Chapter Eight: The Almost Kiss
1274 Words
The ride back to the penthouse felt different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Like something had shifted between us on that rooftop and neither of us knew how to talk about it yet.
Snow slid softly across the car windows while Manhattan blurred outside in gold and white lights.
Ethan sat beside me unusually silent.
Not cold silent.
Thinking silent.
And honestly?
That somehow felt more dangerous.
I kept replaying the moment from dinner in my head.
His hand beneath mine.
The way he looked at me afterward.
The way his eyes dropped briefly to my mouth.
My entire emotional stability had not recovered since.
Which was rude.
The car stopped outside the building, but neither of us moved immediately.
The driver glanced back politely.
“We’re here, sir.”
Ethan blinked like he’d forgotten where he was.
“Right.”
I helped him carefully once we got upstairs, though by now he complained less whenever I assisted him.
Progress.
Tiny progress.
The penthouse felt warmer than usual when we entered.
Softer somehow.
Maybe because tonight had changed something.
Or maybe because for the first time since meeting Ethan, I could imagine what he used to be like before pain reshaped him.
Confident.
Adventurous.
Alive.
The thought hurt unexpectedly.
“You’re thinking loudly again,” he murmured behind me.
I turned slightly. “Do I ever get privacy around you?”
“No.”
“That’s honestly terrifying.”
“You’ll survive.”
His voice sounded lighter tonight.
Tired.
But lighter.
I hung my coat near the door while trying very hard not to stare at him.
Huge failure.
Because Ethan looked unfairly attractive right now.
His dark sweater sat slightly loose around his shoulders.
His hair was messy from the wind outside.
And his eyes—
God.
Those eyes looked softer than usual.
Less guarded.
Like he was too emotionally exhausted to keep pretending he felt nothing.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You had fun tonight,” I said quietly.
He looked surprised by the statement.
Then thoughtful.
“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I did.”
The honesty in his voice warmed something deep inside my chest.
Because I knew that answer mattered.
Maybe more than he realized.
“You know,” I teased gently, “for someone who complains constantly, you’re actually decent company.”
“One of us has to carry the conversation.”
I gasped dramatically. “Rude.”
“You never stop talking.”
“And yet you’d miss it if I did.”
That earned silence.
Not awkward silence.
The dangerous kind.
The kind where emotions accidentally became visible.
Ethan’s eyes held mine steadily across the room.
And suddenly the penthouse felt too quiet.
Too warm.
My heartbeat started acting suspicious immediately.
Because he was looking at me again like earlier on the rooftop.
Carefully.
Intensely.
Like he was forgetting all the reasons he shouldn’t.
“You really think you understand people,” he said softly.
“I understand lonely people.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I think you hide it badly.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
But sadness sat underneath it.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No,” I said gently. “I just think you’re harder on yourself than everyone else is.”
His expression shifted again.
That vulnerable look.
Small.
Brief.
But real.
Then Ethan looked away first.
Toward the windows.
Toward the city.
Like eye contact had suddenly become dangerous.
“I used to love New York at night,” he admitted quietly.
The confession surprised me.
“You don’t anymore?”
“I don’t know.”
The sadness in those words nearly broke me.
Before the accident.
After the accident.
Everything in his life seemed divided that way now.
I walked closer slowly.
Not too close.
Just enough.
“What changed?” I asked softly.
Ethan stayed quiet for a long moment.
Then finally—
“Before…” He swallowed once. “Before everything happened, I never had to think before doing things.”
His eyes stayed fixed on the skyline.
“I’d wake up and travel somewhere random. Climb mountains.
Drive for hours. Stay out until sunrise.” A tiny smile touched his mouth faintly. “I was reckless.”
“I can tell.”
That earned a soft laugh.
But it disappeared quickly.
“Now every single thing feels complicated.”
The vulnerability in his voice hit me hard.
Because suddenly he didn’t sound rich or intimidating or emotionally untouchable.
Just human.
Painfully human.
And for some reason—
I wanted to make that sadness disappear.
Which terrified me.
Because caring about someone always came with risk.
I stepped closer again before common sense could stop me.
Close enough now that I could see the tiny scar near his jawline.
Close enough to notice the way his breathing changed slightly when I entered his space.
“Ethan.”
His eyes lifted slowly to mine.
My pulse jumped instantly.
Because God—
The way this man looked at me sometimes felt dangerous to survive.
“You’re still here,” I whispered.
Confusion flickered across his face.
“You keep talking like your life ended,” I continued softly. “But it didn’t.”
Silence.
Heavy silence.
His gaze searched mine carefully.
Like he was trying to decide whether to believe me.
Then quietly—
“You really see me differently than everyone else does.”
It wasn’t a question.
I swallowed carefully.
“Maybe everyone else stopped trying.”
The air shifted immediately.
Again.
That invisible tension pulling tighter between us.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us looked away.
And suddenly all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
Because Ethan was staring at me now like he wanted to say something.
Something dangerous.
Something honest.
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips again.
My breath caught.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Every nerve in my body suddenly felt awake.
The space between us seemed impossibly small now.
One move.
One tiny move.
That was all it would take.
Then softly—
“Lily.”
The way he said my name nearly destroyed me emotionally.
Low.
Careful.
Like it mattered too much already.
I don’t know who moved first.
Maybe both of us.
Maybe neither.
But suddenly he was closer.
Close enough that I could feel warmth radiating from him.
Close enough that breathing felt difficult.
And for one terrifying second—
I genuinely thought he was going to kiss me.
My eyes dropped briefly toward his mouth before I could stop myself.
Mistake.
Huge mistake.
Because Ethan noticed immediately.
The tension between us snapped impossibly tighter.
Then—
His phone rang loudly across the room.
The moment shattered instantly.
We both froze.
Reality crashing back in too fast.
Ethan pulled away first, jaw tightening sharply.
The softness vanished from his face almost immediately.
Walls back up.
Emotion hidden.
I stepped backward too quickly, heart racing embarrassingly hard.
Right.
Okay.
Cool.
Normal.
Definitely not emotionally spiraling.
Ethan grabbed his phone with visible irritation before answering coldly.
“Yes?”
Silence.
Then his expression darkened.
“I said I’m not interested.”
Another pause.
“No.”
He ended the call abruptly and tossed the phone aside again.
The room felt awkward now.
Charged.
Like both of us were pretending nothing almost happened.
I cleared my throat nervously.
“So…”
“So,” he repeated quietly.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Because whatever existed between us now—
It was no longer simple.
And deep down?
That terrified both of us.
- Writer
