After dinner, the sound of running water fills the quiet room as Jillian and Ethan stand side by side, both working in sync without saying much.
The dishes clink gently in the sink, and the only light comes from the soft glow of the kitchen's overhead lamp. There's a comfort in the simplicity of the moment—a small, domestic peace that Jillian didn't know she craved until now.
As Jillian scrubs the last of the plates, Ethan takes the glass she's about to wash from her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he does.
She freezes for a second, the contact sending a soft pulse through her chest. She quickly looks away, trying to hide the fluttering feeling inside, but Ethan's gaze doesn't leave her.
"Careful, you might be doing a better job than me," he teases, his voice low and teasing, but warm.
Jillian chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Don't flatter me. I'm just trying to make sure I don't break anything."
He smirks, setting the plate down and taking the sponge from her hands. "You sure that's all you're worried about?"
Her heart skips again, this time from his playful tone. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "What do you mean?" she asks, trying to sound casual as she turns back to the sink to finish rinsing the cups.
"Well," he starts, his voice taking on a softer tone, "I'd say you're doing just fine. But I can't help but wonder… if you're trying to avoid breaking anything… or someone."
Jillian's breath hitches, and she glances at him quickly. Ethan's smile lingers, but there's something more serious in his eyes now, a quiet understanding that makes her pulse race. She doesn't know how to respond, so she just focuses on rinsing another cup, her mind racing.
Ethan leans in a little, his arm brushing hers. "It's okay, you know," he says quietly, almost as if he's giving her permission. "You don't have to keep everything so guarded."
Jillian's heart skips again. She feels both comforted and vulnerable at the same time, something she's not used to. "I'm not guarding anything," she mutters, though her voice lacks conviction.
Ethan raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "We both know that's not true." He pauses before adding, "But that's alright. I'm not in a hurry to figure it all out."
She feels the warmth of his words settle into her chest, but she doesn't know what to say back. Instead, she turns to finish drying the last of the plates, the moment feeling almost too intimate, too revealing.
There's a long silence between them, comfortable but heavy. Jillian feels it—the quiet pull between them that neither of them has acknowledged fully yet. She can feel his presence at her side, but this time, it's different. It feels like they're no longer just two people in a kitchen. It feels like something more.
When the last dish is dried and put away, Jillian turns to face him, but her words are caught in her throat. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Ethan, always so in tune with her, smiles softly.
"Guess that's everything," he says, his voice as gentle as a sigh.
"Guess so," she replies, a little too quietly. She doesn't know why she feels so nervous all of a sudden, but she can't help it.
Ethan tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "You know, I never pictured us doing dishes together like this," he muses, his smile teasing but sincere. "But I kind of like it."
Jillian forces a smile, trying to mask the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it," she teases back, although she doesn't mind. Not really.
Ethan steps closer, his gaze softening. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you," he says, almost too quietly for her to hear.
The words hang in the air, tender and unspoken. She feels the weight of them, but she can't find the right response. Instead, she lets out a breath, stepping away from him. "Well, I guess that's it for the night," she says, trying to shift the mood. "You should probably get going."
But Ethan doesn't move. He looks at her with that same softness, like he's waiting for her to say something more.
Jillian's heart thuds in her chest. The air feels thick between them, heavy with the unspoken. She opens her mouth, but her words catch in her throat again. She can't seem to get them out, and she doesn't know why.
Finally, Ethan takes a step back, a playful grin pulling at his lips. "Alright, I'll let you off the hook for now. But you owe me another dinner."
Jillian forces a laugh, relieved by the shift back to lightness. "Fine," she says, her voice shaky but warm. "Next time, I'll cook."
"Deal," he replies, his eyes still twinkling with that quiet affection she's learning to recognize.
After the dishes were cleared and the kitchen light dimmed, Ethan leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "I'm staying the night."
Jillian blinked, turning to face him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. It's late, and I'm not letting you stay alone. Not with everything that's been going on." His tone was calm but firm.
Jillian crossed her arms too, mimicking him. "I have only one bedroom."
Ethan shrugged. "I'll sleep on the couch, then."
Her brow furrowed. "You're too tall. Your legs will hang off."
He grinned. "So you do care."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm just being practical. You take the bed."
"Nope," he said, walking past her and flopping onto the couch like it was the most luxurious thing in the world. "I'm fine here."
Jillian scoffed. "You'll wake up with a crick in your neck and blame me."
"Worth it."
But when she brought him a pillow and a blanket, they argued again—softly, playfully—about who should really be taking the couch. After ten minutes of back-and-forth, Ethan finally sighed. "Fine. You win. For now."
She smirked in victory and curled herself on the sofa, wrapping the blanket tightly. Yet, as the minutes passed, sleep eluded her. The sofa creaked each time she shifted, the room too quiet, her thoughts too loud. Across the room, Ethan leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms folded, watching her gently.
Eventually, her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep, curled in a small, uncomfortable bundle. Ethan approached, kneeling beside her. "You're hopeless," he whispered with a small smile.
With careful arms, he lifted her bridal-style again—this time, no giggling girls around, just the quiet of night and the weight of care in his heart. He laid her on the bed and, after hesitating a moment, lay down beside her, keeping a respectful distance but still close enough to feel the warmth of her presence.