Morning felt different.

I came downstairs in jeans and a simple long-sleeve top, nothing special. Ethan was already in the kitchen, standing at the stove. He glanced at me when I entered, and his eyes lingered a second too long on the way the fabric sat across my chest before he looked away.

“Coffee’s ready,” he said. His voice sounded rougher than yesterday.

“Thanks.”

We moved around each other carefully. Every time we got close, the air felt tighter. Once, when I reached past him for a plate, my arm brushed his. He went completely still. I felt the heat of his body and the way his breathing changed for...