The cabin felt different after the town gathering.
Not heavier.
Just… aware.
Bella noticed it the moment they stepped inside—how the air seemed to hold onto the echoes of the evening, how the warmth from the fire no longer felt accidental but shared. Lily kicked off her boots and immediately curled up on the couch, humming to herself as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
Ethan hung their coats by the door, slower than usual. Thoughtful.
"Hot chocolate?" Bella asked, needing something normal to anchor herself.
"That'd be good," he replied.
She moved around the kitchen, muscle memory taking over. She'd been here long enough now that she knew where everything was. The mugs. The cocoa tin. The way the stove took a second longer to heat on the left burner.
Ethan watched her from the doorway, arms folded—not guarded, but uncertain, as if he were seeing a future he hadn't planned for and wasn't sure he was allowed to want.
Lily yawned loudly. "I'm sleepy."
Ethan smiled. "Go on, peanut. I'll be there in a minute."
She shuffled toward her room, then paused and looked back at Bella. "You're staying tomorrow, right?"
Bella's chest tightened.
"I… don't know yet," she said honestly.
Lily nodded, considering that. "Okay. Just don't leave without saying goodbye."
"I won't," Bella promised.
When Lily disappeared down the hall, the cabin fell quiet again—just the fire and the wind brushing softly against the walls.
Bella set two mugs on the table. "I hope it wasn't awkward tonight."
Ethan shook his head. "It was… fine. Lily tends to say exactly what she thinks."
"I noticed," Bella said with a small smile. Then, more softly, "I didn't mind."
He studied her for a long moment. "I did."
She looked up. "Why?"
"Because it made things real," he said simply.
The words landed gently but firmly between them.
Bella wrapped her hands around her mug. "Real isn't always bad."
"No," he agreed. "But it's not always safe."
She considered that. "Is that why you keep things… careful?"
Ethan's gaze dropped to the floor. "I learned the hard way that wanting something doesn't mean you get to keep it."
Bella didn't rush him. She waited. Let the silence do its work.
"My wife left two years ago," he said quietly. "She didn't want this life. The town. The routine. Being needed all the time." His jaw tightened. "She said she felt invisible."
Bella's heart ached. "That must've been hard."
"It was worse watching Lily try to understand why her mother didn't come back." He swallowed. "I promised myself I wouldn't bring confusion into her life again."
Bella stepped closer—not touching, but present. "You're protecting her."
"Yes." His voice wavered, just slightly. "And myself."
She nodded. "I get that. I came here because I didn't trust my own judgment anymore. I stayed because… I felt safe."
Ethan looked at her then, something raw and honest in his eyes. "I don't want to be another mistake."
"You're not," she said immediately. Then she softened. "But I don't know what we are yet, either."
The truth sat between them—fragile but shared.
Ethan exhaled. "I don't regret you being here."
Bella's breath caught. "Neither do I."
A log shifted in the fireplace, sparks lifting briefly before settling again. The warmth wrapped around them, close and intimate without crossing a line.
Ethan reached for the cocoa pot to refill his mug, and Bella noticed the slight wince he tried to hide as he lifted it.
"Your shoulder," she said. "It's bothering you."
"It's fine."
"Ethan."
He sighed, defeated. "It acts up in the cold. Old accident."
She hesitated only a second before saying, "I know some stretches that help. If you want."
He looked uncertain, then nodded. "Okay."
They sat on opposite ends of the couch, careful. Bella guided him through slow movements, her voice calm, steady. At one point, she adjusted his posture, her hand briefly resting on his arm.
The contact was brief—but meaningful.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, then added quietly, "Thank you."
She smiled. "Anytime."
When the clock ticked past ten, Bella stood. "I should turn in."
Ethan nodded. "Goodnight, Bella."
She paused at the doorway. "Goodnight, Ethan."
As she closed her door, Bella leaned against it, heart racing—not with urgency, but with something deeper. Something patient.
In his room, Ethan lay awake staring at the ceiling.
He hadn't crossed any lines.
He hadn't made any promises.
But for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone with his thoughts.
And that scared him…
almost as much as it comforted him.