The walk back from the hill was quiet—but not in an uncertain or fragile way.
It was a silence filled with warmth, the kind that settles after two people share something meaningful. Amelia walked a bit closer to Ethan than she usually did, her shoulder occasionally brushing his arm.
Every soft touch felt like a small spark—warm, gentle, welcome.
When they reached the flower shop again, Amelia paused at the door. She didn't let go of Ethan's hand immediately. Instead, she let her fingers slide slowly from his grasp, her heart fluttering as their palms parted.
Ethan noticed the hesitation.
He felt it.
And he cherished it quietly.
"Do you want to go in?" he asked softly.
Amelia nodded. "Just for a moment."
She unlocked the shop, the soft scent of flowers welcoming them back. Even with the lights off, the space glowed faintly with the lingering warmth of the day.
Amelia walked to the counter and turned on a small lamp, bathing the shop in a soft golden glow. Ethan followed a few steps behind, letting her set the pace.
She gathered a small bundle of freshly trimmed lavender—one of the arrangements they had made earlier.
Ethan smiled.
"You kept it."
Amelia met his eyes, her voice quiet but full.
"It… reminds me of today."
Her words sank deep into him.
Ethan stepped closer, his expression warm, gentle.
"I'm glad," he said softly.
> "Today meant a lot to me too."
Amelia hesitated before asking the question that had lingered in her mind since the hill.
"Is it strange that being with you feels… easy?" she whispered.
Ethan shook his head immediately.
> "Not strange. Just right."
Her breath trembled.
"I'm not used to things feeling right."
Ethan walked closer—slowly—until he was standing just an arm's length from her.
"You don't have to get used to it all at once," he said gently.
> "Just notice it. Let it be real."
Amelia looked down at the lavender in her hands, the soft scent calming her heartbeat.
"Ethan?"
"Yes?"
She swallowed.
"Earlier… when I touched your jacket… you froze."
Ethan exhaled a shaky breath.
"I did."
"Why?"
He stepped a little closer, careful, gentle.
"Because it felt like you were letting me in," he whispered.
> "And that means more to me than you know."
Amelia's lips parted softly.
"I'm still afraid," she admitted.
"I know."
He reached out, his hand hovering near hers—not touching, just waiting.
> "But you're still choosing to be here. That's courage, Amelia. Not fear."
Her throat tightened, emotion swelling in her chest.
She took a small breath.
Then, slowly, she placed the lavender bouquet on the counter and extended her hand toward him again—palm facing up.
Ethan's eyes softened instantly.
"Can you…"
Her voice trembled.
"Just hold it? For a moment?"
Ethan took her hand as if lifting something fragile and irreplaceable.
His fingers wrapped around hers, slow and steady, grounding her.
Amelia's eyes fluttered closed at the warmth of his touch.
It wasn't overwhelming.
It wasn't demanding.
It was perfect.
Ethan's voice came out low, almost a whisper.
"I could hold your hand for as long as you want."
She opened her eyes, looking up at him.
"I don't know how long that is," she said softly.
"But right now… I don't want to let go."
A quiet, emotional breath escaped Ethan's lips.
"Then we won't."
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
They stood in the soft golden glow of the shop—
hands intertwined, hearts quietly unfolding into one another—
while the rain continued its gentle whisper outside.
For the first time in a very long time,
Amelia didn't feel like she was running from something.
She felt like she was walking toward someone.