Clara didn’t expect the quiet between them to feel this full.
After he touched her hand—after she let him—neither of them moved for several seconds. The shop felt too small for how big her heartbeat suddenly was. Elias stayed close, steady, certain, but not demanding. Like he was giving her room even while standing right in front of her.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “Do you… want to sit?”
He nodded once, and she led him toward the small table near the window, the one customers rarely used—the one she usually sat at during slow hours to breathe.
Today, breathing wasn’t easy.
Elias pulled out the chair for her first. He didn’t do it dramatically, didn’t even look at her when he did—just the kind of quiet, instinctive gesture of someone who didn’t know how to be soft but was trying anyway.
She sat. He sat across from her.
Outside, afternoon light spilled across the pavement, catching in the glass as if the world was leaning closer to see what they would do next.
“Do you come here often?” he asked quietly.
Clara blinked. “I work here.”
He exhaled in a way that might have been a laugh. “I meant this corner. This table.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her hands. “Sometimes. When it’s quiet.”
“It’s never quiet when I’m here.”
Her head snapped up—but his expression wasn’t teasing. It was honest. Like he was admitting something about himself without fully knowing how.
Clara swallowed. “You’re… not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure.” She hesitated. “You seemed so—untouchable. That night.”
“That wasn’t strength,” he said. “That was… habit.”
“Of what?”
“Being alone.”
Her chest tightened.
He didn’t say it tragically. Didn’t say it like a confession. Just a fact he’d carried so long it stopped sounding heavy—until he said it to someone who finally heard it.
Clara leaned forward slightly. “You don’t have to be.”
Elias’s eyes lifted to hers—slowly, carefully.
“And what if I don’t know how to be anything else?” he asked.
Clara didn’t look away.
“Then stay close until you learn.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Before he could reply, the shop door opened and a customer stepped in, breaking the moment. Clara rose from the table automatically.
“I should —”
“I’ll wait,” he said immediately.
She froze.
His voice wasn’t firm. It wasn’t soft.
It was just… decided.
Like leaving wasn’t an option he even considered.
Clara nodded, trying not to show how much that one sentence affected her. She walked toward the counter to help the customer, arranging stems and wrapping paper with practiced ease. But she could feel him behind her—could feel the weight of his presence like a warm line drawn across the room.
He didn’t look away from her, even when she wasn’t looking.
And when she snuck a glance at him between tying ribbons…
He was still watching.
Steady.
Present.
Here.
The customer left with a cheerful wave, and the bell chimed behind them. Clara exhaled slowly, smoothing her apron before she walked back toward the window table.
Elias stood as she approached.
“You didn’t have to get up,” she said softly.
“I wanted to.”
It shouldn’t have affected her as much as it did, but her pulse stumbled anyway.
She motioned toward the table. “Do you want to stay a bit longer?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
She sat across from him again, but this time the air between them felt different—warmer, heavier, like something had shifted and neither of them was pretending it hadn’t.
He rested his forearms lightly on the table.
No suit jacket today.
Sleeves rolled again.
A softer version of him that she was still learning how to look at without staring.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
Clara’s breath caught. “About…?”
“Yesterday.”
He paused. “And last night. And today.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s… a lot of thinking.”
“It was.”
She waited, giving him the silence he needed.
Finally, he said, “It felt wrong to leave you at your door.”
Her throat tightened. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to walk away.”
He met her eyes steadily. “I still don’t.”
Clara’s fingers curled slightly against the wood of the table.
She didn’t know what to say—
didn’t know how to steady her breathing—
so she didn’t try.
Elias leaned forward, only slightly.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “Not with this. Not with—”
He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“—you.”
Her chest warmed.
“You don’t have to know,” she whispered. “We’re figuring it out.”
His gaze held hers—quiet, searching, like he was trying to memorize every detail of her face.
“Clara,” he said slowly, “do you want me here?”
The question wasn’t desperate.
It wasn’t insecure.
It was serious.
Real.
She didn’t look away.
“Yes.”
He inhaled—sharp, almost surprised.
“Then I’ll stay.”
Outside, the first lights of early evening flickered on.
Inside, the shop felt warmer than it ever had.
Clara shifted a little closer—not enough to touch, just enough that he would feel it.
He did.
“Elias?”
“Hm?”
“You don’t have to wait for reasons.”
His brow softened. “For what?”
“For wanting to be near me.”
He sat back slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that wasn’t quite a smile but held the shape of one.
“I’m starting to understand that.”
She smiled—small, warm, impossible to hide.
He watched her again,
the same way he had earlier—
the same way he always seemed to—
without looking away.
And when she finally reached across the table,
resting her hand palm-up on the wooden surface—
he didn’t hesitate.
He placed his hand over hers.
Not tentative.
Not questioning.
Choosing.
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