For a long moment, Amelia and Ethan stayed wrapped in each other's arms, letting the morning settle around them like a soft blanket. The world felt quieter here—slower, gentler—as though the universe itself had paused just to let them breathe.
Amelia's cheek rested against Ethan's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. She didn't want to move. She didn't want the warmth to fade. She didn't want to lose this feeling—the feeling of being held like she mattered.
When she finally loosened her arms, Ethan did the same—slowly, carefully—reluctant to let her go but respecting every boundary she set.
She stepped back just enough to look up at him.
Ethan's hair was ruffled slightly by the wind, his eyes deep and soft, his expression open in a way that made her heart flutter again and again.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
Amelia nodded, brushing her thumb across her own wrist to steady herself.
"Yes. I just… needed a moment."
Ethan's lips curved gently.
"You can have as many as you need."
She held his gaze for a second longer before turning slightly, letting her eyes drift back to the pond. The water shimmered with sunlight, ducks drifting lazily across it. It felt peaceful here. Safe.
"Ethan?" she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"Do you ever feel overwhelmed by… feelings?"
He chuckled quietly, the sound warm and low.
"Right now? Yes."
Her cheeks warmed.
"Really?"
"You have no idea," he said, stepping to stand beside her.
"But I've learned something."
"What?"
"That good things don't always show up slowly," he said softly.
"And sometimes you just have to trust what feels right."
She exhaled, feeling the truth settle inside her.
"And this feels right?" Amelia asked quietly.
Ethan glanced down at her, his voice almost a whisper.
"With you? Yes. Everything does."
Amelia's heart skipped. She looked away quickly, feeling her breath tremble.
She wasn't used to someone saying things that reached right inside her.
She wasn't used to being seen this clearly.
She wasn't used to letting someone close enough to see her softness.
But with Ethan…
she wanted to.
"Can I ask you something?" she murmured.
"Anything."
"Are we…" She hesitated. "…too close, too fast?"
Ethan turned to face her fully, his expression tender.
"No," he said gently.
"Because you're choosing each step. You're not rushing blindly. You're thinking, feeling, letting yourself open. And I'm matching your pace."
Amelia swallowed.
"You really are."
"I always will," Ethan whispered.
"You set the speed."
She felt a warm ache in her chest—not painful, just full.
"And if I want to go slow?" she asked.
"Then we'll go slow."
"And if I want… more?" she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability.
Ethan's eyes softened, deepened, warmed.
"Then I'll give you more," he said softly.
"But never more than you're ready for."
Her breath trembled.
"I think I want…" She paused, searching for the courage inside her.
"…more time. With you. Today."
Ethan's face softened with relief—quiet, genuine, tender.
"I'd love that," he murmured.
She smiled, small and shy.
"Where do we go next?"
Ethan glanced around thoughtfully, then back at her.
"Wherever you want.
Do you want someplace quiet?
Or something simple?
A walk? Lunch?
Or we can sit right here and talk."
Amelia looked at the pond again, the sunlight reflecting in soft patterns across the water.
"No," she said gently.
"I want to be with you… but not here. Somewhere away from people."
Ethan nodded.
"I know a place."
She turned to him.
"You do?"
He smiled.
"Yes. A little garden near the edge of town. Quiet. Peaceful. Hardly anyone goes there in the morning."
Amelia felt warmth bloom inside her.
"That sounds perfect," she whispered.
"Then let's go," Ethan said softly.
He offered her his hand—not pushing, not assuming, simply offering.
Amelia hesitated only a second before slipping her fingers into his.
His hand closed around hers—warm, gentle, steady.
And as they began walking away from the pond, hand in hand, Amelia felt the smallest, sweetest truth settle inside her:
She wasn't just falling.
She was choosing him.
Step by step.
Softly, but surely.