Chapter 69
Claire
By the time Ethan cooked dinner, I already knew something was different.
It was not the food itself, though that was new enough. He had become capable in the kitchen but rarely did he get to show it. Tonight, there was intention in the way he did everything.
He chopped vegetables with careful focus, checked the oven twice, and kept adjusting the music like he couldn’t decide what kind of mood he was aiming for.
Lily had been deposited at Emma and Bill’s for the night, which already made this feel suspiciously like a date-date instead of our usual comfortable evenings.
I watched him from the doorway, arms folded, amused.
“You know,” I said, “I don’t require this level of effort to impress.”
He smiled over his shoulder. “Too bad. I’ve already committed.”
Dinner turned out surprisingly good. We sat at my small table, knees brushing, candles lit because Ethan had decided that was “a nice touch,” even though one of them was definitely leaning. I was halfway through my second bite when he cleared his throat.
Okay. There it was.
“So,” he said, setting his fork down carefully. “I need to tell you something.”
I smiled. “That sentence never leads anywhere good.”
“I found a house,” he said. “Not far from here.”
I blinked. “A house?”
“Before you say anything,” he rushed on, holding up a hand, “I know it’s fast, and I know I’ve been back at my parents’ place longer than planned, but I can’t live there forever. And Lily, she needs something steady. Something that’s hers. Ours.”
I stayed quiet, letting him talk.
“And,” he added, softer now, “I want privacy. For us. And… structure. For her.” He hesitated, then met my eyes. “And because Dr. Nora said that consistency matters. That if I say I’m staying, I should live like it.”
Something warm settled in my chest.
“I want you to believe me,” he said. “That I’m not leaving again.”
I swallowed.
The truth was, I needed to believe it too.
My house suddenly felt very small around us. Too expensive. Too quiet. Too full of all the math I’d been doing late at night, trying to make my teacher’s salary stretch in ways it didn’t want to.
I had already begun looking for something smaller. Cheaper. Something temporary.
I had not told Ethan yet.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I said slowly, “I might have to move anyway. This place is… not sustainable. Not on one income.”
His brow furrowed. “You’re looking for somewhere else?”
“I’ve been trying,” I admitted. “But everything cheaper is either too far or falling apart.”
He nodded, absorbing that. Then he took a breath, like he was stepping off something high.
“Then maybe,” he said carefully, “you could stay with us.”
I stared at him.
“Only if you want to,” he added quickly. “Only if you trust me. And if you don’t or if you need time, I understand. We can go as slow as you want.”
I reached across the table and shushed him with my fingers.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Because you want me there,” I pressed. “Or because you feel like you should help?”
His answer came immediately. “Because I want you there.”
I searched his face, then smiled.
“Stay,” he said quietly. “With us. With Lily. With me.”
“I already am,” I said.
The relief that washed over his face made my chest ache. He leaned across the table and kissed me, slow and careful, like he was savoring it. Like this mattered.
It did.
Later, when we were curled together on the couch, the house quiet and soft around us, I shifted closer. We’d been careful these past months. Intentional. He never pushed. Never assumed. Sometimes I wondered if he was holding himself back for my sake.
This time, I kissed him with no hesitation.
His body stilled. “Claire,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at me. “We don’t have to.”
“I know,” I said, pressing a finger to his mouth. “I want to.”
He searched my face, still cautious, still gentle. “Are you sure?”
I smiled. “Very.”
That did it.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, trust blooming between us instead of fear. When I shifted us so I was the one leading, he laughed softly into my mouth, the sound warm and amazed.
“Okay,” he said, surrendering easily. “I’m yours.”
I tucked my forehead against his, smiling.
“I know,” I said. “You’ve been for a while.”
I took his hand and led him to the living room, the same space that had once held so much ache. I sat down and looked up at him, seeing not the boy I had loved but the man who had grown into himself piece by piece.
He smiled, a little crooked. “Your wish is my command.”
What followed was not frantic or desperate. It was slow. Reverent. Full of pauses and permission. He moved with a gentleness that made my chest ache, like he was honoring something sacred between us.
When I closed my eyes, I did not feel like I was losing control.
I felt like I was choosing.
And that made all the difference.