The rain softened into a hush outside, turning the world into a quiet watercolor of blurred streetlights and silver shadows. Inside the shop, Amelia and Ethan remained close—hands still gently connected, hearts beating in quiet, steady rhythm.
Amelia felt calmer than she had in months.
Not because everything made sense,
but because standing near Ethan didn't require her to pretend.
She rested her free hand on the counter, grounding herself while Ethan stood close enough that their arms touched lightly.
"Can I ask you something?" Amelia murmured without lifting her head.
Ethan tilted toward her just a little.
"You can ask me anything."
She hesitated, voice trembling with honesty.
"Does being close to me ever… overwhelm you?"
Ethan's expression softened instantly.
"No," he said gently.
"But it does affect me."
She glanced up, uncertain.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good," he whispered.
"Very good."
Her breath shivered.
"How?"
Ethan's voice lowered, warm and steady.
"When you reach for me…
when you lean on me…
when you choose to stay close…
it makes me feel trusted. It makes me feel like you're letting me be part of your world."
Amelia swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around his hand.
"I'm still afraid of getting too close," she admitted.
"Then we'll take it slow," Ethan said softly.
"As slow as you need."
She took a breath, steadying her voice.
"You're always so sure."
His thumb brushed her knuckles.
"I'm sure about you," he said.
"That's the only part that feels clear."
Amelia looked up at him, eyes softening with something deep.
"Ethan…"
He hummed softly in response, waiting.
"I want to ask something else," she whispered.
"Go on," he encouraged gently.
"Could you… stay with me a little after I close the shop?
Not here.
Just… walk with me.
Sit with me.
Something… simple."
Ethan's breath caught—subtle, but full of emotion.
"Yes," he murmured immediately.
"I'd love that."
She smiled—small, shy, but real.
It lit his expression with quiet awe.
"We can stop by to get tea," Amelia said softly.
"There's a little shop near my building."
Ethan nodded.
"I know the place. Their chamomile is good."
She blinked, surprised.
"You drink chamomile?"
His cheeks warmed slightly.
"It relaxes me."
Amelia smiled at that—
a genuine, warm curve of her lips that reached her eyes.
"I didn't know that about you," she said.
Ethan's voice gentled even further.
"You'll learn more.
If you want to."
Her heart tightened in the way that comes before something beautiful.
"I do," she whispered.
Ethan released a slow breath, like he'd been holding it for a long time.
"Then I'll let you know everything you want to understand," he murmured.
The moment stretched—quiet, warm, soft.
Amelia let her fingers drift slightly across the back of his hand—
not a nervous touch,
but an intentional one.
"I think you already calm me," she said quietly.
"Maybe more than tea can."
Ethan's eyes softened, deeply moved.
"I feel the same," he whispered.
Silence settled again, comfortable and intimate.
After a moment, Amelia gently pulled her hand from his—not out of fear, but to reach for something behind the counter. She came back holding a small dark-green umbrella.
"For later," she said softly.
"So you don't get soaked walking with me."
Ethan took the umbrella from her, a smile touching his lips in a slow, warm curve.
"You think of everything," he said.
Amelia shook her head lightly.
"I'm learning to think of you."
Ethan stilled—completely.
Amelia didn't notice the effect her words had on him.
Or maybe she did—
because she stepped closer, looking up at him with gentle certainty.
"I'll close in ten minutes," she whispered.
"Stay with me?"
Ethan answered without hesitation, his voice full and quiet.
"Yes, Amelia.
I'll stay."