CHAPTER 13: EVENINGS LIKE THIS
718 Words
Ethan hadn’t planned for the evening to stretch this long.
What began as a simple outing something light, something harmless slowly unfolded into something softer, warmer, and far more consuming than he had expected. The city lights glowed gently through the tall glass windows of the restaurant, casting golden reflections across polished tables and crystal glasses.
She sat across from him, relaxed, poised, her fingers wrapped loosely around the stem of her wine glass.
“You seem quieter than usual,” she said, her voice calm, almost teasing.
Ethan smiled faintly. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Life. Work. How fast everything moves.”
She laughed softly. “That sounds like the answer of someone who doesn’t want to say too much.”
“Or someone who says too much for a living,” he replied, lifting his glass.
She met his gesture, their glasses clinking lightly. “Fair enough.”
For a moment, they simply sat there watching the room, the subtle movements of waiters, the murmur of other conversations. There was no rush. No pressure. Just the quiet ease of two people sharing space comfortably.
“I’m glad you came,” she said suddenly.
“So am I,” Ethan replied honestly.
She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t say that easily.”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”
The waiter arrived with their meals carefully plated, steaming softly. Ethan barely noticed the food at first. His attention lingered elsewhere.
“So,” she began casually, picking up her fork, “are you always this serious?”
He chuckled. “Only when I’m pretending not to be.”She smiled at that. “I like that answer.”
They ate slowly, exchanging stories that stayed safely on the surface. Work frustrations, funny encounters, small observations about the city, the food, the weather. Nothing revealing. Nothing dangerous. And yet, everything felt charged.
“You have this way of listening,” she said after a while. “Most people wait for their turn to talk.”
Ethan leaned back slightly. “I’ve learned that silence tells you more than words.”
“Is that something you learned from experience?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
She didn’t push. Instead, she studied him for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. “You look like someone who carries a lot quietly.”
He met her eyes, surprised by the accuracy of that statement. “And you look like someone who notices things most people ignore.”
She smiled, pleased. “Touché.”
Their conversation flowed easily after that. Light laughter, shared jokes, comfortable pauses that didn’t feel awkward. She teased him about how neatly he folded his napkin. He joked about how she pushed her food around before deciding what to eat first.
At some point, she reached for her glass at the same time he did, their fingers brushing briefly.
Neither pulled away immediately.
She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Careful.”
He smiled slowly. “I am.”
When dessert arrived, they shared it without discussion, leaning slightly closer as if the table had grown smaller.
“You know,” she said softly, “it’s rare to have a night like this. No expectations. No labels. Just ease.”
Ethan nodded. “That’s probably why it feels dangerous.”
She laughed under her breath. “You always speak like that?”
“Only when I’m being honest.”
Her smile faded into something gentler. “Honesty suits you.”
They left the restaurant later than planned. Outside, the air was cool, the streetlights glowing faintly. For a moment, they stood beside each other in silence.
“Well,” she said, breaking it gently, “this was nice.”
“It was,” Ethan agreed. “More than nice.”
She studied him again, as if deciding something. “I hope you’re not the kind of man who disappears after moments like this.”
He met her gaze steadily. “I don’t disappear.”
A pause. Then she smiled, slow, knowing. “Good.”
They didn’t hug. Didn’t touch. Didn’t promise anything.
And yet, as Ethan walked away, one thought echoed quietly in his mind:
This was not as harmless as I told myself.
He didn’t look back.
- Writer
