The doorbell rang once—short and cheerful—followed by a rhythmic knock that could only belong to one dramatic human being.
Aunt Martha opened the door, her hands still dusted with flour, and gasped.
"Ethan!" she said, eyes wide behind her round glasses. Her mouth dropped open, then curled into the warst smile. "You cheeky boy—why didn’t you tell you were coming back today?"
Standing there on the porch, suitcase in one hand, sunglasses still on at six in the evening, hoodie half-zipped and hair looking like he just escaped from a boyband music video, Ethan grinned with open arms. "Surprise, Aunt Martha! Guess who dodged airport paparazzi like a ninja and survived expired water just to see you!"
She laughed, stepping forward to pull him into a big, loving hug. "You’re still skinny, your face looks pale, and I swear you’ve gotten taller."
"Tall from stress and heartbreak, Auntie," Ethan said dramatically, resting his head on her shoulder. "I missed your cooking more than I missed fa."
"Oh hush, you haven’t changed a bit." She gave him a light smack on the arm before pulling him inside. "Co in, co in, before you catch a cold and make run around for ginger tea again."
The house slled like fresh bread and sothing cinnamon-y. Aunt Martha had been staying here ever since Tara’s internship days, helping manage the house while both of them were away or busy. She was like family—more like a second mom who made the best soup and never asked too many questions.
Ethan dropped his suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and looked around with a content sigh. "The house feels smaller."
"That’s because you’ve been living in five-star hotels and movie sets, Mr. Big Shot."
"Lies. This house has better lighting and way less screaming directors."
Aunt Martha chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. "Do you want dinner? I made shepherd’s pie—your favorite."
"Tempting," he said, pointing at her like she was the angel of comfort food. "But I have a plan. A romantic top-secret, wife-lting plan. So I have to respectfully dismiss you from duty tonight."
She blinked. "You’re kicking out?"
"No, no," he said quickly. "I’m gifting you a night off, away from two lovebirds about to emotionally combust. Go relax! Watch those murder docuntaries you love. I’ll handle everything."
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "You’re not going to burn the kitchen again, are you?"
"That happened one ti. And it was barely a fire."
"You used a candle to toast bread."
Ethan held his hand over his heart. "I have evolved."
She sighed with a fond smile. "Alright, alright. Just don’t wreck the house. Tara’s peace is delicate."
He followed her to the door and waved as she left with a basket of pie for her sister. The mont the old car disappeared down the road, Ethan turned into action mode.
He raced upstairs with his bag, flung it onto the bed, and imdiately pulled out his phone.
"Yo, Ace," he said as soon as his assistant picked up. "Operation lt Her Soul With Romance is a go. Bring the stuff. You know what I an. Project Heart Attack."
"On it, boss," Ace replied coolly. "ETA ten minutes."
While waiting, Ethan changed into a clean black T-shirt and joggers, tied his hair up with a small band, and looked at himself in the mirror. "Not bad for a man who drank bacteria last night."
Downstairs, he cleared the living room. Fluffed the pillows. Opened the windows slightly for fresh air. He turned on the warm yellow lights and dimd the overhead ones. The space instantly felt cozier. Quieter. Like it had been holding its breath all these months, waiting for him to co ho.
Ace arrived ten minutes later with a bag full of decorations and Ethan’s "surprise kit"—rose petals, candles, a projector, and fairy lights.
The two of them worked quickly, Ethan giving very detailed (and slightly dramatic) instructions.
"Petals only on the stairs and hallway. I don’t want it to look like a wedding."
"Where’s the playlist? The one I made titled ’Tara Tears Guaranteed’?"
"Don’t let the cat eat the flowers again."
Ace blinked. "You don’t have a cat."
"Oh. Right. That was last movie."
Within thirty minutes, the house was softly glowing. Fairy lights weaved around the curtains, the hallway had a gentle rose trail, and the dining table was set for two—with simple white plates, a small bouquet in the center, and one candle flickering bravely in the middle.
Ethan ordered food from Tara’s favorite place—slow-cooked mushroom risotto, grilled asparagus, and that overpriced chocolate lava cake she always pretended to hate but finished anyway. He added a bottle of sweet red wine with gold foil on the neck and made sure everything was ready.
By 8:20 PM, he was pacing the living room.
By 8:30, he had brushed his teeth twice.
By 8:34 PM, his heart was thudding harder than any movie premiere.
"She usually cos by now," he whispered, peeking through the curtains. "Unless she got caught in a surgery... or traffic... or went to the gym to take revenge on so calories."
He picked up the bottle of wine, eyed it thoughtfully, then set it down without opening it.
"Not until she walks in."
The clock ticked on.
He sat there in the soft glow of the room they built together. The kitchen still slled a little like Aunt Martha’s pie, the lights flickered gently, and sowhere in the background, his playlist humd a quiet jazz tune.
Every so often, he checked the door.
Every little sound made him sit up straighter.
Outside, the city was busy. But inside the house, it was peaceful.
And then—he heard it.
The familiar sound of her key turning in the lock.
The key turned halfway—then stopped.
Ethan sat up sharply, his hands already gripping the cushion beneath him.
But the door didn’t open.
Just the soft rustle of soone outside, followed by footsteps retreating down the hallway.
He waited.
One second... two... ten.
Then nothing.
"Okay," he muttered, standing up and walking to the door.
He opened it gently and peeked outside.
No one.
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