A Day Out
627 Words
By late morning, the resort had settled into a lazy, sun-soaked calm.
Wedding events weren’t scheduled until evening, which meant Amelia had a rare stretch of time with nothing demanded of her—no family obligations, no forced smiles. She stood on her balcony, sunglasses perched on her nose, staring out at the water when her phone buzzed.
Ethan:
Escape for a few hours? I know a place.
She hesitated only a second before replying.
Amelia:
Is this still part of the job?
Three dots appeared.
Ethan:
Let’s call it… optional.
She smiled despite herself.
⸻
They left the resort in his car—nothing flashy, just sleek and understated. Amelia noticed how comfortable he was behind the wheel, how confidently he navigated the winding coastal road.
“You drive like you know exactly where you’re going,” she said.
“I usually do.”
She glanced at him. “That sounded loaded.”
He smiled, eyes still on the road. “Everything sounds loaded if you listen closely enough.”
The place he took her to was small and unexpected—a quiet seaside café tucked between cliffs, the kind locals guarded fiercely. The staff greeted Ethan by name, which she definitely noticed.
“You’ve been here before,” she said.
“A few times.”
“On… jobs?”
He met her gaze, something unreadable flickering there. “Not all of them.”
⸻
They sat outside, shoes kicked off, sunlight warming their skin. Conversation came easily—too easily. They talked about childhood memories, travel, music, small moments that shaped them.
Amelia found herself laughing more than she had in months.
“What?” she asked when she noticed Ethan watching her.
“You look different when you’re not performing,” he said.
“So do you.”
That caught him off guard. Just for a second—but she saw it.
“Am I that obvious?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied gently. “You hide behind control. But when you forget to—” She gestured vaguely. “You’re softer.”
He looked out at the ocean, quiet.
“People mistake softness for weakness,” he said.
“I don’t,” she replied.
Something in his expression shifted then—gratitude, maybe. Or relief.
⸻
Later, they walked along the shoreline, the waves brushing their ankles. Ethan rolled up his trousers without hesitation and offered her his hand to steady her over wet sand.
She took it.
This time, neither of them pretended it was accidental.
“You know this ends,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“And yet you’re still holding my hand.”
He tightened his grip slightly. “So are you.”
They stopped walking.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just them—the sound of the sea, the warmth of his skin, the way his gaze searched her face as if memorizing it.
She thought he might kiss her.
Instead, he leaned in just enough to rest his forehead briefly against hers.
That was worse.
⸻
On the drive back, the mood was quieter—but deeper.
When they reached the resort, Ethan turned off the engine but didn’t move.
“Amelia,” he said softly. “If this becomes more than an arrangement…”
She held her breath.
“…we need to be honest with each other.”
Her heart pounded. “About what?”
“About who we really are.”
She nodded. “Then start.”
He smiled sadly. “Not yet.”
Disappointment flared—but so did understanding.
As they stepped out of the car, Amelia realized something unsettling:
She didn’t just want the truth.
She wanted him—even the parts he was still hiding.
- Writer
