Oliver’s eyes went wide before he burst out laughing. It started as a chuckle and snowballed into full-on hysterics.
“I’m glad you find this amusing.”
“I’m sorry, Ash.” He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye but made no effort to stop laughing.
“It’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” he repeated, still grinning. “Oh god, you can totally tell you’re not used to Ethan anymore if you think that’s going to be anything but a disaster.”
“I thought you were a fan of chaos now.”
“I am—which is why this is so hilarious.” Amelia’s cry echoed somewhere behind him. Oliver winced, shoulders tensing. “I should probably go help.”
“Wait.”
Oliver leaned back in his chair, though the movement was tight, like his body was already halfway out the door. His attention was a fickle thing these days—understandable—but I needed one more moment of focus.
“What did you mean by that? That I’m not used to Ethan anymore?”
He pressed his lips together, gaze shifting to the side. The moment stretched, filled only by a muffled wail. When he finally spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “He doesn’t really shy away from speaking his mind. At all.”
A slow smile grew on my lips.Attaboy.
I had a feeling Ethan had come into his own. The version of him that only I used to know was now out in the world. Back when we were together, he’d stopped censoring himself around me, and I’d loved every second of it. It was bittersweet not having seen that grow into its full potential, but knowing it had was enough.
“That’s a good thing,” I said.
Oliver drummed his fingers on the table again, restless. “Yeah. It is. You know… under the right circumstances.” The crying grew louder, and his eyes darted away once more.
“Go take care of that. We’ll talk later.”
He nodded, relief flickering across his face. “Thanks, Ash. And… sorry about the secret.”
“I’ll get my payback somehow.”
His grin returned. “Please let me know how lunch goes. Can’t wait to hear all about it.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t bother hiding the smile.
“And I’ll get back to you if I come up with anything,” he added, giving me one more encouraging look before hanging up.
The screen went dark.
Silence settled over my home office, broken only by the distant hum of traffic drifting up from the street below. Madrid never really slept, but at this hour the noise softened into something muted. Files lay spread across my desk, legal notes and highlighted clauses blurring together under the lamplight.
I let out a slow breath and slumped into my chair, dragging a hand down my face. My shoulders ached from hours hunched over contracts and damage control. I should have gone back to work. There was more than enough waiting for me.
Instead, my thoughts drifted straight to Ethan. To our brief conversation. To his texts.
He still felt like the same person. He’d grown—that was the point of all this—but it wasn’t like he’d become someone else.
I opened our chat, my eyes lingering on his words. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, itching to type something—anything—just to pick up the thread again.
But I set the phone down face-first on the desk and scrubbed a hand over my jaw.
I needed to get a grip. If I didn’t, how the hell was I supposed to keep my distance?
Leaning back, I stared at the ceiling, but it wasn’t legal documents or headlines or the impossible mess waiting for me in the morning that filled my head.
