Ethan held Amelia as though he'd been waiting a long time to do it—but still, he was careful. His arms wrapped around her with a warmth that wasn't possessive, just steady and grounding. Amelia breathed him in, her cheek resting against his chest, feeling the slow, even rhythm of his heart.
It was strange how natural it felt…
how right.
As though her body recognized a place it didn't know it needed.
She closed her eyes, letting the quiet moment stretch. Ethan's hand moved slowly, gently up her back—no pressure, just a soft, comforting stroke that soothed places she didn't realize were tense.
"Amelia," he murmured.
She hummed in response, too settled in the warmth of him to lift her head.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Better than okay."
Ethan's arms tightened a fraction—as if those words carried weight he didn't take lightly.
"I'm glad," he murmured against her hair.
A soft breeze rustled through the trees, brushing their cheeks. Ducks glided across the pond, the water shimmering beneath the morning sun. But Amelia didn't really see any of it.
She only felt him—warm, solid, gentle.
After a long while, she finally lifted her head, but slowly… almost reluctantly. Ethan loosened his arms just enough to give her space, but his hands remained on her waist, warm and steady.
Their eyes met.
And something unspoken passed between them.
Not a question.
Not a declaration.
Just understanding.
"You're warm," Amelia whispered.
Ethan smiled softly.
"So are you."
She looked down briefly at the space between them—small, barely there. Then she lifted her gaze again.
"I don't usually let people hold me," she admitted softly.
"I know," Ethan said.
"That's why I'm grateful you let me."
Her heart fluttered at that… the sincerity in his voice, the gentleness in his tone.
"I don't know what's happening to me," she whispered.
"What do you feel?" Ethan asked, brushing a soft strand of hair behind her ear.
Amelia swallowed.
"Safe," she said quietly.
"And… wanted. Close. It's strange. But… good."
Ethan's thumb brushed her cheek lightly, holding her face with the same careful touch he always had.
"That's how I want you to feel with me," he said.
"Safe. Wanted. Never rushed."
Her breath trembled.
"Ethan?"
"Yes?"
"Does this feel fast to you?"
He smiled faintly.
"It feels honest."
She blinked.
"Honest?"
"Yes," he said.
"Sometimes connection doesn't follow a timeline. Sometimes it just… happens. And you either lean into it or run from it."
Her chest tightened—not painfully, but with something full and tender.
"Are you leaning?" she whispered.
Ethan stepped closer until their foreheads touched—barely, gently.
"I've already leaned," he murmured.
"I'm falling a little, Amelia."
Her breath caught.
She didn't expect that.
Not so soon.
Not so openly.
But the strange part?
Her heart didn't panic.
It fluttered.
"What if I can't catch you?" she whispered.
Ethan smiled softly, brushing his thumb across her cheek one more time.
"You don't have to catch me," he whispered.
"Just let yourself fall with me. Slowly."
Amelia's pulse quickened—in the sweetest way. Her fingers lifted instinctively, resting lightly against his chest. She felt his heart—steady and strong beneath her touch.
She looked up at him, eyes soft and open.
"I think…" she whispered, "…I'm falling too."
Ethan inhaled sharply, his eyes closing briefly as if the words were something he'd been waiting to hear but didn't dare expect.
When he opened them again, they were warm—deep and warm and full.
"Come here," he whispered.
This time, Amelia moved first.
She stepped into him, sliding her arms around his waist. Ethan wrapped her up gently, holding her with a tenderness that made her knees weaken.
They stood there, the world quiet around them, holding each other like they were sharing something fragile and precious.
Amelia whispered into his chest:
"I'm not scared this time."
Ethan pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head—slow, hesitant, reverent.
"You don't have to be," he murmured.