I wanted to believe that. I really did. But part of me couldn’t help remembering how often he’d prioritized his mother’s needs over mine or cancelled plans when a work crisis or project deadline hit.
Still, the fact that he was standing here instead of buried in his phone felt like something. A small step in my direction, at least.
“The Langford Tech Gala is coming up this weekend. I was thinking…” He hesitated, searching my face. “Maybe we could treat it more like a date this year. Less networking. More dancing. Coming home early for some quality alone time.”
I forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine. “Sure. That sounds nice.”
It really did, but I wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull off his plan unless his mother was too unwell to attend. And as unkind as it sounded, a heart attack was probably the only thing that would keep her away from such an important event.
His answering smile was soft, almost boyish, and for a moment, I saw the man I’d fallen in love with. The one who could make me grin just by glancing my way across a crowded room.
“Crumb,” he murmured, reaching out. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, chasing away what must’ve been a speck from the toast I’d eaten earlier. The touch lingered a beattoo long, sending a shiver down my spine before he dropped his hand.
The quiet between us felt fragile, and I didn’t want it to crack when he was finally making an effort. So I just nodded toward the hallway. “You should head to bed while you still can.”
“Yeah.” He set his mug in the sink with a sigh. “Wake me in a few hours?”
“Sure, after my office hours are over at ten.”
The words came easily, but my chest still felt tight. As though I was caught between hope and fear.
Hoping to distract myself from my spiraling thoughts, I grabbed my laptop and got settled in the living room. The papers my students had just turned in weren’t due until early next week, but I’d learned during grad school to work ahead whenever I could.
Two hours later, the penthouse was silent except for the occasional rustle of paper. By the time I opened the video-conference window, I’d already made it through eight papers. My office hours were open, though no students had signed in yet.
I used the downtime to continue grading and started on the paper from a student who’d been struggling since the start of the summer term. His early drafts were messy, all run-on sentences and scattered ideas, but this one was better. More deliberate. It was obvious that he’d read through the comments I’d left on his previous assignments and worked to improve on this one.
It made me smile. Proof that real change could happen, given time and effort.
I stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, the thought lingering in ways I hadn’t expected.
Ethan had said all the right things this morning. He’d looked sincere. Maybe even a little lost. And for the first time in weeks,he hadn’t checked his phone once while we talked. That had to mean something.
Still, I couldn’t stop dissecting each word like it was one of my students’ sentences, searching for intent, subtext, and evidence. Wondering if he’d really follow through on his promise.
I leaned back in my chair, my gaze sweeping across the living room. Everything about the space was beautiful in that magazine-perfect way Margot preferred—with sleek lines, curated decor, and the view of the park across the street framed by floor-to-ceiling windows. From the outside, my life was what I was supposed to want. Something other women envied, even.
My eyes drifted to the bouquet on the console table. The peonies had begun to droop, their pale pink petals curling at the edges. The only bit of imperfection in the entire room—except for me.
In my cotton pajama pants with a polo thrown on so I’d look professional on the video call, I looked out of place in the home I shared with Ethan. Like the life around me had been curated for someone else, and I was just passing through.
The scentof garlic and roasted tomatoes hit me before the sound of the elevator doors. I looked up from my laptop to find Ethan balancing a take-out bag and a bottle of wine, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
A glance at the time in the corner of my screen told me it was barely after five. I’d been so focused on grading that I’d barely noticed six hours had passed since he’d left for the office.
“You’re home early.”
“I thought we could skip cooking tonight.” He lifted the bag higher with a sheepish grin. “Figured you might not mind Italian.”
Warmth unfurled in my chest. “It sounds amazing.”
I set aside my notebook and laptop while he grabbed plates and wine glasses. And for the first time in longer than I wanted to admit, the tension between us eased. We ate at the island instead of the dining table. Halfway through the meal, he told me a story about one of Gage’s board-meeting disasters, and my laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Ethan’s eyes widened slightly, as if the sound startled him too. Then his grin broke loose. Real and bright, boyish in a way I hadn’t seen in months.
It felt like we were us again. The kind of effortless normal we hadn’t managed in far too long.
After dinner, he gathered the plates and carried them to the sink while I poured the last of the wine. I felt his gaze before I saw it. Soft and lingering, making my pulse flutter as a spark of hope flickered to life.
