of Central Park.

Neither of you spoke for a second.

Then he grinned. That soft, sideways thing he did when he was trying to play it cool but felt everything.

“I mean,” he said, brushing snow off your hat, “if we happened to have one… I’d hope they got your eyes. And your ability to boss me around gently.”

You grinned. “And your weird patience with snow robots.”

He leaned in, kissing your forehead. “We’d make a good team.”

You tugged him back into motion, fingers swinging between you.

“We already are.”