Chapter Seven: The City Lights Between Us
1218 Words
Manhattan at night looked like a beautiful lie.
From the backseat of the car, the city glittered endlessly outside the windows — gold lights, blurred traffic, snowfall drifting softly through crowded streets.
Everything looked magical from a distance.
Maybe that was New York’s greatest talent.
Convincing lonely people they were part of something beautiful.
“You’re staring again,” Ethan murmured beside me.
I looked away from the window immediately. “You keep saying that like it’s illegal.”
“It’s concerning.”
“You’re concerning.”
“That’s fair.”
A tiny smile touched his mouth before disappearing again.
God.
Those smiles were becoming dangerous to my emotional health.
This was the first time Ethan had agreed to leave the penthouse willingly.
Which honestly felt historic.
I sat beside him trying very hard not to overreact while internally overreacting completely.
The soft lighting inside the car made his features look sharper somehow.
Dark hair slightly messy.
Black coat.
Cold blue eyes watching the city quietly.
Beautiful in a heartbreaking kind of way.
“You’re nervous,” he said suddenly.
“I’m always nervous.”
“No,” he murmured. “Tonight feels different.”
My heartbeat stumbled slightly.
Because he was right.
Tonight did feel different.
The air between us had changed over the past week.
The teasing became softer.
The silences became comfortable.
And every time Ethan looked at me now, it lasted a little too long.
Like he was forgetting not to.
“I just don’t want you regretting this,” I admitted quietly.
He turned toward me fully then.
“I already regret staying inside that apartment for months.”
Something painful twisted inside my chest.
There it was again.
That sadness hidden underneath everything he said.
The kind that never fully disappeared.
Before I could respond, the driver stopped outside a rooftop restaurant glowing warmly against the snowy night.
Ethan looked up at the building.
Then at me.
“This better not be terrible.”
I gasped dramatically. “You wound me.”
“You have questionable judgment.”
“And you’re emotionally repressed.”
“That too.”
I laughed softly while helping him out carefully.
Cold air wrapped around us instantly.
The city buzzed endlessly around us — car horns, distant music, voices echoing through the streets.
For a second, Ethan just sat there quietly looking around Manhattan.
Breathing it in.
And suddenly I realized how long it had been since he truly experienced the world outside those walls.
The realization hit harder than expected.
“You okay?” I asked gently.
His eyes lifted to mine.
Something vulnerable flickered there briefly.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think so.”
The rooftop restaurant overlooked the entire skyline.
String lights glowed overhead while jazz music drifted through warm air scented with expensive food and winter wine.
People laughed around us.
Couples leaned close together beneath heaters.
The city sparkled endlessly below.
And somehow—
Ethan looked alive tonight.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
But lighter.
Like the weight on his chest had shifted slightly.
The hostess led us toward a private table near the edge of the rooftop.
The view stole my breath instantly.
“Oh my God.”
Ethan watched me instead of the skyline.
Interesting.
“You’ve never been here?” he asked.
“Ethan, I once ate instant noodles for six days straight.”
That earned a laugh.
Warm.
Real.
The sound sent unexpected butterflies loose inside my stomach.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Dinner started surprisingly well.
Mostly because Ethan seemed different tonight.
Less guarded.
He teased me constantly while I complained dramatically about the menu prices.
“Twenty-eight dollars for pasta is criminal.”
“You embarrass me professionally.”
“You knew I was poor when you hired me.”
“I underestimated how vocal you’d be about it.”
I grinned. “That’s your first mistake.”
His gaze held mine for a second too long again.
The warmth in his expression caught me off guard.
Not amusement this time.
Something softer.
My pulse skipped embarrassingly fast.
Before either of us could say anything, a woman passing our table suddenly froze.
Her eyes widened instantly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Ethan Blackwood?”
The atmosphere changed immediately.
I felt it beside me.
Ethan’s entire body tensed subtly.
Walls rising.
Coldness returning.
The woman smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I just— everyone used to talk about you after the accident. It’s really good seeing you out again.”
Her intentions seemed harmless.
But the damage was already done.
I saw it happen in Ethan’s eyes instantly.
That familiar look.
Like he suddenly remembered every painful thing at once.
“Thank you,” he said politely.
Too politely.
The woman walked away after that.
Silence settled heavily between us.
And just like that—
The warmth from earlier disappeared.
Ethan stared down at the table now, jaw tight.
“I knew this was a mistake,” he muttered.
“No it wasn’t.”
“People look at me differently now.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Ethan—”
“They either pity me,” he continued quietly, “or they stare too long trying not to.”
The sadness in his voice hurt more than I expected.
Because suddenly he didn’t look intimidating or sarcastic anymore.
Just tired.
So unbelievably tired.
Without thinking, I reached across the table slowly.
Then placed my hand gently over his.
The second I touched him—
He froze.
Completely.
My breath caught slightly too.
Because his hand was warm beneath mine.
And suddenly the air between us felt charged again.
Neither of us moved.
The city lights blurred behind him while snow drifted softly around the rooftop.
Ethan looked down at our hands first.
Then slowly lifted his eyes to mine.
My heartbeat turned completely unstable.
Because the way he was looking at me now—
God.
Like I mattered already.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” I asked quietly.
His voice came lower than before.
“What?”
“Someone trying really hard not to disappear.”
Something vulnerable cracked open across his face.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
And for one terrifying second—
I thought he might kiss me right there.
Not because everything was perfect.
But because loneliness recognized loneliness.
Because broken people sometimes found each other in strange ways.
His gaze dropped briefly toward my mouth.
My pulse jumped hard enough to hurt.
Then suddenly—
Music started nearby.
A slow jazz song drifting softly through the rooftop air.
A couple began dancing near the skyline.
Ethan looked away first.
The moment shattered quietly.
But not completely.
“You should dance,” he murmured.
I blinked. “With who?”
“That guy near the bar keeps staring at you.”
I glanced over instinctively.
A handsome stranger immediately smiled.
Oh.
I turned back toward Ethan slowly.
“You jealous?”
One dark eyebrow lifted slightly.
“Absolutely not.”
Liar.
The realization made warmth bloom unexpectedly inside my chest.
I smiled slowly.
“Good,” I said softly.
“Why?”
Because suddenly the only person I wanted looking at me—
Was him.
But I definitely wasn’t brave enough to say that out loud yet.
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