“You… really didn’t have to do this,” I say softly. “The dinner thing. You could have just… not.”
He leans in slightly, calm, steady, and smirks. “I wanted to. And you?”
I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Me? Uh… yeah. I mean—yes. I wanted… I mean… never mind.”
He laughs softly, low and warm, and it makes my stomach flip. “Never mind, huh?”
I nod, heart hammering. “Never mind.”
The sun dips lower over the lake. The light catches in his eyes, warm and steady, and I realize that somehow, between the chaos of the kitchen and the awkward confessions about tattoos and judgment, this… this moment feels like the first time I’ve ever truly wanted to stay still.
We both fall into a quiet that doesn’t feel like silence at all. It’s full—warm—pulling at something in my chest I don’t have a name for.
Ethan stands and collects our plates, and I move to help, because it seems like the polite adult thing to do. Except the moment I stand, my foot catches on the leg of the chair, and I stumble forward.
He catches me by the arm—gentle but firm enough to steady my entire existence.
“You okay?” he asks, voice doing that low thing that goes straight to my spine.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Totally. Gravity and I just… negotiate differently.”
His mouth curves. “I’ve noticed.”
I swat his shoulder lightly, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his hand lingers on my arm—longer than necessary. His thumb grazes the inside of my elbow in a slow, absent-minded arc.
It feels like being touched for the first time.
I swallow and step back a bit too quickly, heat prickling my cheeks. “I, uh… I’ll bring the wine in before I break anything else.”
“You won’t break anything,” he says.
“Ethan.” I look at him. “I literally melted a spatula today.”
He laughs—really laughs—and my stomach flips like it’s doing its own stunt routine.
We clean up together, moving almost carefully around each other, as if every near touch were a decision. When he brushes past me to set down the plates, his shoulder grazes mine. I shiver. I know I do, because he notices—his eyes flick down, then up, curious.
And suddenly… everything slows.
The lake whispers behind us, the last bit of sunset smudging gold across the patio. He’s close. Way too close. My heartbeat is basically auditioning for a drum solo.
“Lucky?” he says, quietly.
“Hm?” I try for casual. It comes out breathless.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”
My chest tightens. “Pretend what?”
“That you’ve got it all handled.” His eyes search mine. “You don’t need to put on the show here.”
My throat works around a knot I didn’t expect. “I’m… not used to people seeing the mess.”
“I don’t mind the mess.”
He says it so simply. No hesitation. No judgment.
Like it’s a fact.
