Amelia read Ethan's message again, her heart fluttering each time her eyes brushed over the words:
"Can I see you today?"
She set her phone gently on her lap, staring at it as if it might reveal more. The morning light warmed her living room, but it was nothing compared to the warmth settling deep inside her chest.
Slowly, she typed back:
I'd like that.
When would you like to meet?
She hesitated only a second before sending it.
Her breath caught.
This was new—she wasn't hiding, or second-guessing, or retreating. She was moving toward him… willingly, softly, bravely.
And that alone made her pulse quicken.
Ethan replied almost instantly.
Whenever you're comfortable.
I don't want to rush your morning.
Just tell me what works for you.
Amelia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
He was still being careful.
Still giving her control.
Still choosing her pace.
She set the phone aside for a moment, pressing her palms against her warm cheeks.
"This man," she whispered.
"He's going to ruin me."
But in the best way.
She stood and walked into her small bathroom, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was messy from sleep, her eyes still soft with emotion.
She looked… happy.
Truly, quietly, unexpectedly happy.
She brushed her fingers lightly along her jawline, remembering the way Ethan's thumb had touched her cheek hours earlier. His touch had been soft enough to unravel her and steady enough to anchor her.
She didn't know how to feel about it yet—only that she wanted more.
She washed her face, brushed her hair, and tried to calm the butterflies stirring inside her. But the more she thought about seeing Ethan, the more those butterflies multiplied, fluttering with warmth and anticipation.
Back in her room, she opened her wardrobe—then froze.
"What do I wear?" she whispered to herself.
Not because she wanted to impress him, not exactly…
but because she wanted to feel comfortable.
Beautiful.
Confident.
The thought alone sent a small thrill through her.
She picked a soft cream blouse and a pair of light jeans—simple, gentle, soft.
Something that felt like her.
She got dressed slowly, making sure she felt good in each piece.
When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, she blinked at the reflection.
"I look…"
She hesitated.
"…different."
Different in the softness on her face.
Different in the slight glow in her eyes.
Different in the quiet confidence blooming beneath her ribcage.
A buzz interrupted her thoughts.
She grabbed her phone quickly.
Ethan:
I can pick you up if you'd like. Only if that makes you comfortable.
Amelia's breath warmed.
He always offered—never pushed.
She sat on the edge of her bed and typed:
You can pick me up.
Just give me a little time.
His response was immediate.
Of course.
I'll wait outside your building.
Take all the time you need.
Her stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement.
He was really coming.
Today.
This morning.
She put on her shoes, then paused at her door, hand hovering over the handle.
Her heart beat quickly, but not fearfully.
This was… anticipation.
Hope.
Something new she wasn't used to feeling.
Finally, she stepped outside her apartment, locked the door gently behind her, and walked down the hallway—each step echoing softly, her breath steadying as she moved.
The moment she reached the building's entrance, she hesitated one last time, smoothing the front of her blouse with trembling fingers.
Then she pushed open the door.
Ethan was standing outside.
The early morning sun framed him softly, highlighting the warmth in his expression the moment he saw her.
His eyes softened—deep, slow, full.
"Amelia," he breathed, taking a small step forward.
"You look beautiful."
Her pulse skipped.
"Hi," she whispered, shy but glowing.
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck slightly, trying to steady himself.
"I hope I'm not too early."
"No," she murmured.
"You're perfect."
His breath caught—but he hid it behind a warm smile.
"Ready?" he asked, voice gentle.
Amelia nodded and stepped toward him, her heart fluttering wildly.
"Yes," she whispered.
"I'm ready."
And as Ethan opened his car door for her, his hand brushing the air near her lower back without touching, Amelia felt that quiet, unmistakable truth again—
She wanted him close.
She wanted this.
She wanted him.
And for the first time,
she wasn't afraid of that.