Why¿

~The sparks and Shadows~ part two

Chapter Three – Part II

The kitchen was too quiet as Ethan unpacked the grocery bag. Emily leaned against the counter, watching him pull out containers her aunt had prepared—pasta, a small salad, even chocolate brownies wrapped in foil.

“You didn’t have to play delivery boy,” she murmured.

He glanced at her, that slight smile tugging at his lips. “I told you. I wanted to.”

Emily’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about the food, or about sitting beside her in a room still haunted by her brother’s absence.

They ate at the small table by the window. Outside, the city glowed against the night, headlights weaving through the streets below. Inside, the only sound was the clink of cutlery against plates.

Halfway through her pasta, Emily set her fork down. “It feels wrong,” she admitted.

Ethan’s brows drew together. “What does?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely between them. “Laughing. Eating. Feeling… like I’m okay for a second. Like I don’t deserve it.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Emily, listen to me. Grief doesn’t mean you stop living. You honor Michael by carrying him with you, not by burying yourself too.”

Her eyes burned, tears threatening again. She swallowed hard. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It isn’t simple.” His voice was low, steady. “But it’s necessary.”

The way he looked at her—direct, unflinching—made her feel both exposed and seen in a way she hadn’t allowed since the funeral.

She pushed her chair back, standing abruptly. The walls felt too close, the weight of his gaze too much. She crossed to the window, pressing her palm against the cool glass.

Behind her, she heard his chair scrape softly as he stood. His footsteps stopped just behind her. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Ethan said quietly.

Her breath trembled. “If I’m not strong, I’ll fall apart.”

“Then fall,” he murmured. “I’ll catch you.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words until now.

When she turned, her face was only inches from his. The air between them thickened, charged. Her pulse throbbed in her throat.

Ethan lifted a hand slowly, giving her time to pull away. His fingers brushed her cheek, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine.

Emily’s breath caught. Every part of her screamed that this was dangerous—that grief and attraction were a messy combination. But when his thumb traced the line of her jaw, her resolve crumbled.

She leaned into his touch.

That small surrender was all it took. Ethan’s hand slid to the back of her neck, and in the next heartbeat, his lips hovered a breath away from hers.

“Emily…” His voice was ragged, as though even saying her name cost him control. “Tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

Her chest rose and fell, torn between reason and longing. She should have said no. She should have pushed him away.

But instead, she whispered, “Don’t stop.”

And then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was slow at first, tender, as if he were afraid she might break. But when she fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, it deepened—hungry, desperate, edged with all the words neither of them could say aloud.

Her back hit the wall softly as his body pressed against hers. Heat spread through her, chasing away the chill that had lived in her bones since the funeral. For the first time in weeks, she felt alive.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against hers.

“This isn’t simple,” she whispered.

“No,” Ethan agreed, his thumb stroking her cheek. “But it’s real.”

Her heart thundered. She wanted to believe him.

And yet, beneath the rush of desire, another question pulsed in her chest—the one that had haunted her since the funeral.

Why him? Why now? Why did it feel like this?

Before she could untangle it, Ethan pressed another gentle kiss to her lips, silencing her doubts for one more fleeting moment.