She says it's the best present anyone ever gave her. Ethan felt something tighten in his throat. Tell her she's welcome. Clara's hands moved. Lily smiled and waved, then rolled over and closed her eyes.
Back in the living room, Clara sank onto the couch with a heavy sigh. I don't know how to thank you for all this. You don't have to thank me. Yes, I do. The bookshelf alone.
Ethan, that thing is worth more than my rent. It's just wood. It's not just wood, and you know it. She looked at him steadily. Why are you doing this, really?
Ethan sat down in the only chair, a a armchair that had definitely seen better decades because I wanted to. That's not an answer. It's the only answer I have. Clara studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for something. Most guys would have run after the first date, kid, chaos, all of it.
But you're sitting in my crappy apartment doing dishes and building furniture like it's completely normal. Maybe it is normal for me. Nothing about you is normal, Ethan Mercer. She said his full name and Ethan's heart stopped for a second, but her tone was warm, not suspicious. She hadn't Googled him, didn't know.
I should go, he said standing. It's late. Clara walked him to the door. In the dim hallway light, she looked younger somehow, more uncertain. Same time next week?
She asked. Yeah. Lilly has art class Thursday evenings. I'm usually free after. If you wanted to I don't know.
Get coffee without a chaperone this time? Ethan smiled. I'd like that. Okay, good. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither quite ready to say goodbye.
Ethan? Yeah. Thanks for seeing us. Not just showing up, but actually seeing us. He didn't trust himself to respond with words, so he just nodded.
Walking back to his truck, Ethan passed a man smoking in the stairwell, a couple arguing in rapid Spanish, a flickering fluorescent light that probably hadn't been fixed in years. The building was falling apart. The neighborhood was rough. Everything about this situation should have sent him running. Instead, he was already thinking about Thursday.
His phone rang as he drove home. Rachel, of course. How was it? Good. Just good?
Really good. Did you tell her? No. Ethan. I'm not doing this tonight, Rachel. You're falling for her.
He didn't answer, which was answer enough. Just be careful, his sister said softly. I know you want this to be real, but secrets have a way of blowing up. I know. Do you?
Yeah, I do. He hung up and drove the rest of the way home in silence, Clara's words echoing in his head. Thanks for seeing us. The problem was Ethan couldn't imagine not seeing them now. His house felt even emptier than usual when he got back.
He walked through the massive kitchen where he never cooked, past the dining room table that never hosted dinners, up to his bedroom where he slept alone in a bed big enough for four people. Somewhere across town, Clara was probably already asleep on a mattress on the floor. Lily curled up beside her, both of them crammed into a space smaller than his walk-in closet. And he would have traded his entire house for one night in that crowded apartment if it meant he got to be part of whatever family they were building together. His phone buzzed.
A text from Clara. Lily just informed me she's adding you to her Christmas list. Fair warning. Ethan smiled and typed back, What does she want? She hasn't decided yet, but knowing her, it'll involve art supplies and glitter.
I can handle glitter. That's what everyone says. Then they find it in their car 6 months later. Worth it. A pause, then Yeah.
It really is. Ethan fell asleep that night thinking about bookshelf measurements and terrible water pressure, and a little girl who thought he had kind eyes. For the first time in 3 years, he didn't dream about his failing marriage, or his empty house, or the company that demanded everything and gave back nothing. He dreamed about a crowded apartment that smelled like pasta and paint, where everyone talked with their hands and nobody cared that he was a billionaire because nobody knew. And when he woke up, he was already planning Thursday.
Thursday came slower than Ethan wanted and faster than he was ready for. He spent Wednesday afternoon in a meeting with city planners about a mixed-use development downtown, nodding at architectural renderings while mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need to build Lily a proper desk. The folding table situation was bothering him more than it should. Clara needed workspace. Lily needed somewhere to do homework that wasn't covered in design mock-ups and coffee rings.
Mr. Mercer, your thoughts on the facade treatment? Ethan blinked and refocused on the architect standing at the front of the conference room. Whatever gets us through permitting fastest. I trust your judgment. His VP shot him a look that clearly said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
But Ethan ignored it. The meeting dragged on another 40 minutes before he could escape. His assistant caught him in the hallway. "Sir, you have the foundation dinner Saturday night." "The one for children's literacy?"
Cancel it. You're the keynote speaker. Find someone else. Mr. Mercer? Janet.
He stopped walking and turned to face her. I know I'm being difficult. I know this is your job, but I need Saturday off and I'm not negotiating. She studied him with the expression of someone who'd worked for the Mercer family long enough to recognize when pushing back was pointless. Fine.
But you're telling the board chair yourself. Deal. He made it to Clara's building at 6:15, carrying takeout from a Thai place his sister had recommended, and trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was more nervous now than he'd been before board presentations worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Clara answered the door in paint-splattered jeans and a tank top, her hair up in a clip with a pencil stuck through it. You're early.
Traffic was light. Is that a problem? No, just um She gestured vaguely at herself. I'm a mess. Lily's still at art class.
I was going to shower before you got here. You look fine. I have cerulean blue in my hair. I don't know what that is. It's a shade of paint.
In my hair. Because I'm a professional disaster. Ethan held up the takeout bag. I brought food. Clara's expression softened.
You didn't have to do that. I know. Can I come in or are we eating in the hallway? She stepped aside laughing. Sorry.