Chapter 5: Unspoken Things
1147 Words
By the fifth day of prep, the Delacour Estate had become Ava’s second home. She knew every corner of the ballroom, every uneven brick in the garden path. But one thing she hadn’t accounted for was how familiar **Ethan Thompson** had become.
Too familiar.
She could recognize his footsteps behind her. The sound of him clearing his throat before speaking. The way his laugh tilted slightly to the right, like it always caught him off guard.
It was becoming dangerous.
Ava stood in front of the mirrored seating chart display, adjusting the placement of the last few name cards. Behind her, she heard the rustle of tissue paper and the faint clink of vases.
“You’re rearranging again,” Ethan said.
Ava glanced at him through the reflection. He stood by the archway, holding a small bouquet of white anemones, wrapped in parchment and tied with pale ribbon.
“I like symmetry,” she said. “Is that a crime?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “Just an obsession.”
She turned toward him, arms crossed. “What are those for?”
“Bride’s table. A last-minute request. Jules texted me this morning.”
Ava nodded. “She didn’t tell me.”
“I think she was trying to give me an excuse to come back.”
“Why?”
Ethan stepped forward, extending the bouquet toward her. “Because I asked her to.”
Ava blinked. “You made this for me?”
He nodded once. “No clipboard. No reason. Just... wanted to.”
She took the bouquet gently, surprised at the weight of it—not physical, but emotional.
“They’re beautiful,” she said, voice softer than she meant it to be.
He hesitated. “I wanted to say thank you. For the other day. For sticking up for me.”
“You didn’t need me to.”
“Maybe not. But it felt good to be seen.”
Their eyes locked, and for a second, neither looked away.
Then Ava stepped back, hugging the bouquet to her chest.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she said.
Ethan frowned. “Do what?”
“Make it harder to keep this professional.”
Silence. Heavy, quiet, charged.
“I didn’t mean to cross a line,” he said quietly.
Ava shook her head. “You didn’t. That’s the problem.”
---
**Ava’s apartment
The bouquet now sat on her kitchen counter in a tall vase. Ava stood in her small, modern apartment, nursing a glass of wine she barely tasted. Her fingers traced the edge of the countertop as her mind wandered.
What was she doing?
This was supposed to be work. A job. A high-profile event. Not... a connection. Not late-night thoughts about a man who spoke in flowers and saw through her armor.
She sank onto the couch, phone in hand, and opened a new note file:
"Things I’m Not Supposed to Feel"
1. Butterflies when he looks at me.
2. Warmth when he stands close.
3. The urge to ask about his favorite songs.
4. The need to know what his voice sounds like when he says my name—only my name.
She deleted the file.
She wasn’t seventeen. She wasn’t reckless.
But God, it would be so easy to fall.
---
**The next morning, courtyard setup
Ethan arrived early, as usual. He moved through the floral setup with quiet focus—but his thoughts were tangled.
Ava had pulled away last night. Not with words, but with that look in her eyes. Guarded. Careful.
He understood it. Too well.
People like them didn’t get to be impulsive. They calculated, planned, measured risks before taking them. But still, there was a pull—something in her that called to something in him. The same way vines find sunlight without trying.
Jules approached him mid-morning, clipboard in hand.
“She won’t say it, you know,” she said casually.
Ethan blinked. “Say what?”
“That she likes you.”
He raised a brow. “That obvious?”
“Only to everyone with eyes.”
Ethan gave a small, uneasy smile. “She’s... careful.”
“She’s scared,” Jules corrected. “But if you give up now, that’ll just prove she was right to be.”
Ethan glanced across the lawn, where Ava was directing the table layout, poised and unshakable as ever.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
*
Later, Ava sat alone on the stone steps near the rose garden, nibbling a croissant she hadn’t planned to eat. Her appetite had been strange lately—coming in waves that seemed to match Ethan’s presence.
Footsteps approached. She didn’t look up.
“Mind if I sit?”
His voice, warm and steady.
She nodded slightly, and Ethan took the spot beside her, careful not to crowd.
“I’m not trying to make this harder for you,” he said after a moment.
Ava’s gaze stayed on the roses. “I know.”
“But I can’t pretend I don’t feel something.”
Her breath caught, just slightly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he added. “I just... needed to say it out loud. Once.”
She turned to look at him then—really look. The sincerity in his eyes, the way he wasn’t trying to win or persuade, just... tell the truth.
“I feel something too,” she whispered.
Ethan held her gaze. “Then why does it feel like we’re avoiding it?”
“Because we are,” she said. “Because it’s easier than risking something that could fall apart.”
“But what if it doesn’t?”
Ava looked away. “That’s what scares me the most.”
Silence again, but this time... softer.
Ethan stood, offering his hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
Hesitant, but curious, Ava took his hand and let herself be led.
**
The old greenhouse behind the estate was mostly unused—glass panes cracked, vines overtaking the corners. But inside, Ethan had set up a surprise: candles in mason jars, wildflowers in small jars, a simple wooden bench beneath a canopy of hanging wisteria.
It was quiet. Untouched by the chaos of wedding planning.
“This is where I come when I need to remember why I do it,” he said softly.
Ava looked around, awe in her expression. “It’s beautiful.”
“I want you to know,” he said gently, “that you make things beautiful too. Even if you don’t always see it.”
She turned to him, eyes shining—not with tears, but something close. Something braver.
She didn’t say 'thank you.' She didn’t say 'me too.'
Instead, she reached out and gently touched his hand.
It was the first time they touched without passing something between them.
- Writer
