Chapter 21
Mark
The garage smelled like sawdust and cardboard, a mixture of past projects and today’s overwhelming task. Stacks of sealed boxes lined the walls, each one filled with Jessica’s plan. A plan that Mark had ignored for years.
But today, that was changing.
Ethan stood across from him, slicing open the first box with a pocketknife, his movements quick and efficient. He wore an old T-shirt, one of those snug, slightly faded ones that stretched over his compact muscular frame. His arms, tanned and strong, flexed as he pulled out a heavy bronze lamp. He examined it, flipping through his makeshift binder before labeling it with a small sticky note.
“Family room,” he said, setting it aside. “She mentioned wanting a warm lighting theme in there with these. They’ll fit perfectly.”
Mark exhaled, shaking his head as he opened his own box. “I still can’t believe you made a whole binder for this.”
Ethan grinned, tapping the thick stack of notes. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep your late wife’s genius organized. Jessica was an artist, man. This house? It’s basically her masterpiece. I’m just the guy putting the final brushstrokes on it.”
Mark paused, his hands resting on the edge of a box. The last month had been a whirlwind—slowly, room by room, Ethan had been bringing Jessica’s vision to life. Where Mark had once seen unfinished projects, now he saw her again.
And damn it, Ethan had done that for him.
He swallowed hard, nodding as he pulled out a set of carefully wrapped frames. “Guest bathroom,” Ethan said before Mark could even check.
Mark arched a brow. “You got the whole house mapped out in your head now?”
Ethan smirked. “Pretty much. Jessica was thorough. Or as I call it, organized chaos, but I get her system. I think we would’ve gotten along.”
Mark let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah… she would’ve loved you.”
They worked through more boxes, the garage steadily emptying as they moved pieces inside, setting them in the spare bedroom Ethan had cleared for staging. The more they unpacked, the lighter Mark felt. This wasn’t just about putting things in their places, it was about honoring her, about finishing something she had poured herself into.
Somewhere between unwrapping decorative sconces and pulling out a handcrafted wooden tray, Mark found himself watching Ethan. Really watching him. The way his face lit up when he made connections between Jessica’s sketches and the items they unboxed. The ease in which he moved—strong, graceful, utterly confident. The way his damp shirt clung to his back where he’d started to sweat, how the curve of his biceps flexed under the weight of another box.
Mark inhaled sharply and looked away.
What the hell was that?
He bent down, pretending to focus on another box, but his pulse had kicked up a notch. His entire life, he had never once looked at a man this way. Never once felt something stir.
But Ethan wasn’t just any man.
Mark clenched his jaw, trying to shake the thought.
Ethan grinned as he lifted another package. “Man, Jessica really did think of everything.”
Mark exhaled, forcing himself to focus. “She did.”
“She was amazing.”
“She was.”
Ethan glanced at him, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”
Mark nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Me too.”
They kept unpacking, but Mark couldn’t ignore the way his thoughts felt… different today. He had spent so long numb, locked inside his grief, his routines. But with Ethan in his garage, helping him breathe life back into this house, his house. It wasn’t just about finishing Jessica’s dreams anymore.
It was about starting something new .
And that terrified him.
As Ethan packed up the last bit of packaging and dusted his hands off, he grinned at Mark. “Alright, boss. That’s enough heavy lifting for now. Time to kick back and watch the Ducks destroy the Hoosiers.”
Mark nodded, willing his thoughts back to normal. Back to safe ground.
But as they walked inside, one truth lingered in his mind.
Jessica would have loved Ethan.
And Mark… Mark was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe , he was beginning to love having him around too.
Mark wiped his hands in a rag as they stepped inside from the garage, the scent of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables filling the air. It was a rare sight, him actually preparing a full meal rather than just throwing snacks together for a game..
Ethan inhaled deeply, closing his eyes like he was savoring the smell. “You gotta stop spoiling me with your food dude, It smells fucking amazing in here.”
He replied, “Yeah, I wanted to thank you for helping me today, so I thought I would make a simple pasta chicken dish with lots of carbs for you.”
Ethan chuckled, then glanced toward the dining room with a flicker of something like excitement. “Can we eat in there?”
Mark raised a brow. “The dining room?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah. It’s my favorite room in the house.”
That was unexpected. Most people who visited his home barely gave the dining room more than a passing glance. Jessica had poured so much of herself into its design—elegance blended with warmth, the hues of a Mediterranean sunset painted across the ceiling, the classical Greek statues inset into the walls.
But Ethan… Ethan had noticed it.
Mark nodded slowly. “Yeah. Let’s eat in there.”
He carried the plates while Ethan grabbed silverware and napkins. They set everything down on the polished wooden table, the overhead chandelier casting a soft glow against the rich tones of the room.
Ethan ran a hand over the back of one of the carved chairs, taking in the space with open admiration. “I swear, I feel like I’ve been transported to another country every time I step in here.”
Mark sat, watching as Ethan did the same. “Jessica wanted this room to remind her of our honeymoon in Italy.”
Ethan’s face softened. “She had incredible taste.”
Mark smiled, something warm settling in his chest. “Yeah… she did.”
They began eating, the clink of silverware against the plates filling the space. Mark glanced up at Ethan, who was taking in the room like it was a museum. His friend’s easygoing presence made the space feel alive again, not like the shrine it had become in his mind.
“This is great,” Ethan said between bites. “There is nothing about this dish that it simple, man, you nailed it.”
Mark laughed, “Thanks. Maybe I’ll make you cook next time.”
“Deal,” Ethan said with a grin, raising his glass in mock salute. “But only if we eat here again. This room deserves it, and only if it’s eggs. That’s all I know how to cook.”
Mark nodded, the weight of the past lifting just slightly. For the first time in years, the dining room felt warm again, like it had when Jessica had filled it with laughter and life. And now, with Ethan’s understanding presence, it wasn’t as hard to sit there. Not anymore.
The dining room glowed in the soft light of the chandelier, the sunset hued on the raised ceiling casting a warm, almost ethereal ambiance. Ethan let out a low whistle as he raised his fork, his eyes traveling across the intricately painted walls and the inset shelves housing the two statues.
“This room,” Ethan said, leaning back to take it all in. “It’s… something else. I mean, it feels like I should be eating lasagna and sipping Chianti while debating Renaissance art or something.”
Mark chuckled, shaking his head as he sat across from Ethan. “Jessica would’ve loved that comment. She’d tell you that was exactly the point.”
Ethan smiled, glancing toward the shelves. “Okay, I must ask. The statues, David and Venus. They’re amazing, but why those two? They seem important.”
Mark’s gaze softened as he followed Ethan’s line of sight to the marble figures. “They are,” he said quietly, though his tone carried a warmth rather than sadness. “This room… it’s a piece of our honeymoon. Jessica wanted a reminder of Florence, of the trip that meant everything to us.”
“You went to Florence?” Ethan asked, his curiosity was genuine. “No wonder she wanted to bring some of it back. I mean, this place… it feels alive.”
Mark nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “We spent hours in museums, exploring everything Florence had to offer. She was captivated by David, and I couldn’t pull her away from Venus. She loved to tell this story she made up about them.”
Ethan raised a brow, leaning forward. “What was the story?”
“That they were lovers,” Mark said, his voice taking on a wistful cadence. “But the world kept them apart. David was strong and bound to his duty, and Venus was love incarnate, destined to inspire but never to be free. Jessica swore they were meant to be together, but fate had other plans.”
Ethan glanced at the plaque between the statues. “That sounds amazing, she found love stories where no one else would.”
Mark’s smile widened, and for a moment, the grief that usually shadowed his eyes seemed to fade. “She wrote a poem about it. I had it engraved after we got back. Do you want to hear it?”
Ethan nodded. his gaze fixed on the plaque. “Yeah. Read it to me, the print is too small to see from here.”
Mark shook his head lightly. “I don’t need to. I know it by heart.” He cleared his throat, his voice steady but soft as he began:
“In love's embrace, no barriers confine,
Our hearts entwined, a dance divine.
Unyielding passion, fearless and free,
Love’s endless light, a gift to thee.”
Ethan’s strained his eyes and followed the engraved words as Mark spoke to them, his voice carrying the weight of memory but also their love. When Mark finished, Ethan leaned back, his gaze meeting Mark’s.
“Amazing,” Ethan said. “That poem… it’s beautiful. She really believed in love, didn’t she?”
Mark nodded, the faintest crack in his carefully constructed armor. “She did. She believed it could transcend anything. She believed that when two people fall in love, they should embrace it with their entire being.”
Ethan smiled, raising his glass. “Here’s to Jessica, then. And to love that knows no barriers.”
Mark hesitated for only a moment before clinking his glass against Ethan’s. “To Jessica,” he said, his voice steady, the warmth in his tone a crack in the wall of his grief, a small but meaningful step toward hope.
As they began to eat, the dining room felt fuller, not just with their presence but with Jessica’s enduring spirit, woven into the very walls, the statues, and the stories she left behind.
As Mark set his glass down, a quiet settled between them, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken. He hadn’t recited that poem aloud in years. Not since Jessica. The words had always felt like a eulogy, a whisper of something lost.
But tonight, they felt… different.
Ethan’s gaze lingered on him, something thoughtful in the way he watched him—like he was studying him, seeing past the polished exterior to the rawness beneath. It made Mark’s chest tighten, not in grief, but in something else. Something unfamiliar.
And that unsettled him.
Jessica had believed in love, had believed in embracing it fully. But what if the kind of love she spoke of, the kind that defied barriers and expectations, wasn’t bound by the limits he had always assumed?
The thought crept in, unbidden, unwanted.
Ethan leaned back, casual as ever, completely unaware of the quiet storm unraveling in Mark’s mind. “You ever think about going back?”
Mark blinked. “To Florence?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah. Seems like a place that meant a lot to you.”
Mark exhaled, running his fingers along the rim of his glass. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I always told myself it wouldn’t feel the same.”
Ethan tilted his head. “Maybe not. But maybe it’s not supposed to.”
And just like that, Ethan cracked something open in him.
Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “You say things sometimes…”
Ethan smirked. “Yeah? Like what?”
Mark hesitated, then shook his head again, softer this time. “Like you actually make sense.”
Ethan laughed, raising his glass again. “Well, don’t get used to it. I have my moments, but they’re rare.”
Mark clinked his glass against Ethan’s once more, but this time, as they drank, the warmth in his chest wasn’t just for Jessica’s memory.
It was for the unexpected company.
For the way the house didn’t feel so empty today.
For the fact that, he was wondering—not just about the past, but about what came next.