The hours drifted by softly after Ethan left.
Amelia moved through the shop with a lightness she didn't recognize—almost as if her heart had floated somewhere above her and refused to come down. Every time she caught herself smiling, she touched her cheek gently, surprised by the warmth lingering there.
Ethan's touch was still imprinted on her skin.
Soft.
Careful.
Steady.
And the way she had leaned into it—
that was what stunned her the most.
She hadn't braced herself.
She hadn't flinched.
Her body had trusted him.
That realization stayed with her long after the shop grew quiet.
---
Late afternoon settled in, the kind of calm where even the flowers seemed to rest. Amelia was wiping down the counter when the bell chimed again.
She turned automatically.
And there he was.
Ethan.
Not soaked this time. Not rushed.
Just standing in the doorway with the softest smile, as if stepping into her shop was stepping into warmth.
"Hi," he said, voice low and warm.
Amelia felt something flutter and settle inside her.
"Hi."
He held up a paper bag.
"Peace offering."
She blinked.
"For what?"
"For leaving earlier than I wanted to."
Her heart skipped.
"I didn't want you to leave either," she admitted softly.
Ethan's smile deepened—slow, full of quiet emotion. He set the bag on the counter, revealing two pastries and another cup of her favorite tea.
"You're spoiling me," Amelia said shyly.
Ethan leaned lightly against the counter, his voice gentle.
"You deserve to be taken care of."
The words hit somewhere deep.
Amelia swallowed, her fingers brushing the warm cup he'd brought.
"Can you—"
Her voice faltered.
Ethan straightened slightly, attentive.
"Yes?"
"Can you stay? Just… stay a little while?"
The soft breath he let out wasn't dramatic—it was relief.
Pure, quiet relief.
"Of course I can," he said.
"I like being here with you."
Amelia looked down, her cheeks warming.
"I like being with you too."
---
They sat at the small round table by the window, rain pattering softly outside. Amelia took tiny bites of the pastry while Ethan relaxed back in his chair, watching her with that same gentle attention that made her chest flutter.
After a moment, Amelia spoke.
"Do you ever wonder why we met the way we did?"
Ethan raised a brow.
"What do you mean?"
She played with the pastry wrapper, suddenly shy.
"You just… appeared. One day. Right outside the shop."
Ethan smiled.
"I remember. You looked startled."
"I was," she whispered. "You… felt different."
"Different?" he asked gently.
Amelia nodded lightly.
"I didn't feel afraid."
Something warm flickered across his face.
"You don't know what that means to me," he murmured.
She met his eyes, and for once, she didn't look away.
"I'm learning," she said softly.
Ethan leaned forward slightly, elbows resting lightly on his knees.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked.
"Please."
"I don't want to rush anything," he said quietly.
> "But every time you trust me a little more… it feels like a gift."
Amelia's breath trembled.
"I'm still scared," she whispered.
"I know," he said gently.
> "But you're moving toward me anyway."
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Ethan… can I…?"
He waited—silent, open, patient.
Amelia reached slowly across the table and rested her fingers on top of his hand.
Barely touching.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin.
Ethan froze—not in uncertainty, but in quiet amazement.
"Amelia…" he breathed.
"I wanted to," she whispered.
He turned his hand gently, slowly—giving her time to pull away—until their palms touched.
Then he laced their fingers together.
Softly.
Tenderly.
Like a promise only their hearts could hear.
They sat like that, holding hands across the small table, the world outside blurred by rain.
Amelia's voice broke the silence first, quiet but sure.
"I think I'm falling."
Ethan's breath caught.
His thumb brushed hers, steady and warm.
"Then let me fall with you," he whispered.
Her heart fluttered—
not with fear,
but with something she had been too afraid to feel for years:
Hope.