Chapter 7: Seeds of Change

The next few days unfolded in a delicate dance between familiarity and uncharted territory. Ethan and Sarah moved around each other, their interactions layered with an unspoken understanding. The tension that once hung thick between them had softened into something else—something warmer, more fragile.

Ethan found himself seeking out reasons to be around her. Whether it was helping with chores or joining her in the garden, he craved the ease of their newfound connection. Sarah, for her part, seemed to let him in, her guarded walls showing the first signs of wear.

One afternoon, the sky heavy with the promise of rain, they found themselves in the kitchen. Sarah was preparing dinner, the aroma of garlic and herbs filling the air. Ethan sat at the island, peeling potatoes with a concentration that made Sarah smile.

"You're supposed to peel the potato, not butcher it," she teased, her voice light.

Ethan held up a lopsided potato, its skin a patchwork of cuts. "Hey, I'm a work in progress."

Sarah's laughter was a soft melody. "Here, let me show you."

She moved to his side, her hands guiding his around the peeler. Their fingers brushed, and the warmth of her touch sent a jolt through him. He tried to focus on her instructions, but her closeness made it difficult.

"See?" she said, her voice just above a whisper. "You let the blade do the work."

Ethan's mouth felt dry. "Got it."

They stood like that for a moment, the kitchen falling into a hush. Sarah's breath was soft against his cheek, and he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His mind raced, a thousand possibilities skittering across his thoughts.

She must have felt it too—the pull between them—because she stepped back, the peeler slipping from her hand. It clattered onto the countertop, breaking the spell.

"I... I should check on the sauce," she murmured, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Ethan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Yeah. Good idea."

The rest of dinner prep passed in a blur of careful movements and stolen glances. By the time they sat down to eat, the rain had started, a soft drizzle tapping against the windows.

They ate in the dining room, the long table between them. It was the first time they'd shared a meal together at the table, and the change felt significant. Sarah had prepared a simple pasta dish with roasted vegetables, but to Ethan, it might as well have been a gourmet feast.

"This is really good," he said between bites.

"Thanks." Sarah twirled her fork through her pasta, her expression thoughtful. "I used to cook a lot for my brothers. They were bottomless pits."

Ethan chuckled. "How many brothers do you have?"

"Two. Jason and Liam. They're both younger."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Are they like you?"

She considered this. "Jason's the dreamer. He wants to be an artist. Liam's the responsible one. Sometimes I think he's older than me, the way he worries."

Her voice held a tenderness that made Ethan's chest tighten. "You must miss them."

"Every day." She took a sip of water, her eyes distant. "I'm hoping to visit soon. Maybe surprise them."

"Why don't you go?"

She hesitated. "It's... complicated. Between work and money, it's hard to find the time."

Ethan opened his mouth to offer help, but the look on her face stopped him. She wasn't looking for a savior—she needed an equal.

"Well, if you ever need time off, I'll cover for you with my parents. Tell them you were helping me with... I don't know, something important."

A real smile broke through, bright and genuine. "Like peeling potatoes?"

He grinned. "Exactly."

They finished dinner, the conversation flowing easily. When the dishes were done, they found themselves back in the living room. The rain had picked up, the wind brushing against the windows in soft howls.

Ethan lit the fireplace, the crackling flames adding a cozy warmth to the room. He settled on the couch, surprised when Sarah joined him, a folded blanket on her lap.

"I thought you might be cold," she said, her voice shy.

He took the blanket, draping it over them both. "Thanks."

They sat side by side, the fire casting dancing shadows on the walls. Sarah pulled her knees to her chest, her head resting on the back of the couch. Her profile was serene, framed by the soft glow of the flames.

"Tell me something about you," she said, breaking the silence. "Something real."

Ethan considered this. "I've never been in love."

Sarah's head turned, her expression open. "Never?"

"Nope. I've dated, sure. But it was always surface level. I think I was too afraid to let anyone in."

Her eyes searched his face. "Why?"

"Because if you let someone in, they can hurt you." His voice was quiet, the admission heavier than he expected.

Sarah's expression softened. "Sometimes it's worth the risk."

"Have you been in love?"

She hesitated. "I thought I was once. But looking back, I think I was more in love with the idea of it than the reality."

Ethan shifted closer, their knees almost touching. "What happened?"

"It just... fell apart. He wasn't who I thought he was. And I realized I was holding onto a future that wasn't real."

"I get that."

They lapsed into silence, the fire a soft backdrop to their thoughts. When Sarah shivered, Ethan instinctively draped more of the blanket over her. She leaned into him, her head finding a spot on his shoulder.

His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay still. This wasn't a moment to ruin with words. Instead, he let the quiet settle, his arm slowly wrapping around her.

As the storm raged outside, they remained curled together, a fragile bubble of warmth in a world that often felt too cold.

And for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt a sense of peace.