Clara’s hands moved instinctively, kneading the dough as if it were a language she spoke fluently. The kitchen smelled of yeast and cinnamon, the air thick with the warmth of the oven. She glanced at the clock—8:17 p.m.—and sighed. The storm had knocked out the power an hour ago, leaving her to work by candlelight. The generator sputtered once, then died. She kicked the metal case, cursing under her breath.
The door slammed open. Wind howled through the cracks in the walls, carrying the scent of salt and rain. A figure stood in the doorway, coat soaked, hair plastered to his forehead. Clara froze.
“You’re still open?” His voice was gravel and honey, low and familiar.
She didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. Ethan. The same man who’d left without a word six years ago, leaving only a note that read, *I can’t stay*. She hadn’t spoken to him since.
“I’m not closing,” she said, her voice steady. The candlelight flickered over his features—sharp jaw, dark eyes that held the storm’s weight. He stepped inside, shaking rain from his coat.
“You’re ridiculous,” he said, tossing the coat onto a chair. “This place is a death trap without power.”
“It’s a business,” she countered. “I can’t just shut down.”
He moved to the back of the kitchen, crouching beside the generator. The hum of the engine was gone, replaced by the drip of water from the ceiling. Clara watched him, her pulse a frantic rhythm. He’d always had that effect on her—like a storm in a bottle, dangerous and beautiful.
“You’re still here,” he said, not looking up. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“Where would I go?” She asked. “This is all I have.”
He stood, turning to face her. The candlelight caught the edges of his face, casting shadows that danced like memories. “You could’ve left,” he said. “After everything.”
She didn’t answer. The silence between them was a living thing, heavy and electric. He stepped closer, and the scent of his cologne—woody and faintly sweet—wrapped around her. She could feel the heat of him, the way his presence seemed to bend the air.
“You’re still Clara,” he said softly. “Still stubborn as hell.”
She swallowed. “And you’re still a fool.”
A laugh escaped him, low and unexpected. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was featherlight, but it sent a shock through her. She wanted to pull away, but her body had other ideas.
The generator coughed, sputtering to life. The lights flickered, then blazed. Clara stepped back, breaking the moment. Ethan’s hand fell away, and the distance between them felt like a chasm.
“I should go,” he said, turning toward the door.
“Don’t.” The word slipped out before she could stop it. He paused, his back to her. “Stay. Just… stay.”
He didn’t move for a long moment. Then he turned, his eyes searching hers. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know how to do this without you,” she admitted. “And I’m tired of running.”
His expression softened, something vulnerable flickering in his gaze. He crossed the room, stopping just inches from her. “You never ran,” he said. “You waited.”
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Clara reached up, tracing the scar on his cheek—a relic from a fight he’d never explained. He didn’t flinch, just closed his eyes as her fingers brushed the skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be,” he said, opening his eyes. “I’m the one who left.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Why?”
He exhaled, a slow, measured breath. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me.” His voice was raw, unguarded. “I couldn’t risk losing you again.”
The words hit her like a tidal wave. She stepped closer, her heart pounding. “You didn’t lose me,” she said. “I never stopped waiting.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he pulled her into his arms, and the world dissolved. The storm outside faded, replaced by the rhythm of their breaths, the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Clara buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent of him—salt, smoke, and something undeniably Ethan.
“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, his voice a promise. “I’ve been a fool, but I’m here now.”
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “Good,” she said. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”
The generator hummed in the background, a steady reminder of the storm they’d weathered. Outside, the rain had eased, leaving the air crisp and clean. Clara felt something shift inside her—like a door that had been closed for years finally creaking open.
Ethan leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was both tentative and certain. It was everything she’d imagined and more, a collision of longing and relief. When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling.
“I love you,” he said, the words simple but profound.
Clara smiled, her heart full. “I love you too.”
The kitchen was quiet now, the storm passed. But the air between them was charged, alive with possibility. Clara knew their path wouldn’t be easy—there would be struggles, moments of doubt. But for the first time in years, she felt hope.
She stepped back, taking his hand in hers. “Let’s start over,” she said. “This time, properly.”
Ethan squeezed her hand, his eyes bright with promise. “Deal.”
And as they stood there, surrounded by the scent of bread and the echoes of a storm well weathered, Clara knew that this was just the beginning.
