The First Crack
724 Words
After that conversation, everything felt different.
Not in a dramatic way. No big fight. No sudden confession. Just… a shift. Like the air between us had changed temperature and neither of us wanted to admit it.
We became careful.
Too careful.
Ethan stopped standing so close. I stopped lingering in shared spaces. We went back to being polite, professional, and painfully aware of each other.
Which somehow felt worse than before.
Three days passed like that.
Three days of pretending we hadn’t already crossed an emotional line.
On the fourth day, I got a message from him.
Ethan: Dinner tonight. My place. No press.
I stared at the text for a while.
No press meant no cameras.
No pretending.
Just us.
Part of me wanted to say no. The smarter part.
I still said yes.
When I got back to the apartment that evening, the lights were dim and the place smelled like food. Real food. Not takeout. Not catered.
Ethan was in the kitchen.
Cooking.
I stood there like my brain had crashed. “You cook?”
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “What, you thought I survived on business meetings alone?”
“I thought you had people for that.”
“I do. I just wanted to try.”
That sentence felt loaded.
“I didn’t know this was a special occasion,” I said, dropping my bag.
“It’s not,” he replied. “Just… felt like it.”
We ate at the kitchen island. No phones. No assistants. No talk about work.
Just normal conversation.
Where I grew up.
Why he hates small talk.
My favorite movies.
The fact that he sleeps with the TV on because silence makes his thoughts too loud.
That one surprised me.
“You think a lot?” I asked.
“Too much,” he said. “About things I can’t control.”
“Like what?”
He looked at me. “People.”
My chest tightened a little.
After dinner, we moved to the couch. Sat on opposite ends like we were scared of ourselves.
The city lights reflected through the window. The same view. Different feeling.
“Do you ever regret this?” I asked suddenly.
“This?” he echoed.
“The contract. Me.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“No,” he said. “I regret that it started as a contract.”
That linker in my chest widened.
I laughed softly. “That’s dangerously close to romantic.”
He smiled. “I’m dangerously honest tonight.”
We sat there in silence again. Not empty. Not awkward.
Just full.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Vanessa: Enjoying my life yet?
My stomach dropped.
I didn’t even realize I had stiffened until Ethan noticed.
“What is it?” he asked.
I hesitated. Then showed him the screen.
His expression changed instantly. Darker. Tighter.
“She’s still contacting you?” he said.
“I didn’t even give her my number,” I replied. “I swear.”
He stood up. “This is getting out of hand.”
“Ethan—”
“I told her to back off.”
“Well, clearly she didn’t listen.”
Silence again. But this one wasn’t soft.
It was tense.
“You don’t have to fight my battles,” I said quietly.
He turned to me. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
Because I’m under contract?
Because of your image?
He looked at me like the answer hurt.
“Because I care.”
There it was.
Not hinted.
Not implied.
Not hidden behind professionalism.
Said out loud.
My heart stopped pretending to be calm.
“Ethan…” I whispered.
He stepped closer. Slowly. Like he was giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
We stood inches apart. Breathing the same air. Everything loud without making a sound.
“This is the part where we’re supposed to pull away,” I said.
“I know.”
“But we’re not.”
“No.”
His hand lifted. Not touching my face. Just hovering. Asking permission without words.
I nodded.
And when his fingers finally brushed my cheek, gentle and careful, I realized something with terrifying clarity:
This wasn’t a contract anymore.
This was a choice.
And we were both about to make it.
- Writer
