Jules didn’t move. “I know.”
“I’m still a mess,” Ethan said.
“I like messes,” she replied. “I just don’t clean them up anymore.”
A beat passed between them. The music pulsed gently beneath the rooftop hum. Somewhere behind them, the shutter of another camera clicked.
And then, for the first time in months, he actuallyfeltsomething. Astrange mix of longing, hope and desire.
So standing there under the lights, in full view of half the party, he threw caution to the wind and he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t planned. Just the quiet, deceptive kind of kiss that says I want to, but I shouldn’t. An achingly soft kiss, tender and restrained, like the start of something he didn’t dare finish even as she kissed him back.
When he pulled back, Jules just looked at him with a faint smile, tilted with something that could’ve been regret—or hope. “That was the most civilized bad decision I’ve ever made.”
Ethan’s voice came out low, unsteady. “I aim to disappoint with elegance.”
She laughed, soft and knowing, then tapped two fingers against his chest—right over his heart. “Get your head sorted, Ethan Klein. Then call me.”
And just like that, she melted into the crowd, the shimmer of her dress vanishing into shadows and flashbulbs.
He stayed where he was, glass forgotten in his hand, staring after her—unsure if he felt better or worse for it.
But definitely not nothing.
* * *
The next morning Sebastian was already up and standing in his kitchen counter, disturbingly alert for someone who’d allegedly had “two hours of sleep and a moral crisis.”
He walked over to the dining table and slid into the chair across from Ethan, who—for once—was sitting up straight, espresso in hand, looking borderline smug.
“You’re alarmingly chipper,” Sebastian said, narrowing his eyes. “What happened? Did your crypto bounce back?”
Ethan sipped his drink like it was vintage champagne. “The sun is shining.The birds are singing. The yoga cult hasn’t posted a passive-aggressive quote about me in twenty-four hours.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow and slid his tablet across the table. On the screen: the photo—Ethan and Jules on the rooftop, backlit by city lights, dangerously attractive and just ambiguous enough to set off alarm bells in several time zones.
“Oh, that,” Ethan said, glancing at it like he hadn’t stared at it for over half an hour last night.
Sebastian smirked. “So. Jules.”
“She’s very photogenic.”
“Uh-huh. You look… surprisingly not like a man whose ex set fire to his emotional foundation.”
“My friends in California saw the photo. One of them texted ‘king behavior.’ Another sent a Gatsby cheers meme. So I’m choosing to believe I’m in my healing and slay era.”
Sebastian let the sarcasm drain from his face just enough to show the shift. “You okay, though?”
Ethan hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. “No. But at least now I’m not the sad story everyone whispers about at brunch.”
Sebastian picked up his coffee, solemn. “To the soft launch of your post-breakup renaissance.”
Ethan clinked his cup. “Long may it thrive.”
They sat and quietly enjoyed their coffees while they continued to check news, status and emails. After a little while, Sebastian turned to Ethan, “So, what’s on the agenda for Operation Burn It Down today?”
“You know,” Ethan said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a laptop, “most people bond over normal stuff, like sports, not coups.”