The door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds too final.
For a moment, we just stand there in his entryway. Too close but not close enough. The house is quiet around us, warm and intimate in a way that makes my heart race. I can see into the living room from here, comfortable furniture and bookshelves lining every wall, the kind of space that looks lived-in rather than staged.
"You want something to drink?" he asks, and I can hear the nervousness in his voice.
"No."
"Are you sure? I have water, coffee, I could make tea..."
"Ethan. I didn't come here for a drink."
"Right." He runs a hand through his hair, making it messier. "Come in. Sit."
He leads me to the living room, and my breath catches when I recognize it. Same couch where we kissed a week ago. The memory hits me hard, how different everything felt then, how much simpler. Feels like a lifetime has passed since that night.
I sit on one end. He sits on the other.
Safe distance.
