Chapter 6

Ethan

A full week passed without any new messages between us. I kept Adrian’s card on the nightstand but never picked it up. Work filled most of my days. Hotel shoots, long hours adjusting lights, and quiet evenings at home with leftovers and the television on low. Lila checked in a few times. I told her I was still thinking. That was true enough.

On Thursday morning I arrived early at the Grand Harbor Hotel for a full-day shoot. The lobby smelled like fresh coffee and polished marble. Soft piano music played from speakers near the front desk. Guests moved past with rolling suitcases and quiet conversations amongst themselves while others were on call.

The first few hours went by in the usual way. Jake helped with the stands and kept the conversation light. I answered when I needed to and stayed mostly quiet. My mind kept drifting back to Adrian's card on the nightstand and the silence that had been going on between us.

Around midday we moved back down to the main lobby. I wanted a few shots of the seating area while the natural light was still strong. I knelt to adjust the camera angle. That was when I saw him.

Adrian…

Adrian stood by the front desk with a small overnight bag at his feet. Same gray jacket. Same calm posture. My stomach tightened at the mere sight of him. My heart started beating faster, hard enough that I felt it in my throat. I didn't know just seeing him could have such effect on me.

I turned away quickly and pretended to check a light stand that obviously did not need checking. My hands felt unsteady on the metal as I “adjusted” it.

I told myself to stay focused. Keep working. Pretend I had not noticed. The piano music kept playing at the background but it was feint to my ears. I adjusted the stand again even though it was already fine.

“Ethan.”

I kept my eyes on the equipment.

“Ethan. I know you saw me.”

The words were quiet but clear. I straightened up slowly and turned while Adrian walked over. His expression stayed steady, but his eyes searched my face.

“I wasn’t sure it was you,” I said. My voice came out tighter than I wanted.

“Yes, you were.” He stopped a few feet away. “You turned the moment you noticed me.” He paused, the sighed, “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But pretending I’m not here feels worse.”

Jake glanced over from the other side of the lobby, then found a reason to walk toward the equipment cases just so he could give me space. That left the two of us standing near the windows.

I wiped my hands on my jeans. The denim felt rough under my palms. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a conference nearby. The hotel had a last-minute room, so I took it for the night. I didn’t know you’d be working today.”

“Yeah. Well… I am.”

Adrian studied my face for a second. “A full week went by with no messages. I kept waiting for something. Anything. Then I walk in here and see you trying to disappear behind a light stand.”

I looked past him toward the harbor water. “I needed time.”

“I understand that,” he said. “I told you there was no pressure. But seeing you now makes it harder to stay quiet. To just, stay away.”

He moved closer again. The space between us shrank suddenly. I could smell the faint sandalwood of his cologne mixed with the clean scent of the lobby.

“Not here,” I said. My voice came out lower than I meant. “This is my work. People are around.”

Adrian did not step back. “Then tell me where. Because I am done pretending this does not matter to me. And I know it matters to you too.”

I swallowed hard. The sound felt loud in my own ears. “You already said you cared. Last week. In your office.”

“I said some of it,” he answered. His voice dropped quieter, almost a whisper so only I could hear. “But not all of it. I liked every late-night message. I liked the way you trusted me with things you never said in the sessions. I looked forward to your name lighting up my phone every single time. And when you walked out that day, the quiet that followed felt heavier than it should have but I still wanted to keep talking to you anyway. I just… I just wanted you to reach out first.”

My throat felt dry. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I know I shouldn't.” He leaned in a bit more. His breath brushed the side of my face when he spoke again. “But I am done pretending I feel nothing. I am done acting like the boundary is the only thing that matters now that I am no longer your therapist. I referred you out already, Ethan.” Damn, I loved his voice, how smooth it sounded say my name like that, I missed this.

“The professional line is gone. What is left is this. You and me standing here.” He concluded.

I gulped hard. The movement felt sharp in my throat. His face was close enough that I could see the small flecks of green in his hazel eyes. His lips were only inches from mine. The same full lips I had pictured so many times in the dark. In those dreams they had trailed slowly down my neck, and felt so warm and sure. They had whispered things against my skin while his hands held me steady. The memory hit me without warning and heat rose under my collar. I had to clear my throat to regain composure.

“Adrian,” I said. The single word came out rough.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “Tell me to walk away right now and I will. But do not ask me to keep pretending.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again. My hands stayed at my sides. The camera strap dug into my shoulder. Somewhere behind us a guest laughed and an elevator chimed. None of it felt real compared to the small space between his mouth and mine.

“I keep thinking about the messages,” I managed to voice out. “The ones that helped on the hard nights. It is hard to separate those from everything else.”

“Then do not separate them yet,” he said. His voice stayed soft and steady. “Just stop running for one minute. Look at me Ethan.”

I did. His eyes held mine without looking away. The lobby noise faded further into the background. The soft piano, the distant voices. The low hum of the air system. All of it sat far away from the way my heart slammed against my ribs.

He leaned in another inch. I could feel the warmth of his breath now. My head screamed at me to step back, to say something sharp, to remember where we were. Instead my feet stayed planted on the marble. The old dreams rose again, how his mouth was on my skin, the weight of his body close, the sound of his voice low and rough in my ear. The real man in front of me and the one from those private nights blurred together until I could barely tell which one made my pulse race harder.

“Ethan,” he whispered. My name sounded different in that tone. “I am done pretending.”

His lips hovered so close I could almost feel them. My throat worked again as I gulped once more. Every sensible thought told me to move. But every other part of me stayed frozen, caught between the public lobby and the private heat that had lived in my head for weeks.

I still could not move.