The next morning arrived gently, with soft sunlight streaming through Amelia's bedroom curtains. The rain had taken a break, leaving Willow Bay wrapped in a hush that felt almost like a held breath.
Amelia stood in front of her little mirror, tying her hair back as she prepared for the day. Her fingers paused halfway.
Last night's walk with Ethan replayed in her mind—the way he looked at her, the patience in his voice, the quiet space he gave her instead of pushing.
Something warm fluttered in her chest.
She shook her head lightly and reached for her coat.
It was probably nothing.
It had to be nothing.
Feelings were dangerous territory.
But even as she tried to steady her emotions, she found herself stepping toward the library instead of her shop.
Just to check on the garden, she told herself.
Just to see how the flowers were settling.
Just… to see.
When she reached the courtyard, Ethan was already there.
He was kneeling in the garden beds, sleeves rolled up, hands buried in the soil. The morning light touched him softly, making the scene almost too gentle to look at.
He noticed her before she could speak.
> "Morning," he said, a smile lifting slowly across his face. "You're early."
Amelia clutched the small package she'd brought. "I… I made muffins. For the volunteers."
Ethan raised a brow. "There are no volunteers today."
Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Oh. Well… maybe I just made them."
He laughed softly, standing up and brushing soil from his hands.
> "Then I'm honored to be the only one."
He took the small paper bag from her gently, their fingers brushing—soft, familiar, dangerous. Amelia looked away quickly.
Ethan opened the bag, peeked inside, and grinned.
> "Chocolate chip. My favorite."
"You never said that."
"I never had to."
Amelia's chest tightened again.
Why was he always like this?
Why did he always find the simplest ways to reach her?
He offered her a muffin from the bag.
She hesitated, then took it.
They sat on the edge of the courtyard fountain, eating in comfortable silence. Her shoulder brushed his lightly, but neither of them shifted away.
After a moment, Ethan tilted his head, studying her expression.
> "You look like you're thinking too hard."
"I'm not," she said quickly.
He gave her a look—the kind that said he didn't believe her for a second.
> "You know you can talk to me."
Amelia stared at the muffin crumbs in her hand, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I just… don't want to disappoint anyone."
Ethan's expression softened immediately.
> "Amelia. You could never disappoint me."
Her breath caught. She turned her face away, but Ethan leaned just slightly closer.
Not enough to overwhelm.
Just enough to let her know he was there.
> "Whatever happened before… whoever hurt you… you don't owe me explanations. Or perfection. Just… your presence. When you're ready."
His voice was warm, low, and impossibly gentle.
Amelia's throat tightened.
She blinked fast, trying to steady herself.
"I don't know how to do this," she admitted quietly.
> "You don't have to know," he murmured. "We can figure it out together."
Silence settled again, but it wasn't heavy. It was soft. Full of unspoken truths.
A breeze swept through the courtyard, lifting Amelia's hair. Ethan reached out automatically, fingertips brushing her cheek as he tucked a loose strand behind her ear.
Her heart stumbled.
He froze, as if realizing what he had just done.
Amelia didn't move.
Neither of them spoke.
Their eyes met. His were steady, open. Hers were fragile, searching.
For a moment, it felt like the world stopped between them.
But before anything else could happen, a sudden shout from inside the library broke the moment.
> "Ethan! We need you for a moment!"
Ethan blinked, pulling his hand back slowly, reluctantly.
> "I… I should go," he said, voice a little tighter than before.
Amelia nodded, trying to catch her breath. "Of course."
He stepped toward the doorway, but paused halfway, turning back.
> "Thank you for the muffins," he said softly. "And for coming."
Then he disappeared inside.
Amelia sat there alone, the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat.
Maybe she was falling.
Maybe she was terrified.
Maybe it was already too late.
Whatever it was…
It felt real.