Right Brother
1097 Words
Noah lingered just inside the doorway, arms crossed, gaze still sharp, still watching Clara in a way that made her aware of every misplaced strand of hair, every inch of skin she hadn’t managed to cover properly.
Elijah noticed.
“Out,” Elijah said, not raising his voice, but there was no mistaking the shift in it.
Noah’s mouth curved faintly. “Didn’t know burnin’ breakfast earned a dismissal.”
“She’s my wife,” Elijah replied simply. “And she’s had enough of an audience.”
Clara’s face warmed.
Noah looked at him for a long second, something unreadable passing between the two of them, something older than this moment.
Then he pushed off the doorframe.
“Reckon I’ll let you tend to your… domestic troubles,” he said dryly.
As he stepped out, his gaze flicked once more to Clara, slower this time.
Then he was gone.
The door shut behind him.
And just like that, the room felt smaller.
Quieter.
Warmer.
Clara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, gesturing toward the ruined mess. “I really was trying to help. I just, this is not how cooking works where I’m from and,”
Elijah crossed the space between them. "I'll get you an even better stove."
"No, I can learn," she said, shaking her head, feeling like such a bother.
He reached for her hands, turning one gently in his, his thumb brushing over the place where she’d grabbed the hot pan.
“You hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, softer now.
He rubbed his thumb over the blister forming, lifting it to his lips and kissed it. "I'll make you a poultice for it later"
“I’m sorry there’s no breakfast.”
“We’ve got bread and butter,” he said, glancing up at her with a small grin. “No need to go wrestlin’ iron first thing.”
A breath of laughter slipped from her.
“That would’ve been nice to know before I nearly destroyed your house.”
“Our house,” he corrected.
His gaze dipped, just briefly, something almost shy in it.
“You’re here. It’s ours now.”
The words settled deeper than they should have.
Clara swallowed.
Her mind reached for something familiar.
Her phone.
The city sounds outside of her apartment.
A sound that didn’t belong here.
There was nothing.
Only the crackle of the fire.
The weight of the morning.
The man in front of her, looking at her like she belonged.
This wasn’t something she could walk away from.
Not right now.
Her breath slowed.
Not understanding.
Not accepting.
But not fighting it anymore.
His hands found her waist.
Steady.
Certain.
He lifted her onto the table as if it were the most natural place for her to be.
“Eli…”
His mouth found hers.
This time, she didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t question.
She let herself feel it.
The warmth.
The steadiness.
The way he didn’t rush her, didn’t press, just stayed there like he knew she would meet him if he gave her the space to choose.
Her fingers curled into his shirt.
He stepped closer, fitting himself between her knees, his hands sliding lightly along her legs, not demanding, just enough to make her aware of him.
Clara leaned into him.
Because he felt real.
Because he made sense in a way nothing else did.
His lips moved against hers, slow and certain, building instead of taking, letting the moment stretch until it felt like the rest of the world had fallen quiet around them.
When he pulled back, it wasn’t far.
His forehead rested lightly against hers.
“You know it’s me now?” he murmured.
Clara let out a soft breath, her arms sliding around his shoulders as she drew him back in.
“Yes,” she said.
And this time, she meant it.
He kissed her again, deeper now, but still patient, still steady, like he had all the time in the world.
And somehow, that made it harder to pull away.
When they finally did, it was slower.
Lingering.
Like neither of them was quite ready to let go.
He helped her down, his hand steady at her waist.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you into somethin’ proper before Noah decides to wander back in.”
Clara made a face, but followed him.
The bedroom felt warmer than before.
Or maybe that was just her.
He moved to the trunk without hesitation, pulling out one of the dresses and handing it to her.
Clara took it, then paused.
Turned it over once.
Twice.
“…there are too many buttons,” she said embarressed she couldn't figure out how to dress herself.
Elijah’s mouth twitched, trying to keep any chuckle at bay. Then, lifting it over her head, they worked the yards of fabric over her and down.
“Turn around.”
She hesitated only a second before doing as he said, gathering her hair over one shoulder as best she could.
His hands were careful.
Unhurried.
He stepped close, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him again as his fingers worked through the fastenings, one by one, steady and patient.
No teasing.
No frustration.
Just quiet attention.
Clara’s breath slowed.
She wasn’t used to this.
To someone taking their time.
To someone… taking care of her.
“You always did say these were a nuisance,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Clara swallowed.
“Did I?” she asked.
“Mhm.”
His fingers brushed lightly against her back as he finished the last closure, the brief contact sending a delicious shiver through her.
“There,” he said softly.
She turned.
The dress fit perfectly.
Not close.
Not almost.
Perfect.
Like it had been made for her.
Which… it had.
Clara looked at him, really looked this time.
At the steadiness in him.
The way he watched her was as if nothing about this morning had shaken him.
Like she hadn’t burned his breakfast.
Like she hadn’t questioned who he was.
Like none of it mattered.
Only that she was here.
Something in her chest shifted.
Softened.
“I really lucked out,” she said quietly.
The words surprised her as much as him.
Elijah’s expression changed, just slightly.
Not confusion.
Something warmer.
Like a quiet kind of pride.
“Reckon you did,” he said.
And for the first time since she woke up in a life she didn’t understand…
Clara believed it.
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