He spins his wineglass with his fingertips, an absent, thoughtful motion.
“My mama always said I could be whatever I wanted, as long as it made me happy.” He lifts his gaze to mine.“Firefighting makes me feel like I’m doing something that matters.”
The words settle warm in my chest.
“What about you?” he asks.“How’d you know baking and coffee were your thing?”
I tell him about college, anxiety, how the rhythm of baking soothed me when nothing else could. How mixing ingredients felt like creating small pieces of certainty in a world that never stayed still.
“I see it,” he says.
“You see what?”
His eyebrows lift a little, expression open and earnest.
“The way your eyes light up when you talk about it. It’s the same way they light up when you look at Mia.” A pause. His thumb brushes the back of my hand.“Or… after I kiss you.”
My stomach somersaults. My bones melt. Oxygen becomes optional.
“I, um…” I clear my throat.“I like you in your firefighter uniform.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to crawl under the table and never come back up.
Ethan’s grin is pure sin.“Good to know.”
Massimo swoops in with our plates, lowering them like sacred offerings. The smell hits me first, rich tomato, melted cheese, herbs.
I take one bite.
One bite.
And I’m undone.
A soft sound slips out, quiet, involuntary, sinful. My eyes flutter shut without permission.
When I open them, Ethan looks like someone hit pause on him. His fork hasn’t even made it to his mouth.
“Summer.” His voice is a low, strained warning.“Do. Not. Make that sound again. Not while we’re surrounded by people.”
My face flames.“Why?”
He leans in slightly, voice dropping even lower.
“Because now that I know what you sound like when something makes you feel that good…” His jaw flexes.“All I can think about is finding every way,every way, to make you make those sounds again. And if I start here…” He gestures faintly to the room.“We’ll get arrested.”
My heart stumbles.
“Oh.”
He shakes his head, frustrated in a way that feels dangerous and tender all at once.“You’re killing me. You’re so beautiful it’s driving me insane having this table between us.”
Words? Never heard of them.
“I can’t wait to hold you after dinner,” he says, voice softening but losing none of its heat.“To dance with you. Feel you close.”
My brain short-circuits. I toss back the rest of my wine in one swallow. Ethan’s smile curves slow and knowing.
He shifts the conversation, gently, intentionally, asking about Mia. My pregnancy. Her first laugh. Her favorite books. Her nightmares.
