Page 44 of Love on the Edge
"Thank you, Mom," I reply, a little shy. I’ve heard it plenty before, but I’ve never liked being the center of attention.
I glance at my reflection. Other than the night of the party, I don’t usually dress up.
Full-circle moment, honestly.
The dress is simple but elegant—a deep navy, fitted at the waist, with thin straps that leave my shoulders bare. The fabric is smooth, hugging my frame without feeling constricting. Not too flashy, not too much. Just enough.
My hair is down, something I rarely let happen. The soft waves fall over my shoulders in stark contrast to the usual tight ponytail or bun.
I like this side of myself. More relaxed. Lighter. Happier.
That’s when it hits me—Ethan makes me happy. Maybe he has since the first night I met him. There’s something electric about him, something effortless and steady.
I’m glad I get to know him like this, without pressure, without rushing into something we can’t define yet. We haven’t put anylabels on us, haven’t said what we are. We just… exist together. And until his wife signs the divorce papers, that’s all I’m willing to do.
The doorbell rings, and I take a steadying breath before heading downstairs, my heels quiet against the hardwood.
As I reach the bottom step, I hear my dad’s voice.
"So, how’s the garage treating you?"
"Busy," Ethan replies, his tone easy, familiar, like he’s not just answering to impress him but actually enjoying the conversation. “Drew’s been talking my ear off about upgrading some of the lifts. Swears it’ll change our lives.”
Dad chuckles. “He sounds like the type if he can’t rebuild it, he’ll try to make it better.”
Ethan huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, he’s got me pulling more hours than I planned, but I guess I can’t complain. I like working with my hands.”
There’s nothing forced about it. Just two men talking, like they’ve known each other longer than they actually have. Like my dad already likes him.
And then—Ethan looks at me.
It’s not just a glance. It’s the kind of look that makes my stomach dip, the kind that sends something electric through my veins, sharp and unshakable.
Ethan’s gaze drags over me, slow, deliberate, like he’s committing every detail to memory. Like he’s seeing me for the first time—but also like he already knew exactly what he would find.
And maybe I should have expected him to look good, but I didn’t expect… this.
He’s clean-shaven, his jaw sharper under the dim light. His dark hair is styled just enough to look effortless but not careless. He’s wearing a fitted button-down, the sleeves rolled up slightlyat his forearms, the deep blue fabric stretching over broad shoulders.
It’s different from his usual—no grease stains, no worn flannel, no work boots. And I can’t stop looking.
His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t have to. Because I feel it. Everywhere.
My breath catches, the warmth of his attention settling over me in a way I don’t know what to do with.
Dad clears his throat, breaking whatever moment we were locked in.
Ethan blinks, like he’s just remembered we’re not alone.
“You clean up nice,” he finally says, voice low, eyes still holding onto something I can’t name.
I should say something back, but I don’t trust my voice just yet.
I hear Ethan chuckle.
"You ready to go?" he asks, and it’s casual, but there’s something in his voice that lingers, something heavier than the words.
"Yeah," I say, exhaling quietly.
