Chapter 11
Adrian
The house is still busy with activity. Felix plays with toys, Jasper and Atlas are glued to their games, Hazel and Sophia stay in the living room. Amelia’s mom remains curled up on the recliner, eyes fluttering closed every few seconds like she’s fighting a losing battle with exhaustion.
The pie’s long gone, just a few slices left. Everyone had seconds, and I can see why. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. Now I understand the hype about them.
Keith’s off in a corner, talking to one of Amelia’s brothers about fixing something. And then there’s Amelia.
She’s cleaning up. Alone.
I watch her as she moves through the kitchen, her shoulders slightly tense, her hands working efficiently. There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not that she looks upset… She just looks like someone who must always do things on her own. And I know what that’s like.
Without saying a word, I rise and grab a stack of plates. The big table is still a mess from dinner, and if she’s planning on tackling that solo, it’ll take all night.
I carry the plates into the kitchen, moving loudly, but she still doesn’t notice me. She’s standing at the sink, rinsing off dishes, completely focused.
Then she turns.
We’re toe to toe.
She gasps. “Oh, my God! You scared me.”
I shift the plates in my hands, holding them up slightly. “Didn’t mean to.” Our eyes lock, and for a second, neither of us say anything.
I clear my throat. “I just… didn’t want you to clean up alone. You’ve done enough today, and I bet you’re exhausted.”
She gives a small shrug, like she’s trying to downplay it. “I mean, I get some help. It’s not too bad.”
But I can see the truth: she does this more often than she should. What must it be like to take care of this many people, to have so many people rely on you? I’ve only ever had to take care of Dad and now myself.
“It’ll be quicker if we do it together.”
She hesitates, but then nods and takes the plates from my hands. As our fingers brush, I feel it… a weird little thump in my chest. Her eyes widen slightly, and I know she felt it too. The air between us crackles with unspoken words.
“You’re staring, Dr. Pierce.”
I turn away, pretending it didn’t happen, and grab more plates.
We fall into a rhythm. Stacking dishes, wiping counters, moving around each other like we’ve done this before. It’s quiet, but not awkward. Not really. Just... different. I’d dare say it was comfortable.
Her shoulder brushes mine as we both reach for the same cloth, and neither of us pulls away immediately. But I find myself whispering, “Sorry, I keep getting in your way.”
She smiles but doesn’t say anything, just resumes cleaning up.
Once the dishwasher is loaded and the kitchen is mostly back in order, I lean against the counter, glancing over at her.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, sleeves still rolled up, hands damp from the sink.
Something strange swirls in the air between us, like there’s more to say, but neither of us knows how to say it. She didn’t have to bring that pie, or clean up, and make being around her this easy.
I spot one last plate and pick it up, bringing it over to her. When she reaches for it, I don’t let go right away, so we’re both holding it. She looks up, but doesn’t step back for a second. Her eyes brim with something soft that wasn’t there before.
“Amelia.” Felix, the youngest kid, runs into the kitchen, clutching his stomach. “Mom said I can’t have any more pie, but I just want a little more.”
Amelia jumps, startled, and the plate slips from my hands, shattering against the floor.
“Shit,” she mutters.
“It’s my fault. I’ve got it.” I crouch to start picking up the larger pieces, but she shakes her head.
“No, you’re the guest. Let me do it.” She glances at the kid. “Go grab me the dustpan.”
He gives up asking for pie and takes off before she can even finish her sentence. He’s back, and Amelia makes quick work of cleaning up the mess while I grab the bigger shards.
“You really don’t have to help,” she says, glancing up at me from under her dark lashes.
“I don’t mind.”
I stand, throwing the pieces in the trash, pausing for a second to admire her. My mouth moving on its own, I blurt, “Are you free tomorrow?”
She looks at me, rising. Her eyes do that thing again, making me lose my train of thought for a second. And it makes me wonder what it would be like to trace along her jawline with my thumb.
“For the fundraiser,” she says, like she’s reminding herself.
“Right. Yeah.” I nod, shocked I said that. What was I expecting her to say? What was the plan if she didn’t have a rational thought as to why we should spend time together... I refocus. “We need to start planning.”
She empties the dustpan and wipes her hands on a towel. “Where would be a good spot?”
I run a hand through my hair, thinking. “Well, you know what? I don’t think I’ve seen all of Pulse Point yet.”
Her lips twitch. “Have you seen the bridge? The spot that’s the reason why it’s called Pulse Point?”
“No,” I say, my curiosity piqued.
“There’s a nice spot there. We could brainstorm in peace.”
My pulse kicks up a little. Not because of the bridge, but because we’ll be alone.
“Sounds good.” But I’m wondering if we’re just talking about brainstorming.
“What time works for you?” she asks. “I know you probably have plans—”
I shake my head, holding her eyes firmly. “No, I don’t.”
She smiles. “Ten?”
“Ten works.” I pause and try to sound casual. “I’ll bring coffee. What do you drink?”
“Oh, just whatever’s easiest for you to grab.”
“Come on, surely, you have a favorite.”
“Okay... fine. Iced honey latte with white chocolate cold foam with a little drizzle of caramel.”
“Consider it done.”
We share a small smile before I step back, turning toward the living room where Keith is.
“You ready to go?” I ask him.
“Sure am.”
We say our goodbyes and head out, and as I step outside, I can’t stop thinking about Amelia. About this house, this family, this whole night. It’s taken me by surprise how much I didn’t mind the noise and chaos when I’m so used to the quiet and solitude.
Mostly, how much she does for everyone else.