Chapter 23
Emily's POV
The next morning I was waiting by the window when Ethan's truck pulled into the parking lot, and I watched him climb out carrying something wrapped in pale blue paper—flowers, I realized as he came closer, a small bouquet of white roses mixed with something purple I couldn't identify.
I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs before he could make it to the lobby, catching him just as he reached the entrance. He looked different today—not just showered and dressed, but actually put together in a way that suggested effort. Dark jeans instead of his usual faded ones, a button-down shirt in deep green that made his eyes look almost hazel, and his hair styled with something that made it stay in place instead of falling across his forehead the way it usually did.
"Hi," he said, holding out the flowers with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and nervous.
"Hi." I took them, studying the arrangement. The purple flowers were stock, I thought, though I wasn't entirely sure. "These are beautiful."
"Yeah?" He smiled, relieved. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I just told the florist to make something—I don't know, something that looked like you. She seemed to know what I meant."
I wasn't sure what flowers that looked like me would entail, but the arrangement was elegant and understated, nothing overly romantic or ostentatious. I appreciated that more than I could articulate. "Thank you. Let me put these in the truck."
I walked over to his truck and opened the rear door, setting the bouquet carefully on the back seat where it wouldn't get crushed. When I straightened and turned around, Ethan was standing closer than I'd expected, arms slightly open—an invitation.
I found myself smiling as I stepped into his space and wrapped my arms around his waist. He pulled me close immediately, one hand settling between my shoulder blades and the other curving around my lower back, and I let myself relax against his chest, breathing in the scent of him.
Except it wasn't quite the usual scent.
I stayed there for a moment, processing, and then started to pull back. "That's fancy. You're wearing cologne."
"You don't like it?" His arms tightened slightly, keeping me in place. "Stay for another minute. I missed you."
Something in my chest did a complicated flutter at the simple honesty of that statement. I settled back against him, letting my weight rest more fully into the embrace, and tried to parse what I was smelling. Something woody and clean, expensive-smelling in that way department store fragrances were. It wasn't bad, exactly, just—different.
"It's nice," I said after a moment. "But honestly? I prefer how you usually smell."
He went still. "I have a usual smell?"
"Of course you do. Everyone does." I pulled back enough to look up at him. "Yours is—it's that Tide with Febreze. The Spring Meadow scent."
For a second he just stared at me like I'd said something in a foreign language. Then he laughed, the sound surprised and genuine. " My mom's detergent choice. You can identify my laundry detergent by smell?"
"It's distinctive." I felt my face heat slightly. "And you always smell like it. On your shirts, in your truck—it's just what you smell like to me."
"Huh." He was grinning now, that wide unself-conscious grin that made his whole face light up. "My mom's taste in laundry detergent. That's what you like about me."
"I didn't say it was what I liked about you. I said I preferred it to cologne." But I was smiling too, caught by how ridiculous this conversation was and how easy it felt at the same time. "It's familiar, I guess. Comforting."
Something shifted in his expression, going soft and warm in a way that made my pulse kick up. "Good to know I'm comforting."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late. I'm already planning to tell my mom her detergent choice has been scientifically proven to be appealing to beautiful girls." He pulled me closer again, resting his chin on top of my head. "This is nice, though. Just standing here with you."
"We're in a parking lot."
"I know. Still nice."
I let myself stay there for another long moment, breathing in the combination of expensive cologne and underneath it, faintly, that familiar laundry-fresh scent I'd apparently memorized without realizing it. It occurred to me that this was something couples did—this casual physical affection, this standing around holding each other for no particular reason except that they wanted to. I'd seen it before, obviously, but being part of it was entirely different from observing it.
"You know what's funny?" I said into his shirt.
"What?"
"My mom uses the same detergent. That's probably why it registers as safe to me. Spring Meadow Tide." I paused. "Looks like we already have something in common."
Ethan pulled back to look at me, eyebrows raised. "Our mothers have the same taste in laundry products. That's—that's actually kind of perfect. Like the universe was preparing us to be compatible."
"I think you're reading too much into Tide choices."
"Maybe." He was smiling again, bright and easy. "Or maybe it's a sign. Either way, I'm keeping it. Our first shared thing: Spring Meadow appreciation."
I shook my head, but I was smiling too, caught between amusement and something softer I didn't want to examine too closely. "You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
"I'm tolerating it."
"You're smiling."
"Coincidence."
He laughed and finally released me, though his hand found mine almost immediately as we walked around to the passenger side of the truck. "Come on. Let's go get some pancakes."
I climbed into the truck and buckled my seatbelt while he jogged around to the driver's side. The flowers sat in the back seat, visible in the rearview mirror, and I found myself glancing at them as Ethan started the engine.
"Thank you," I said. "For the flowers. And for—" I gestured vaguely between us. "This. All of it."
"You don't have to thank me for wanting to spend time with you." He pulled out of the parking lot, his hand settling on the gearshift close enough to mine that our fingers were almost touching. "That's just—that's what I want to do. There's nothing to thank me for."
"Okay," I said, and let my hand drift those last few inches until it was resting against his.
He looked over at me, something warm and pleased in his expression, and laced our fingers together without taking his eyes off the road.