Chapter Eight

Nancy slid down the door until she was sitting on the carpet, knees pulled to her chest. Her heart was still racing, her body buzzing like it had mistaken danger for delight and couldn’t tell the difference.

She pressed her forehead into her knees and let out a breathy laugh that turned into a groan.
“Get it together,” she whispered to herself. “He kissed you. That’s… good. That’s normal.”

On the other side of the door, there was a pause. No footsteps. No awkward shuffling away.

Then, softly: “Hey.”

Her stomach flipped.

“I’m still out here,” Ethan added, voice gentle, almost amused. “Just so you know.”

Nancy squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry,” she called back, mortified. “I swear I’m not— I’m not laughing at you. I just—” She let out another helpless little giggle and groaned again. “God, I’m the worst.”

There was a quiet chuckle on the other side. “Hey,” he said again, slower this time. “You don’t sound like the worst.”

She heard him shift, maybe leaning against the wall. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t leaving.

“That was… kind of adorable,” he admitted. “Unexpected, sure. But not bad.”

Nancy buried her face in her hands. “You’re just saying that.”

“I promise, I’m not.” There was a smile in his voice now. “If you were laughing at me, that’d sting a little. But this? This just feels like nerves doing parkour.”

Despite herself, she smiled.

“I didn’t scare you off?” she asked quietly.

“Nope.” A beat. “Did I scare you?”

She swallowed. “Maybe a little.”

“That’s okay,” he said easily. “We can be scared together. Very brave. Very mature.”

She let out a small laugh, calmer this time.

“I don’t want you to feel embarrassed,” he continued. “Nothing you did was wrong. Bodies are weird. Brains are worse. If you need a minute, take ten. If you need the night to end, that’s okay too.”

The knot in her chest loosened, just slightly.

“And,” he added, a little lighter, “for the record, I was having a really nice time before, during, and after the giggle ambush.”

Nancy laughed again—this time softer, steadier.

She stood, smoothed her hair, and rested her hand on the doorknob. Her heart thudded as she turned it.

When she opened the door, Ethan was exactly where she’d imagined—leaning back against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking up at her with an expression that was equal parts concern and warmth.

“Hey,” he said, like it was the easiest word in the world.

“Hey,” she echoed.

They stood there for a moment, neither moving.

“I might still laugh,” she blurted. “I don’t want to, but it just— happens. And I don’t want you to think I’m not taking this seriously. Because I am. I just—” She gestured helplessly at herself. “This is what happens when I’m… overwhelmed.”

Ethan nodded, listening. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she repeated.

“Okay,” he said again with a relaxed and reassuring smirk. “Then we’ll work with that. Or around it. Or ignore it completely.”

She searched his face. “You’re really not weirded out?”

He stared at her flat. “Nancy, you cooked me an incredible meal, you laugh when you’re nervous, and you look at me like you’re deciding whether to jump or run away. I think you’re human. That’s all.”

Something in her chest cracked open.

She took a breath. “Do you want to come in?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he asked gently, “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with how certain it felt. “Even if I giggle.”

A grin tugged at his mouth. “Then lead the way.”

She did.

The night unfolded slowly after that, not rushed, not perfect. There were moments where she laughed and hid her face in his shoulder, moments where he kissed her hair instead of her mouth, moments where they paused just to breathe. When things finally drifted into quiet and sleep, Nancy lay there stunned by the unfamiliar calm in her chest.

For once, she hadn’t run.

Morning arrived quietly.

Nancy woke slowly, the way you do when you don’t want to disturb the moment you’re in. Warmth pressed against her back, an arm draped around her waist like it had always belonged there. For a second, she just lay still, listening to his breathing, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder.

She smiled before she could stop herself.

“Hey,” Ethan murmured behind her, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hey,” she whispered back.

He shifted closer, tucking his chin into the space between her neck and shoulder. “Did I dream that you laughed through half of last night, or was that real?”

She groaned softly, half-laughing already. “Oh my god. I warned you.”

“I know,” he said, smiling into her hair. “I just want to make sure that part wasn’t a stress hallucination.”

She turned in his arms to face him. His hair was mussed, his eyes still heavy-lidded, expression open in a way that made her chest ache.

“I was really embarrassed,” she admitted.

“I know,” he said gently. “But I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt… trusted. Eventually.”

That surprised her enough that she forgot to deflect it.

They lay there for a moment, tangled together, sunlight slipping through the blinds in pale stripes across his shoulder.

“This feels dangerous,” she said quietly.

“Good dangerous or bad dangerous?” he asked.

She considered it. “Good. The kind that makes you want to stay.”

His thumb traced slow, absent circles against her arm. “I’d like that,” he said simply.

Then Ethan suddenly shifted, sitting up with renewed energy. “Okay. Before we get too reflective and start naming feelings, I need to get up.”

She blinked. “Why?”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Because if I don’t act fast, I will absolutely fall back asleep and miss my chance to show off.”

“Show off how?”

He grinned over his shoulder. “You showed me you’re a master chef last night. Now it’s my turn to wow you with my epic breakfast skills.”

She laughed. “Should I be scared?”

“Only if you don’t like bananas.”

A few minutes later, she lay there listening to him move around her kitchen — cabinet doors opening, a pan clattering, soft music playing from his phone. The smell of something warm and sweet drifted down the hallway.

She padded out to the doorway, arms folded loosely around herself.

She leaned against the counter, watching him move around her kitchen like he belonged there. It felt comedically domestic — in the best way.

“Here,” he said moving a test bite toward her on a fork. “Have a taste of this. It’ll be the most delicious breakfast you’ve ever had. I’m so lucky you had all the ingredients.”

She opened her mouth and let him feed her a bite. The taste was incredible. Sweet with syrup, but soft with the bananas. She’d never thought about actually putting fruit in her pancakes, but was now fully convinced that it was the best way to eat them.

“Wow!” she said with her eyes closed. “That truly is incredible!”

“I know right!?” he said enthusiastically. He dished up their plates, and carried them to the places they sat for dinner the night before.

They ate together at the small table, knees brushing. He poured coffee, she stole bites off his plate, he pretended to protest and then slid the plate closer anyway.

“So,” he said, sipping his mug. “What’s the plan today?”

“Well,” she said, counting on her fingers, “we pick up Crowley, check on your cat, and then I was thinking dog park if the weather holds.”

“That sounds perfect,” he said easily. “Low stakes. Fresh air. Dogs doing dumb things.”

She smiled. “You’re really leaning into this.”

“I am,” he said. And then, softer, “I like spending time with you.”

Her chest tightened — warm and terrifying.

“Let’s find a nice dog park between us.” she said pulling her laptop up out of its bag on to the table. They found a nice one with a water feature, Crowley loved swimming despite the mess, and pulled directions up and set it aside.

After breakfast, the kitchen was a mini wreck. Plates stacked haphazardly, pancake batter splotched on the counter here and there, mugs abandoned half-full.

“I’ll clean up after I get back,” Nancy said, heading toward her bedroom. “Give me five to get ready and we’ll head to your place.”

“Take your time,” Ethan said, gathering plates. “I’ll at least corral the damage.”

She disappeared into her room, tugging on jeans, replaying the morning in her head. The ease of it. The way he’d fit into her space like it wasn’t a question.

When she came back out, Ethan was standing still by the counter, her laptop open in front of him.

Something in his posture made her stomach drop.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He looked up. His expression wasn’t angry.

It was hurt.

“I need to talk to you for a minute,” he said.

Her heart started racing.

“I was inputting the park address into my phone,” he continued, voice careful, controlled, “and your notifcations lit up. I wasn’t trying to look. I didn’t touch anything. But I saw a message come in. I didn’t try to read it, but it happened and I am sorry for my part in letting myself read it automatically.”

She swallowed. “Okay…”

“It said,” he paused, clearly hating this part, “‘Hey cutie — can’t wait to see you. Heart eyes emoji.’”

The words sat between them, ugly and bright.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I know we met on the app,” he said quickly. “I know we never said anything about exclusivity. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” she asked quietly.

“It’s about timing,” he said. “And assumptions. And me realizing I assumed wrong.”

She hugged her arms around herself. “I don’t understand.”

“I haven’t been talking to anyone else,” he said. “Not because I made some rule for myself. I just… didn’t want to. And I guess I thought — stupidly — that after last night, after this morning… maybe we were on the same page.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said.

“I didn’t either,” he replied. “Until just now.”

Silence stretched.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” she said finally, defensively and scared. “We never said—”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not accusing you of cheating. I’m telling you how it landed.”

She hesitated, nerves buzzing, then said the thing she would wish she could take back.

“I just didn’t think a few dates meant I should stop talking to other people.”

The air shifted instantly.

Ethan went very still.

“A few dates,” he repeated softly.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed. “I just— I didn’t want to assume this was serious yet.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself.

“For me,” he said, “it stopped feeling casual somewhere between the gifted cards, and our kiss in front of an exploding volcano.”

Her eyes burned.

“I was just trying to be smart. You were the first person I talked to,” she said quickly. “The very first. And my friends kept telling me not to put all my eggs in one basket, and I thought that was the smart thing to do, and I didn’t know if you—”

She stopped, breath hitching.

“If I what?” he asked sharply.

“If you were serious,” she said, the words tumbling out wrong the moment they left her mouth. “I mean— not that you’re not serious, I just didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to… scare you off.”

His jaw tightened, just slightly.

“So you kept your options open,” he said.

“I kept myself safe,” she said. Her eyes welling with tears, then immediately winced. “I mean— I didn’t mean it like that. I just— I didn’t know what this was yet.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I think that’s the problem,” he said slowly after a while. “I think I was being earnest.”

She shook her head, tears spilling now. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I believe that,” he said. “But I don’t think I can unfeel this.”

He stepped back, creating space she hadn’t asked for but suddenly couldn’t bridge.

“I don’t want to compete for your attention, be measured against someone else.” he continued. “And I can’t gaslight myself into being ok with not being a first choice.”

“But that’s not…” she stammered. “I don’t—” her voice catching after she steadily became more and more frantic. “So you’re just… leaving?” she asked, voice breaking.

“I need to,” he said quietly. “I need to think about how I’m feeling.”

She nodded. Skin buzzing like angry static. She could feel every inch of her skin vibrating so angrily, it almost hurt.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he said. “I just don’t think I can do another halfway-in-halfway-out relationship.”

He grabbed his jacket, hesitated for half a second like he might say more, then didn’t.

The elevator stood open dinging impatiently while he decided whether or not to leave at that or continue, when he took that last step inside and let the doors come together.

Nancy stood alone in her kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes and the fading smell of maple bananas and coffee.

Plans still hung in the air — Crowley, the cat, the dog park — all of it suddenly unreal.

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at nothing. Her chest felt tight, like someone had cinched a belt around her ribs and kept pulling.

Okay. Okay. Breathe.

She inhaled too fast. Her lungs burned.

Her eyes snagged on the stack of plates by the sink. His coffee mug. The fork he’d used. Evidence. Proof that five minutes ago she’d been laughing, making plans, imagining a dog park.

Crowley, her brain supplied stupidly.
We were supposed to pick up Crowley.

Her heart lurched.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head like she could physically dislodge the memory. “No, no, no.”

She replayed it.

Not the whole thing—just the moment where it went wrong.

I just didn’t think a few dates meant I should stop talking to other people.

Her stomach dropped again, violently, like she was on a roller coaster she hadn’t agreed to get on.

“Why did I say it like that?” she hissed at the empty room. “Why did I say a few dates?”

She paced, hands tugging at her hair.

She could see his face again—how still he’d gone. How something had shut behind his eyes, not angrily, just… carefully. Like a door being closed so it wouldn’t slam.

I should’ve said it differently.
I should’ve said I was scared.
I should’ve said I didn’t know how to want him without panicking.

She stopped short, pressing her palms into the counter.

“I could’ve fixed it,” she said aloud, desperation creeping into her voice. “I could’ve just—explained better.”

Her brain obliged, instantly conjuring alternate versions.

What if I’d laughed it off?
What if I’d said, ‘I didn’t even answer that message’?
What if I’d said, ‘I like you, I just move slow’?

She pictured it vividly—him softening, nodding, understanding. Him staying. Him grabbing his jacket and saying, Let’s still go to the dog park.

Her chest tightened further.

“But I didn’t,” she whispered. “I didn’t.”

The anger came next, hot and sharp and sudden.

“Nellie! And Mark for that matter!” she snapped, voice rising. “This is your fault.”

Her hands curled into fists.

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Date around.
See what’s out there.

“Great advice,” she muttered bitterly. “Fantastic. Really worked out.”

She imagined telling them. Imagined Nellie’s told-you-so face, Mark’s too-gentle voice.

They were just trying to protect you.

The anger faltered, wobbling.

“They didn’t know,” she said, weaker now. “They didn’t know it would feel like this.”

Her throat burned.

“They just wanted me to be safe,” she whispered. “They always do.”

The guilt rushed in immediately, piling on top of everything else.

How dare you be mad at people who care about you?
How dare you blame them instead of yourself?

Her breathing sped up again. Too fast. Too shallow.

“I’m so stupid,” she said, voice cracking. “I always do this. I wait too long. I say the wrong thing. I try to be logical about feelings that aren’t logical.”

Her legs suddenly felt weak.

She slid down the fridge door until she was sitting on the kitchen floor, back against the cold gently vibrating appliance, knees pulled tight to her chest. The tile was cold through her jeans.

Her heart pounded wildly now, each beat loud in her ears. Her thoughts raced, overlapping, nonsensical.

He was making pancakes.
He said he liked spending time with me.
I ruined it.
Why can’t I just be normal?
Why does wanting someone feel like standing on the edge of a cliff?

Tears blurred her vision once more.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered again, like he could hear her. Like saying it enough times might rewind the morning. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Her chest seized, the panic cresting hard and fast now. She bent forward, forehead pressed to her knees, gasping.

The room felt too big. Too loud. Too empty.

She cried then—quiet at first, then harder, shoulders shaking as everything she’d been holding back spilled out onto the kitchen floor. Helpless, exhausted sobs that left her breathless and aching.

Around her, the breakfast mess stayed exactly where he’d left it.

Plates. Crumbs. Two mugs.

A life that had almost kept going.

And Nancy sat there in the wreckage, hands clenched in her shirt, crying for something she hadn’t known how to hold while it was still hers. The very idea of Victor repulsing her now.