unspoken

Chapter 5: Moments We Can't Name

After that first quiet ride and shy walk to my door, our dynamic slowly shifted.

Wedding planning tasks became excuses to see each other more often. Each time we worked side by side, there was an unspoken awareness of the other — a glance that lingered too long, a brush of hands as we passed pens or papers.

We teased each other constantly.

“Do you really think Ryan will survive a week without his phone?” I asked one afternoon, rolling my eyes as we organized the rehearsal dinner checklist.

Ethan smirked, leaning casually against the counter. “Honestly? Probably. But someone has to enforce the rules.”

I laughed, feeling the warmth of his shoulder against mine. And when our knees brushed under the table, we both froze for a heartbeat before looking away, pretending it hadn’t happened.

Even on drives, the pattern repeated. I would insist on walking him to his door. He would chuckle softly, shaking his head.

“I’m fine,” he’d say, but never hurry.

And I never wanted him to.

Hugs became longer, more deliberate. Quick cheek kisses lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. Our conversations, whether about flowers or timelines, always carried a subtle undertone — something teasing, something intimate, that neither of us named aloud.

There were the small, private texts, too. A message here: “Did you survive the chaos today?” Another there: “Coffee later? I think we deserve it after all that.”

We were friends, we told ourselves. Forced friends, even. But the truth simmered beneath every glance, every brush of fingers, every shared laugh.

Sometimes, late at night, I would think of him. Not just his face, or his voice, but the way he moved, the warmth of him near mine. One night, that thinking became too much — a heat that pooled inside me, impossible to ignore. I pressed my fingers between my thighs, rubbing, trembling, until my phone rang.

Gigi.

The moment shattered. I froze, heart pounding, heat receding into my cheeks. I silenced the urge, threw the blanket over myself, and tried to calm the rapid-fire thoughts racing through my mind.

And somehow, even with the interruption, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Even in the silence, even in the forced “friendship,” Ethan had a way of lingering — in memory, in touch, in a glance — that refused to let me forget him.