Chapter 9 - The Second First Date
Ethan waited another four months before asking me on a date.
Not dinner with Lily.
Not a family charity event.
Not a conversation disguised as coffee.
A date.
He stood on my porch holding flowers.
Not roses.
Wildflowers.
I stared at them.
“What is this?”
“A strategic operation.”
“You’re holding daisies.”
“I was advised roses might appear manipulative.”
“Daniel?”
“Maya.”
I stared past him.
Maya’s car was parked across the street.
She waved.
Traitor.
Ethan looked strangely nervous.
“I would like to take you to dinner.”
“We eat dinner together constantly.”
“A restaurant.”
“You own restaurants.”
“One I don’t own.”
“That narrows Chicago considerably.”
He smiled.
“No bodyguards at the table.”
“There will be bodyguards nearby.”
“I assumed.”
I looked at him.
“And Lily?”
“Your mother volunteered.”
My eyebrows rose.
“You spoke to my mother?”
“She interrogated me for forty minutes.”
“Good.”
“I think she threatened to kill me.”
“She likes you.”
He laughed.
I looked down at the flowers.
My heart was beating too quickly.
“Okay.”
His smile disappeared in surprise.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“You already made a reservation, didn’t you?”
“Three.”
“Ethan.”
“I panic-planned.”
I laughed.
“Seven.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“I have my own car.”
“I know.”
“Seven.”
He arrived at six fifty-nine.
Progress.
Three years earlier, he would have arrived late and expected me to understand.
The restaurant was small.
Italian.
No private room.
No exclusive entrance.
People sat close enough to overhear ordinary conversations.
Ethan looked uncomfortable.
I enjoyed that immensely.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’ve never seen you sit two feet from strangers.”
“A man behind me is discussing cryptocurrency loudly.”
“Terrifying.”
“Extremely.”
We ordered.
For twenty minutes, we talked about Lily.
Then I stopped.
“This cannot be a date if we spend the entire time talking about our daughter.”
He nodded.
“Right.”
Silence.
I laughed.
“We have forgotten how to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
He thought.
“I wanted to be an architect.”
I stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You draw buildings?”
“Poorly now.”
“When?”
“High school.”
“What happened?”
“My father died.”
The answer sobered me.
“You took over the family.”
“Eventually.”
“Do you still draw?”
“Sometimes.”
“What?”
He looked embarrassed.
That alone fascinated me.
“Rooms.”
“Rooms?”
“Houses.”
“What kind?”
“Normal ones.”
My chest tightened.
“Show me.”
“Not tonight.”
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
My turn.
“What don’t you know about me?”
He thought.
“What did you want before you married me?”
I looked down.
“Open a bookstore.”
His face changed.
“You never told me.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“The year we got engaged.”
Pain crossed his face.
“Oh.”
“You forgot.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t ruin the date.”
“I’m trying.”
I smiled.
“I wanted a bookstore with a café. Children’s section in the back. Used books upstairs.”
“Why didn’t you do it?”
“Because I became Mrs. Ethan Blackwood.”
The words were not accusation.
Not completely.
“I went to events. Hosted dinners. Joined foundations. Learned which wives hated each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing every four minutes.”
“Right.”
After dinner, we walked along the river.
October again.
Almost one year since he had asked for the divorce.
The symmetry was not lost on me.
“I bought a building,” Ethan said.
I stopped.
“What?”
He immediately looked guilty.
“For you?”
“If the answer is yes, I’m throwing you into the river.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I bought it for Blackwood Holdings.”
“Why mention it?”
“Ground floor retail. Upstairs offices. There’s an empty corner space.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“I am not giving it to you.”
“Good.”
“I am telling you because the leasing agent is looking for tenants.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“At market rate?”
“Yes.”
“No secret discount?”
“No.”
“No shell company that forgives rent?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
“You could look.”
“Maybe.”
He smiled.
That building became my bookstore.
Not because Ethan gave it to me.
Because I applied.
Negotiated.
Signed a lease under Bennett Books LLC.
Used my own settlement money and a small business loan.
Ethan stayed away from the negotiations entirely.
Three months later, I opened Bennett & Lily Books.
The café sold terrible muffins for the first week until I fired the supplier.
The children’s section became Lily’s favorite place once she learned to crawl.
Ethan came to opening day.
He stood in line like everyone else.
Bought a hardcover novel.
Paid full price.
Then asked me to sign it.
“To who?”
“Ethan.”
“That seems redundant.”
“Write something nice.”
I opened the cover.
For the man who finally learned how to knock.
Claire.
He read it.
Then looked at me.
“That is nice?”
“For us.”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
Life became almost normal.
Which terrified me.
Because peace created room for hope.
Hope meant risk.
The final test came unexpectedly.
Lily turned one in November.
We held a small party at my house.
Maya.
My parents.
Eleanor.
Daniel.
Rosa.
Several friends.
Ethan arrived carrying one present.
I checked.
“Only one?”
“I was given strict instructions.”
“Good.”
Lily destroyed the wrapping paper and ignored the expensive wooden toy inside.
Everyone laughed.
Later, after the guests left, Ethan helped clean.
I watched him load dishes into the dishwasher.
“You’re doing that wrong.”
“There are wrong ways?”
“Yes.”
“This is oppression.”
I moved beside him.
Our shoulders touched.
He looked at me.
The room became quiet.
“You’re happy,” he said.
“I am.”
“With your life.”
“Yes.”
“With me in it?”
I looked into his eyes.
“Yes.”
His breath changed.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I said.
“We don’t need to.”
“You really believe that?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“But I’m pretending.”
I touched his hand.
“I’m scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of becoming who I was.”
His expression softened.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He turned toward me.
“But if you ever start disappearing inside this relationship again, I want you to leave.”
I stared.
“That is a terrible romantic speech.”
“I had a better one.”
“What was it?”
“Something about forever.”
“What happened?”
“I realized forever means nothing if the days are wrong.”
My eyes filled.
“That one is better.”
“I thought so.”
He lifted his hand.
Stopped.
Waited.
I nodded.
He touched my cheek.
Then kissed me.
Softly.
Carefully.
Our first kiss after the divorce.
No desperation.
No ownership.
No dramatic promise that everything would magically become perfect.
Just two people standing in a messy kitchen beside half-washed birthday plates.
When we separated, Ethan rested his forehead against mine.
“Second date?”
I laughed.
“We skipped several steps.”
“I’m efficient.”
“Friday.”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
That became our life.
Dates.
Counseling.
Yes, Ethan Blackwood attended marriage counseling despite no longer being married.
The therapist nearly fainted when she discovered who he was.
We talked about silence.
Fear.
Control.
My habit of disappearing emotionally instead of demanding what I needed.
His habit of treating vulnerability like an enemy.
We fought.
Sometimes badly.
But Ethan no longer vanished into his study for three days.
I no longer apologized simply to restore peace.
A year after our divorce, he took me to the lake.
Same season.
Cold wind.
Gray water.
He did not bring a ring.
Thank God.
Instead, he handed me a sketchbook.
Inside were architectural drawings.
A house.
Large windows.
Bookcases.
A nursery.
A garden.
A kitchen with a ridiculous island.
Two offices.
Separate spaces.
Shared spaces.
At the bottom of the first page, he had written:
A home designed for people who choose to stay.
I cried.
He looked terrified.
“That bad?”
“No.”
“You’re crying.”
“I had a baby. I cry now.”
“Frequently.”
I hit his arm.
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“I’m not asking you to marry me.”
“Good.”
“Not yet.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He continued.
“I’m asking whether someday you could imagine building something with me again.”
I looked at the drawing.
Then at the man beside me.
He was not the man I married.
Neither was I.
Maybe that was why we had a chance.
“Yes,” I said.
His eyes changed.
“Yes?”
“Someday.”
He smiled.
And somewhere behind us, hidden badly beside a parked car, Daniel cheered.
Ethan turned.
“Are you serious?”
Daniel ducked.
I laughed so hard I cried again.
And for the first time, the future no longer looked like a promise Ethan controlled or a life I had to escape.
It looked like a choice.
Mine.
His.
May you like
Ours.
If we continued earning it.
