20| A Tender Moment

Sophie placed the last bouquet of the day on the counter, stepping back to admire her work. Her fingers ached from the hours of arranging, trimming, and tying ribbons, but she didn't mind. It was a familiar kind of exhaustion—the kind that came from doing something she loved.

If the shop hadn't been so busy today, maybe she would have considered staying with Ethan longer.

Last night...

She exhaled, shaking her head at the memory.

He had nearly given her a heart attack.

And not because of how ridiculously attractive he was.

When he collapsed, her heart had stopped. For a split second, she thought—God, what if something's really wrong? The sheer relief she felt when she finally heard his slow, steady breathing had been overwhelming.

She had dragged him to the living room—not without effort—and maybe his head had bumped into something once or twice along the way. Not her fault he weighed a ton.

She wanted to be mad at him, but how could she, when he had quite literally worked himself to the point of collapse?

Then there was the way he had whispered his apology, half-asleep, voice raw with exhaustion.

It had made her heart do an annoying little flip.

At least she wasn't the only one feeling miserable about their fight.

She had watched him for a while after that, making sure he was okay. Checked his pulse again—just to be sure.

He was fine. Just deeply, completely exhausted.

She had never seen him like that before.

Vulnerable.

When Ethan was awake, he carried himself like nothing could touch him—always composed, always in control. But asleep, he looked different. Like a boy. Like someone who had spent too many years fighting battles that no one ever saw.

The next morning, he was still out cold.

She had called his name—nothing. No reaction.

That's when she decided to call Jessica instead.

Jessica had been polite as always, explaining that Ethan had been overworking himself for a major project.

Then she mentioned something about sending his car to the mechanic.

And that's when Sophie froze.

His car?

He had gotten into an accident.

Her stomach twisted.

Just how much longer could she stay mad at him when it was obvious he was barely holding himself together?

She let out a slow breath, rubbing the tension from her temples.

"That's it. When we're done today, we deserve a reward. Girls' night. Pizza, wine, and me complaining about men." Lily's voice pulled her back to reality.

Sophie blinked, then chuckled. But her sigh was heavier than she intended as she leaned against the counter.

"I wish I could, Lily," she admitted, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "But I've been thinking..."

She hesitated, then spoke a little softer.

"I really want to talk to Ethan."

Lily raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.

"He's been going through a lot," Sophie continued, "and I... I'm thinking of making dinner. Maybe we can finally talk. I just hate being mad at him for this long." She exhaled. "Maybe I could also apologize for my reaction."

She wasn't sure why she felt so nervous saying it out loud. Maybe because a part of her knew—no matter how angry she had been, she couldn't stay away.

And then, there was the text message that had made her heart pound the moment she saw it.

"Sophie, I'm sorry about everything. Can we talk tonight?"

Her fingers had hovered over the screen for longer than she cared to admit before she finally replied.

Lily's usual teasing smirk softened into something more understanding. "Say no more, big sis. Go ahead and get started on your plans. I've got this. I'll close up the shop."

"Are you sure?" Sophie hesitated, glancing around at the lingering tasks. "I don't want to leave you with all the work."

"Go," Lily insisted, waving her off. "You're always here. You deserve a break. Plus, I think Ethan will appreciate the effort, even if he's been acting like a jerk lately."

Sophie gave her sister a grateful hug, her chest tightening with a mix of relief and nerves.

"Thanks, Lily. I owe you one."

With that, Sophie grabbed her bag and headed home, her mind racing with plans for the evening.

She wanted tonight to be perfect.

Not perfect in the grand, romantic sense—no.

She just wanted Ethan to know he wasn't alone. That she was here.

That if he was struggling, he didn't have to shut her out.

Maybe tonight would be different.

Maybe tonight, he would talk.

Once home, Sophie dove into the kitchen, immersing herself in the comforting rhythm of cooking.

The rich aromas of garlic, tomatoes, and fresh basil filled the air as she worked, each movement steady, deliberate—something to keep her mind busy. Italian, she decided. It was one of their favorites. She had even stopped by Mia's bakery earlier to pick up her bestselling tiramisu for dessert.

It was stupid, maybe.

Putting in this much effort.

But she wanted to.

As she stirred the sauce, her thoughts drifted back to Ethan—his tired eyes, the weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders.

Too tired.

Tired enough that his own body had given out.

She sighed, her hands pausing over the cutting board.

Mia and Lily had told her to open up, to tell Ethan how she felt.

She wanted to try—she had to try.

But what if she was just setting herself up to be pushed aside again?

She was willing to try again and again for him, but what if she was holding onto something that wasn't there anymore?

That question sat heavy in her chest.

It was stupid, though.

Because the truth was, when it came to Ethan, her body always moved before her mind could stop it.

Her feelings never listened to reason.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Sophie focused on setting the table.

She arranged the dishes with care, lit a few candles, and placed a small bouquet of fresh flowers in the center—a personal touch from the shop.

She stepped back, eyeing her work.

A small flicker of hope warmed her chest.

Tonight, everything would be better.

As the hours ticked by, that hope slowly faded.

She knew then.

Knew he wasn't coming.

Ethan had been the one to say he wanted to talk. He had reached out.

And she had been the idiot who went out of her way just to hurt her own damn feelings.

God, she hated this.

She didn't want to jump to conclusions, so she called him.

No answer.

Her fingers hovered over her screen, considering calling Jessica.

But that would be a different kind of desperation. One she wasn't willing to admit to. Not yet.

If he didn't want to talk to her, then she didn't want to talk to him either.

So why did that thought make her feel so damn sad?

The food had already gone cold and all she felt now was tired.

Not even angry, tired.

Just tired.

Her eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day and the weight of her emotions finally catching up to her.

She fought to stay awake, hoping—praying—that Ethan would walk through the door.

But in the end, exhaustion won.

*******

Ethan arrived home around 2 a.m., barely aware of anything beyond the exhaustion sinking deep into his bones.

His head was pounding.

His body ached.

He could barely even process what had happened today.

Last night, he'd wanted to apologize to Sophie. Had he? Did he even manage to say anything before he passed out?

He didn't remember.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the couch, his whole body stiff, the room too bright.

He blinked at the clock.

1 p.m.

Panic shot through him, yanking him into full consciousness.

His phone was still in his hand—dead. He scrambled for the charger, plugging it in with clumsy fingers. As soon as the screen flickered to life, his chest tightened.

A flood of notifications.

Not even from Jessica asking where he was—

But from his father.

Long, furious, downright vicious messages.

Ethan let out a slow breath, ignoring them for now, giving himself a second to think.

Shit.

The meeting.

His stomach dropped.

It was scheduled for today.

He felt like shit. Knew he looked like shit.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing around. The couch?

The last thing he remembered was standing in the entryway.

Sophie had been there.

Had she dragged him here?

She was tiny—she should have just left him on the floor. It was the least he deserved.

His throat tightened.

Ignoring the other messages, he opened their messages.

He needed to text her.

Needed to say something. Anything.

Last night's half-conscious, mumbled apology wasn't enough. Not even close.

His thumbs hovered over the screen as he typed. How do you even begin to fix something like this?

All he knew was that he was willing to try—again and again—until she forgave him.

When he finally arrived at the office, he saw the full extent of his father's revenge.

And damn, did he play dirty.

He had ordered an internal audit of Sinclair FinTech Solutions & Sinclair Technologies, claiming it was for "compliance and efficiency review."

In reality, it was nothing but a power move.

Everything was paused. Every single one of his projects was put on hold. His team was scrambling, running in circles, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

Then, just to twist the knife deeper, his father called an emergency board meeting—no warning, no schedule, just Ethan's company being ripped apart in front of an audience.

He sat through it, barely able to process the conversations happening around him.

Would it have mattered if he told his father the truth?

That his body had given out yesterday? That he had collapsed?

That he had woken up on a couch he didn't remember getting to?

No.

Robert would have called him weak.

And maybe he was.

Maybe he was just too damn tired to care anymore.

The only reason he was even bothering was because of his team.

They didn't deserve to have their work put on hold just because of some stupid power struggle.

An audit was a waste of time.

He had told his father that right then and there, and even the board members had agreed.

Robert had backed off.

For now.

Right now, all Ethan wanted was a nap.

But something nagged at him.

Something wasn't right.

Why did he feel like he was forgetting something?

When he stepped into the house, silence greeted him.

Then—

A soft glow from the kitchen caught his eye.

His chest tightened.

He moved toward it, exhaustion dragging at his limbs, his mind still foggy—until he stepped inside.

And froze.

Sophie was asleep at the kitchen counter, her head resting on her arms.

The dining table was beautifully set—candles still flickering over untouched plates of food.

A small bouquet of flowers sat at the center.

His stomach dropped.

Shit.

He had promised they would talk tonight.

And he had forgotten.

Worse—he hadn't even called her. Hadn't texted. Hadn't thought about her until now.

His father had dragged him into a stupid board meeting, another one of his ridiculous games, and Ethan had let himself get so caught up in it that he had just... left her waiting.

Scrambling for his phone, his stomach twisted when he saw her missed call.

His hands clenched.

Fuck.

His throat went dry. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. His chest felt so damn tight he could barely breathe.

She had waited for him.

She had believed he would come home.

And he hadn't.

The food, still arranged so perfectly, sat untouched.

The candles were still burning.

She had waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And now? She had fallen asleep, alone, because of him.

Ethan let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over his face.

He wasn't sure what hurt more—the fact that he had let her down or the fact that she still tried for him despite everything.

His feet moved before he could think, before he could convince himself that maybe he should just walk away, maybe he shouldn't even be near her after fucking up this badly—

But he couldn't.

So he sat.

The chair scraped softly against the floor as he settled into the seat across from her.

He stared at the food, now cold.

And maybe—maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the fact that he felt like an absolute piece of shit—but he picked up his fork.

And took a bite.

Even cold, it was incredible.

Every flavor still hit the same way. Rich, warm, filled with care.

His chest ached.

Why? Why did she have to be so damn good?

He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve her. Not after how he had shut her out.

And yet, despite everything, she had still tried.Too kind. Too patient. Too much for someone like him.

Ethan swallowed hard, setting the fork down. His gaze drifted back to her, and something inside him twisted painfully.

Slowly, he stood and walked to her side, she stirred slightly but didn't wake. Kneeling beside her, he hesitated for a moment before reaching out, his fingers brushing against her hair.

His chest ached.

"I'm sorry, Sophie," he whispered, his voice so quiet it barely existed in the stillness of the room.

"I don't deserve you."

The words felt heavy on his tongue, because they were true.

But he knew then—he couldn't do this to her again.

Not intentionally.

Not unintentionally.

He wanted to be better.

For her.

For himself.

For them.

His hand lingered on her hair, his thumb brushing gently over a stray strand.

Then, as if drawn by something he couldn't fight, he leaned in—and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

Maybe it was selfish.

Maybe he was selfish.

But for once, maybe being selfish wasn't such a bad thing.

Gathering her carefully in his arms, Ethan was struck by how light she felt, how perfectly she fit against him. Like she belonged there.

He carried her to her bedroom, his steps slow, deliberate—as if making up for all the ways he had already let her down.

Yesterday, she had done the same for him. When he hadn't deserved it. When she had cared for him, even after he'd hurt her.

He laid her down gently, pulling the blanket over her, smoothing a stray strand of hair from her face. She stirred slightly, murmuring something soft, but didn't wake.

For a long moment, he just stood there. Watching her.

Her steady breathing. The way her eyelashes fluttered slightly in sleep. The soft curve of her face, peaceful, serene—like she wasn't holding onto the hurt he had put there.

Somehow, she still looked at ease, and that... that calmed something in him.

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I'll try to be better," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the night. "I promise."

He left as silently as he came, retreating to his own room. But sleep never came.

Because all he could see was her.

Sitting alone at that table.

Waiting for him. The candles. The flowers. The way she had tried—really tried—to reach him.

He couldn't push it away.

Just what could he do to fix this?

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Photo credit: Pinterest

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