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As the music fades, I steal a glance at Ethan, my heartbeat thrumming. At first, his expression is unreadable, an indecipherable mask of shock and disbelief. My breath catches in my throat. What if he didn’t like it? What if he—
He reaches for my hand, and my thoughts vanish. For a moment, he merely holds it, squeezing gently, and when he finally speaks, his voice is raspy. “Q, this is incredible. I— How?”
I smile at his disjointed thoughts, a tingle of delight rippling through me. “I asked Brynn if she had any famous clients who might want to be involved. She reached out to them for me, and unsurprisingly, several of them loved the idea.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” His voice crackles, and he clears his throat. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“I was happy to. What you’re creating is special, Ethan. And I’m thrilled to be a small part of it.”
He entwines our fingers, pressing our palms together tightly, and I can sense his gratitude in his touch. A warmth burns in my chest, spreading outward, radiating through my entire body.
For all the years I’ve worked for my family’s advertising firm, I’ve designed ad campaigns with one purpose in mind: to impress my father and make him proud. But the look in Ethan’s eyes as he replays the video evokes a feeling I’ve never experienced before, like my work has a greater purpose beyond garnering approval. Like I have the ability to do something that actually matters. And perhaps, poetically, that I can make a difference.
When the video ends for a second time, Ethan turns to meet my gaze. “You have a real gift for this, Q. And if it works out, and I can secure a meeting before you leave, I’d love to have you present this video to potential investors.”
“I’d be honored.”
He shakes his head as if he’s still in awe, and says, “If your dad doesn’t give you the promotion, he’ll be making a huge mistake.”
I bask in the glow of his compliment, marveling at how much can change in the span of a few hours. Earlier that evening, I’d contemplated leaving New York, leaving my new life behind. And now, there’s nothing I want more in this world than to stay right here, with Ethan. But whether I leave tonight or in a few weeks, like planned, this life is temporary. It was always temporary.
A reality I find far more devastating than I care to admit.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
When I wake the next morning, something feels different. For starters, I’ve never slept so soundly in all my life. I’m snug and cozy, cocooned in a velvety throw blanket. Wilson snores softly by my side and— My heart stutters as my fingertips traverse a hard surface. A hard, softly rising surface.
I ease my eyes open, peeking beneath my lashes, barely daring to believe my own twenty-twenty vision. I’m curled against the warm contours of Ethan Delaney, my arm draped across his chest. His breathing is slow and steady, his lips slightly curled at the edges, hinting at a smile. There’s a book askew on his lap, and I realize we must have fallen asleep last night while reading.
I hold my breath, not sure what to do. The logical part of my brain is saying I should move. I should quickly remove myself from the far-too-intimate position. I definitely shouldn’t remain cuddled against him, savoring every small, scintillating sensation, pretending we live in a reality where we could fall asleep in each other’s arms every night. But my heart? My heart threatens bodily harm if I so much as move a millimeter.
For better or worse, the decision is made for me.
The loud clang of a cupboard slamming shut startles Ethan awake. He bolts upright, dazed and unaware that he’s inadvertently shoved me aside. His eyes are wide and unfocused, his hair adorably disheveled as he tries to discern his surroundings.
Meanwhile, Brynn continues to clamor in the kitchen, making coffee with twice the necessary volume. I’m going to guess all the ruckus has something to do with me and Ethan, and my heart sinks. On a surface level, I knew she didn’t love the idea of Ethan dating one of her friends. But if I’m honest, deep down, buried somewhere beside my most naive hopes and dreams, I thought I might be an exception.
Clearly, I was wrong.
“Jeez, Brynn,” Ethan groans, stretching his arms overhead. I try not to notice the way his T-shirt rides up, revealing a flash of his toned abs. “Are you making coffee or remodeling the kitchen? You’re making enough noise for a construction crew.”
She glowers and switches on the burr grinder. The cacophony of cracking coffee beans fills the air, stirring Wilson and Whiskers awake.
With the glorious moment of waking up in each other’s arms thoroughly relegated to the past, we throw on our coats and boots and take the “kids” outside to use the bathroom. As we cross the courtyard, my soles squish into the soggy earth. The cold air stings my cheeks but smells pleasantly sweet after the rain.
Ethan doesn’t say much as we huddle side by side in the dog run, waiting for Wilson and Whiskers, and neither do I. But even in our silence, there seems to be this unspoken connection, a shift in the energy between us. I wish I could read his mind, to know where I stand, wherewestand. But what would be the point? I’ll be leaving soon. Besides, even if we wanted to explore the fragile, nebulous ledge extending beyond friendship, Brynn would never give her blessing. Which means the only recourse following our accidental slumber party is to pretend like it never happened—a strategy Brynn seems to support wholeheartedly.
On the cab ride to brunch, I wonder if she’s going to confront or question the unusual sleeping arrangement she stumbled upon this morning, but she doesn’t mention it once. In fact, she seems determined to converse about any topic other than me and Ethan. A predilection I’m happy to oblige, and when we meet Harper at the restaurant, I casually steer the conversation in another direction. “How was your date with Oliver?” I ask Brynn once we’re settled at our table and finished with our preliminary chitchat.
She blushes and pretends to be engrossed by her bingo board, which isn’t fooling anyone. Although Brunch Bingo is now a weekly tradition, we never pay attention to the actual game.
“Date?” Harper immediately perks up, her board abandoned. “What date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Brynn insists. “He invited Quincy, too, but she had to meet you for the cooking class.”
Harper and I exchange a quick glance, and neither one of us seems eager to disclose the fact that she ditched me to meet with Ethan.
Before Brynn can quiz us about the class, Harper asks, “Well, why don’t you ask Oliver out, then?”
