I don’t move. She doesn’t either. And that, I realize, is enough for now.
For this moment, we exist only together, perched on wet wooden steps, hands nearly touching, hearts quietly daring to feel again.
And it’s terrifying. And it’s perfect.
Chapter 15
Lucky
IwakeupwithEthan still in my head.
Not in a dreamy, romantic way — more like he’s lodged there, refusing to vacate the premises. Every time I try to think about something else, my mind drifts straight back to him on my porch steps. His voice. His eyes. The way he looked at me was like he was trying not to want something he already did.
It’s infuriating.
And intoxicating.
And completely ruining my morning.
I make coffee. I drink half before realizing I’ve just been staring into space, replaying last night. I try distracting myself — laundry, cleaning the kitchen, reorganizing my songwriting notebooks — but nothing sticks. My hands keep drifting to the page where I left off months ago.
Fine. Music.
That usually helps.
I grab my guitar and sit cross-legged on the living room floor, sunlight dusting the rug in soft gold. My fingers pick at strings, finding an old melody, something smooth and aching. It feels promising for about twelve seconds.
Then the ache in my chest catches up.
The memories.
The loneliness.
The mess of whatever’s happening with Ethan.
I stop playing and press the heel of my palm to my eyes. “Nope. Not doing this today.”
I set the guitar aside and flop backwards onto the floor like a defeated Victorian heroine. Staring at the ceiling doesn’t help either — because now I’m just imagining Ethan leaning over me, telling me to breathe, steady and calm, like he did in the dark yesterday.
“Ugh.” I roll over and bury my face in the carpet. “What is wrong with me?”
A knock hits the front door.
I jolt up, heart immediately sprinting. For one terrifying second, I think it might be Ethan — which makes my stomach somersault in ways I am not ready to unpack.
But then a familiar voice calls, “Open up, Lucky girl. I brought reinforcements.”
Banks.
Relief. Then excitement. Actual, genuine excitement — something I haven’t felt in a while, and wow, does it feel good.
I swing open the door and grin. “You’re here!”
Banks lifts one brow. “Judging by the gremlin face you were probably making before I knocked, yeah… You needed me.”
He pulls me into a tight, grounding hug. He smells like aftershave, sunshine, and a little bit of trouble. Everything I’ve missed.
“Come on,” he says, holding up a paper bag. “I brought pastries that are absolutely not gluten-free. Let’s ruin our bodies together.”
