And I still couldn’t tell if this was a date.
Or just two people standing too close and pretending it wasn’t anything more.
I drifted toward a painting near the stage, all sharp lines and unapologetic color. “I love this,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Alex stepped closer, studying it with me. “What do you like about it?”
The question surprised me, not polite interest, but real curiosity.
“It doesn’t try to be pretty,” I said slowly. “It justis. And somehow that makes it beautiful.” I paused, looking at him, half expecting him to be confused or not even listening, buthis full attention was on me. The feeling was both calming and unnerving, and those were feelings I didn’t know could exist together, so I continued. “The way the colors pop. It’s messy and intentional at the same time. Like . . . confidence in paint form.”
Then something clicked into place in my chest. “I’ve been working on an idea lately. Something different from my usual stuff. This kind of energy—bold, playful, a little unhinged—it’s been living in my head.”
His eyes lit up. “That sounds like you.”
I laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a warning.”
“It’s definitely a compliment,” he said easily.
The conversation flowed from there, easy again, and that surprised me more than anything.
We talked about the kids. About music. About how small towns had a way of growing on you even when you swore they wouldn’t. About art that made you feel something, even if you couldn’t explain why.
And the whole time, I kept catching myself staring at him. Not at his hands or his jaw, though those were lovely, but at his eyes.
Deep brown. Kind.
The kind that made you feel seen.
Every time he looked at me, my stomach did a little flip, like my body remembered something my heart had been too afraid to name. Too afraid to want.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to date. I wasn’t sure thiswasa date.
But standing there with him, surrounded by loud color and quiet music and possibility, the space between us hummed with something unspoken.
Outside, the night was soft and cool, the kind of evening that made the world feel alive.
We stood by my car, lingering like neither of us wanted to break the spell.
“I had a really great time tonight,” he said, his voice quiet, earnest.
“Me too.” I smiled, feeling the truth of it in her chest.
For a moment, he just looked at me, eyes searching, waiting, and then he leaned in.
My breath caught.
He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint trace of soap and coffee and something uniquelyhim.
But as his lips neared mine, the world blurred and shifted. Another face, Ethan’s face, flashed in my mind, sharp and bright and gone too soon.
My chest tightened.
“Wait,” I whispered, her hand coming up between them.
Alex froze instantly, pulling back just enough to give her space. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“No,” I said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s not that. It’s just . . . ” I swallowed. “It’s been a long time.”
