Chapter 12
Mark
Mark stepped through the front door, feeling the day weighing on him. His muscles ached from being hunched over his desk, and his mind felt like it had been running a marathon with no finish line in sight. He expected to walk into his usual solitude—the quiet stillness of a house too big for one person.
Instead, the soft hum of an air mover met him, accompanied by the faint scent of fresh paint. The foyer and hallway were bathed in a new color, a muted gray that looked sharp against the crisp white trim. He paused, running a hand over the doorframe. The place felt different—fresh, updated, and yet, somehow, still the home he’d shared with Jessica.
"Welcome home," Ethan called out from the other end of the hallway, where he was crouched near the baseboards, carefully smoothing out a line of paint with a steady hand.
Mark glanced at the time—8:30 p.m. Later than he’d intended, it was not unusual for him. "Yeah," he sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Long day."
Ethan sat back on his heels, looking over his work. "Well, you’re just in time to admire my masterpiece," he said with a playful smirk, nodding toward the freshly painted walls.
Mark’s tired expression softened as he took in the transformation. "I love it," he admitted. "This color—it’s perfect. Feels… grounded."
Ethan wiped his hands on a rag, grinning. "Good. I Thought you’d like it. The trim really makes it pop."
Mark nodded. "It’s clean but warm. The space needed this." He paused.
I needed this.
For a moment, silence settled between them—comfortable, easy. Mark had never really been the type to make idle conversation, but it felt surprisingly natural with Ethan.
Ethan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "By the way, there's dinner for you in the microwave. My mom made extra and sent you a plate to thank you for hiring me."
Mark blinked, thrown off by the unexpected gesture. "She did?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. She’s a feeder. It’s her love language. She meets or knows of you, and suddenly, you’re getting a full meal like a life mission."
Mark hesitated, something unfamiliar curling in his chest. He wasn’t used to people thinking about him outside of professional settings. It had been a long time since anyone had cooked for him—since Jessica.
"You don’t have to eat it," Ethan added, sensing his hesitation.
Mark shook his head. "No, I—" He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s… really thoughtful. I appreciate it."
Ethan’s smirk softened into something more genuine. "She’s a good woman. Takes care of people. Guess I get it from her."
Mark glanced at him, something clicking into place. "Is that why you moved back to Brookings after the military?"
Ethan nodded, grabbing a paintbrush and setting it in a rinse bucket. "Yeah. My parents needed me. So, I packed up and came home." He didn’t elaborate, and Mark didn’t press.
Instead, he nodded, respecting the unspoken weight in Ethan’s words. "Takes a good man to do that," he said.
Ethan shrugged. "Family’s family."
Mark didn’t respond right away. He just walked toward the kitchen, where the scent of marinara and garlic filled the air. He opened the microwave and found a covered plate waiting for him, still warm. He pulled it out, uncovering a generous portion of spaghetti with thick, homemade sauce and a slice of golden garlic bread oozing with butter and cheese.
He grabbed a fork and, instead of heading to the dining room, sat down on the floor in the hallway, his back against the non-painted wall. Ethan raised an eyebrow at him.
"Comfort food deserves a comfortable seat," Mark said, taking a bite.
Ethan chuckled and sat across from him, watching Mark take his first spaghetti bite. Mark groaned. "This is amazing. "
Ethan smirked. "She’s got a secret ingredient. But she’ll never tell."
Mark shook his head, savoring another bite. "Whatever it is, it’s amazing. Tell her I said thank you."
"I will."
They sat like that for a few minutes—Ethan nursing a bottle of water, Mark devouring the home-cooked meal. Eventually, the conversation drifted.
"You got any hobbies outside of fixing up my house?" Mark asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Ethan grinned. "You mean besides working my ass off?"
Mark smirked. "Yeah. Besides that."
Ethan leaned back, stretching his legs out. "I like woodworking—building stuff. Always have. I play a little guitar, mostly for myself, but my mom loves it when I play for her. I enjoy horseback riding. What about you?"
Mark took a sip of water, considering. "I like old TV westerns, I enjoy cooking, I think your mom’s secret ingredient is smoked paprika and butter. I used to run a lot of triathlons. Haven’t in a while, but it’s something I want to get back into. My self-care routine is my Sauna time.
Ethan nodded. "Don’t tell Mom you figured out her secret! You look like you work out. The sauna makes sense; it’s very rugged."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Are you judging my sauna habit?"
Ethan laughed. "Not at all. But you gotta admit, the whole lawyer-by-day, fitness-junkie-by-night thing is kind of unexpected."
Mark smirked. "So now You’re calling me boring?"
Ethan shrugged playfully. "No, just… structured."
Mark chuckled, finishing the last bite of his garlic bread. "I’ll take that as a compliment."
The conversation felt easy—so easy that it caught Mark off guard. It had been years since he had sat with someone like this, just talking, with no expectations and no carefully measured words, and he liked it.
He wasn’t used to coming home and not feeling the weight of an empty house pressing down on him. But tonight, the air felt lighter, filled with the soft hum of conversation and the warmth of a meal that tasted like home.
"You know," Mark said, setting his empty plate aside, "I hope your mom didn’t go out of her way to make this for me. I don’t want to put her out."
Ethan scoffed. "Please. If my mom’s feeding you, it’s because she wants to. Trust me, you wouldn’t have gotten so much as a breadcrumb if she didn't." He grinned. "Honestly, you should be more worried—once she adopts someone into the ‘must-feed’ list, there’s no escaping. She’ll probably start sending dessert next."
Mark smirked. "I wouldn’t complain."
Ethan laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll let her know you’re open to bribes."
As Ethan stood to pack his supplies, Mark watched him, a thought lingering just out of reach.
When had his home stopped feeling like a place he wanted to be?
The silence didn’t stretch on endlessly for the first time in years. It wasn’t hollow or heavy. Instead, the quiet that settled between them felt… comfortable.
And maybe, just maybe, coming home wouldn’t feel so empty anymore.