That pulled a real laugh out of him. Then his gaze dropped to our hands, and something softer moved through his expression. “You’re staying, right?”
“For a little while,” I said. “Until he’s really out of the woods.”
He nodded slowly, absorbing it. “Life just keeps getting in the way…”
I slid my hand to the back of his neck, thumb brushing just under his hairline. “It does.” A beat. “But we’re good.”
He searched my face.
“You and me.” My grip tightened slightly. “We’re good, right?”
He hesitated, and I saw it—the fragility, the fear, the history. It hurt, but why wouldn’t he be careful with me? I’d earned that caution.
“You’re coming back?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Another beat. Then he nodded. “Then we’re good.” And with a faint warning in his tone, he added, “Don’t disappear on me again, and we’re good.”
Relief washed through me. I stepped into him instead of answering, pulling him close. He folded into it immediately, arms wrapping around my waist, holding tight for one long second before easing back.
I frowned at his sudden retreat.
“We’re in public.” He gave a small shrug. “Eyes everywhere, remember?”
I hated that.
I really fucking hated it.
And I hated that he was right. That we still had things to say. Things to repair. Things to build—properly this time—instead of just falling into bed and pretending none of it mattered. We needed that foundation before rumors spun out of control and everyone decided to weigh in on whether we should or shouldn’t be together.
It was going to kill me to watch him leave tomorrow, but a couple of weeks was nothing compared to everything we’d already survived.
I kept hold of his hand. “At least I still have you tonight.”
He smiled—softer this time.
I lifted our joined hands and pressed my lips to his knuckles, holding them there for a moment longer than necessary.
He didn’t pull away.
So I stayed right there—not ready to test how easily this could break.
By the time we reached the apartment, the cold had settled deep into my bones.
The day had passed without incident. I was still waiting for Elena to get back to me, but it was already late in Madrid, so I wasn’t expecting a reply tonight.
Dad was asleep when we left, but today had been better. He’d been more present, more himself. We talked about nothing and everything—the weather, his company. Like old times. For the first time since the heart attack, I hadn’t felt like I was clinging to him with white knuckles. I told him I was staying a little longer, and he’d smiled—a small step that felt gigantic.
He even spoke with Ethan, and watching them interact so casually was… interesting. Ethan stayed beside me the entire time, his hand warm at the small of my back—steady, grounding, never asking anything in return.
Then he insisted we stop for food. More specifically, at a deli fifteen blocks out of the way in the already bitter November night.
I shifted one of the bags into my grip as I reached for my keys. Ethan stood beside me, burdened with the rest—three overstuffed paper bags balanced with our coats and his satchel.
“This is what happens when you can’t make up your mind,” I said, eyeing the stack. “What the hell are we going to do with this much food?”
“I wanted to try everything.” Ethan adjusted the bags higher against his chest, one slipping until he caught it with his elbow.
