Amelia stayed in Ethan's arms longer than she intended—
not because she was afraid to move,
but because being held like this felt softer, safer,
and more real than anything she'd known in years.
Ethan barely breathed.
Not because he was tense—
but because he didn't want to break the moment.
His arms wrapped around her with the kind of gentleness that didn't ask for anything in return. He held her like she was precious—delicate but strong, someone to be cherished, not controlled.
After a while, Amelia eased back just enough to look up at him.
Ethan loosened his hold immediately—letting her choose the distance—
but she didn't step far.
Their faces were close.
Close enough that she could see the soft flecks of color in his eyes,
close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
"I didn't expect to like that so much," she confessed quietly.
Ethan smiled softly.
"I hoped you would. But I was ready if you didn't."
Amelia's chest warmed in a slow, gentle wave.
"How did you know how tight to hold me?" she asked.
"I paid attention," he said simply.
"To the way you breathe. The way your shoulders relax.
You tell me everything without saying a word."
Her breath hitched with emotion.
"People don't usually pay attention like that," she murmured.
"Then they didn't deserve you," he said softly.
Amelia looked away shyly, her fingers brushing the edge of his shirt before she stepped back fully—only a small step, but enough to gather herself.
Ethan let her go without a flicker of disappointment.
That alone made her trust him more.
"I should… get back to work," she said softly, though her voice held no real urgency.
"I'll stay out of your way," Ethan replied gently.
"You're not in my way," she corrected without thinking.
He froze for half a second, surprised, and her cheeks flushed as she realized what she'd said.
"I mean," she stammered, "you're… it's nice. Having you here."
A slow, warm smile spread across his face.
"I feel the same."
He took the stool again, giving her space but staying close enough that she could sense him. Amelia returned to arranging the bouquet, but her hands trembled slightly—
not from fear,
but from the tender warmth lingering from his embrace.
She tried to steady herself by focusing on the petals, the stems, the tiny details she'd memorized over years of practice. But Ethan's presence, the memory of his warmth, the way he'd held her—it all hovered around her like a soft cloud.
"Amelia," Ethan said softly after a moment.
"Yes?"
"You're shaking."
She paused, looking at her hands.
She hadn't even noticed.
"I'm okay," she whispered.
Ethan stood immediately, not rushing but intentional, and walked around the counter to stand beside her.
"Talk to me," he murmured.
"I just… feel a lot," she admitted quietly.
"That's alright," he said.
"Feeling a lot isn't the same as being overwhelmed."
She swallowed.
"It's not bad. It's just new."
"Let it be new," Ethan said gently.
"You don't have to push yourself to understand everything at once."
Amelia's fingers loosened around the stem she'd been holding.
"What if I mess this up?" she whispered.
"You won't," Ethan said.
"And even if you stumble, I'll be right here."
She looked at him, struck by the sincerity in his voice.
"You mean that?"
"Every word."
Amelia took a breath, then did something brave—
something small, but brave all the same.
She reached out and gently took his hand again.
Not because she needed grounding,
but because she wanted connection.
Ethan inhaled sharply—
soft, surprised, touched.
"Amelia…" he whispered.
Her voice trembled.
"This feels right."
He squeezed her hand lightly, reverently.
"It feels right to me too."
She looked up at him with a soft, glowing certainty.
"Will you stay a little longer?" she asked.
Ethan's answer was immediate and warm.
"As long as you want."
She smiled—small, real, full of something quietly blooming.
"Then stay," she whispered.
So he stayed.
Ethan didn't hover, didn't pressure, didn't try to take more than what she offered. He simply existed beside her—warm, steady, endlessly patient—while she arranged flowers with hands that no longer trembled.
And every time their eyes met,
every time their fingers brushed,
every time Amelia allowed herself to lean just a little closer,
the quiet space between them filled with something tender, slow, and inevitable.
Something that felt like the beginning of love.