Page 32 of Tides of Change
Ethan grabbed a knife and started slicing the garlic bread. “I know, right? They did a good job with the casting.”
I picked up the basket he’d filled with bread; the warmth radiated through the fabric napkin in my hands. “When does the show come out?”
“They’re wrapping up filming in Ontario. It’ll be streaming next fall.” He plated generous squares of lasagna, the cheese stretching and oozing. I couldn’t wait to dig in.
We carried everything to the table and sat. As soon as I took my first bite, I couldn’t stop the groan of appreciation that escaped me. The lasagna was rich, cheesy, and full of flavor, the kind of comfort food that was like a soft bed after a long day. “Much better than mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.” I savored another forkful.
“You haven’t tasted my homemade mac and cheese and chicken nuggets.” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
I raised an eyebrow. “Going to show me up, huh?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughed, and the sound lit up the room.
Over dinner, we talked about the first Jake Slate book. Ethan’s passion was obvious as he described the plot twists and character development, his face animated with every word. I hung on every sentence, more invested than I cared to admit.
“I don’t plan much when I write.” He leaned back in his chair. “The story unfolds as I go. The twist for the first book hit me during a walk in Central Park—an hour away from my computer. I had to stop and type up notes on my phone before I lost it.”
“Walks seem to inspire you.”
His gaze turned distant. “I never thought about it, but yeah, I guess they do. There’s something about the mindless rhythm of my footsteps. It stimulates my thought processes.”
We lingered over the meal and traded stories. I told him about Noah’s adventures, and Ethan’s snickers filled the pauses between my tales.
“One Christmas.” I grinned at the memory. “He insisted on wearing his little suit to my parents’ house. Used his tie as a napkin for the entire dinner.”
Ethan chuckled. “What else are ties for?”
Cleaning up afterward felt strangely natural. We moved around each other in the kitchen like we’d been doing it for years, anticipating each other’s movements without a word. There was something…easy about it, something that made me ache in a way I wasn’t ready to name.
We carried bowls of Cherry Garcia to the couch. I sank into the cushions, the rich sweetness of the ice cream a perfect end to the meal. Ethan sat close, and his shoulder brushed mine just enough to remind me he was there. Too close, and yet not close enough.
And that was the problem. Ethan wasn’t just someone I was getting to know. He was becoming someone I couldn’t stop thinking about. And I wasn’t sure what to do with that.
Ethan placed his bowl on the coffee table and picked up the TV remote. “Want to watch a thriller?”
“Absolutely. Turn it on, and let’s see if it holds up to your book.”
Ethan snorted a laugh. “My books aren’t the gold standard.”
I waved my spoon in the air and flashed a crooked grin. “Pick one, and I’ll be the judge of that.”
As Ethan navigated through the streaming options, I noticed the faint crease between his brows. He always looked so serious when he focused, and it tugged at something deep inside me—something I was still grappling with.
He paused on a title. “Have you seen this one? It’s about a detective searching for a woman who vanished.”
“Right up my alley. Let’s do it.” I finished the last spoonful of melting ice cream, savoring the sweet flavor as I set my bowl next to Ethan’s on the table.
The movie opened with a man in shadows stalking a woman. Ethan stiffened beside me, his fingers whitening around the remote. The tension in the room was palpable, and I felt an urge to reassure him.
“Maybe we should watch something else,” I offered quietly. My hand hovered over his thigh for a moment before I finally let it rest there, the contact soothing me as much as I hoped it would soothe him. My pulse hammered in my ears. Would he be all right with my touch? Or was I crossing a line?
He glanced at me and, to my immense relief, gave my hand a firm squeeze. “I’m okay,” he said, soft but steady.
I pulled my hand back, reassured, but when the man on-screen grabbed the woman, Ethan’s muscles tautened. I slid my arm along the back of the sofa and let it span his shoulders. Hisbody was rigid at first, but then he leaned into me, the subtle weight of his trust making my chest tighten.
My heart thundered, not from the suspense of the movie but from the sheer gravity of the moment. This wasn’t just about comforting Ethan; it was about what it meant for me—for us. My mind swirled with questions, doubts, and a cautious thrill at the realization that I’d taken a step toward acknowledging the part of myself I’d suppressed.
“…inciting incident.”
