The storm between them
842 Words
“Do you still have feelings for me, Ivy?”
The question hit harder than the knife she’d just dropped. It clattered onto the tiled floor, the metallic ring echoing louder than it should have. But neither of them moved to pick it up.
The kitchen felt smaller, tighter somehow. Ivy kept her eyes glued to the chopping board, even though her hands had stilled. The onions sat half-cut, their sharp scent rising between them like a barrier, stinging her eyes more than usual.
“You shouldn’t ask me that,” she said, voice quieter than the bubbling pot on the stove.
“But I did,” Jace replied, his voice low and unreadable. He stepped around the kitchen island.
She still didn’t look up.
He stepped closer.
Her thoughts spun with a desperate rhythm. Why is he asking me this now? What made him even think of it? Did he see something—feel something? Could he know…?
Her heart pounded harder with every step he took. She had trained herself to hide it well—months of pretending, rehearsing how not to look at him too long, how to laugh casually, how to never linger. But now, the air between them was laced with something electric, something she'd fought so long to smother.
“Why now?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay calm, though her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. “Why bring this up? We’ve both moved on. You’re with Myla, remember?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
The silence was thick—too thick.
Then she felt it. The nearness of him. The warmth of his body standing far too close. Too close for a conversation that should never have started.
Her breath caught.
“I need to hear it from you,” he said. “Say it. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything anymore.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter. She held it like an anchor. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” he murmured, his voice sounding rawer than before. “Nothing about this has ever been fair.”
His eyes drifted down to the silver necklace on her neck, the one she hadn’t removed in years. Slowly, his hand reached out to touch it. His fingers brushed the delicate charm like it was something sacred—something fragile.
“You still wear this,” he said, voice lower now, almost a whisper. “Why?”
Her breath hitched. That necklace had once meant innocence, friendship, safety. Before any of this—before the lines blurred and her chest started aching at the sight of him with someone else. Before she had to bury feelings alive inside her.
She said nothing. She couldn’t.
“Look at me, Ivy.”
Her throat tightened.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she did.
His hand was still on the necklace, the charm resting gently between his fingers. His eyes searched hers—intense, unwavering, full of questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
“Tell me,” he said again, softer this time. “That you don’t feel anything for me.”
Her lips parted. Her heart thundered against her ribs. She told herself to lie, to say the words and end it.
Say it. Just say the lie.
But nothing came out.
The seconds stretched.
Something flickered in Jace’s eyes. Not satisfaction, not hope—but something raw. A piece of him exposed that she had never seen in public, never in this way.
The kitchen was too warm, the air thick with tension and unsaid truths.
For one suspended moment, it felt like the world had tilted. Like everything had been undone by this closeness. Like if he moved even an inch forward, she wouldn’t stop him.
And he would move.
She could feel it in the way his eyes flicked to her lips, in the way his breath slowed. The distance between them was nothing now. Barely air.
A knock on the front door split the moment in two.
They both flinched.
The necklace slipped from his fingers, falling softly back to her chest.
Ivy stumbled a half-step back, heart hammering, face flushed. Her back hit the edge of the counter and grounded her, barely.
Jace inhaled deeply, face turned away. “I’ll get it,” he muttered.
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t watch him leave.
Couldn’t.
The scent of onions hung in the air, too sharp now. She blinked fast, unsure whether it was the sting of the vegetable or the sting of regret.
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. The kind of warning roll that says a storm is coming—not here yet, but close. Close enough to make the windows tremble.
Ivy stood alone in the kitchen, hand resting lightly over her necklace. Her skin still remembered the weight of his touch.
Whatever they were pretending was over, it wasn’t working anymore. And that scared her more than anything.
Because something had shifted.
And whatever came next—they weren’t ready.
- Writer
