Don't apologize. There's more in the freezer. They ate in silence for a while. Not awkward silence, just quiet. the kind of quiet Ethan usually hated. But somehow with Selena sitting across from him in his old Yale sweatshirt, it didn't feel so empty.
"Can I ask you something?" she said finally. "Sure." "Why aren't you freaking out? I'm a stranger. I broke into your house. You should have called the cops the second you saw me." Ethan thought about that.
You want the truth? You always I'm a single dad. My daughter's eight. I spend most of my time making sure nothing unexpected happens because unexpected things usually mean problems. Broken bones, failed tests, phone calls from the principal.
He sat down his slice. But you didn't feel like a problem. You felt like someone who'd had a really bad day and needed a shower. And I guess I figured everyone deserves a break sometimes. Selena stared at him.
For a long moment, she didn't say anything. That's the nicest thing anyone said to me in months, she said quietly. It's just pizza and a sweatshirt. It's more than that. She finished her tea.
Most people in my world don't give breaks. They don't see bad days. They see weakness, failure, something to exploit. Sounds like a terrible world. It is.
She smiled, but it was sad this time. It really is. The cab company called back. 15 minutes. Selena stood gathering up the ruined clothes from upstairs.
Ethan tried not to notice how the sweatshirt sleeves fell over her hands again as she moved, or how she looked like she belonged in his kitchen, despite the fact that she clearly didn't. Keep the clothes, he said. You can't wear those. I'll send them back clean. You don't have to.
I want to. She met his eyes. I want an excuse to see you again. The words hung in the air between them. Ethan didn't know what to say to that.
Didn't know what it meant coming from someone like her. The cab honked outside. Selena moved toward the door, then stopped, turned back. "Thank you," she said, "for not calling the cops, for the shower, for the pizza, for treating me like a person instead of a disaster. You're welcome." She hesitated like there was more she wanted to say.
Then the cab honked again and the moment broke. Goodbye, Ethan Carter. Goodbye, Selena Vaughn. He watched from the doorway as she climbed into the cab, his sweatshirt sleeves still too long, his sweatpants still rolled up. She looked back once before the cab pulled away, and Ethan raised a hand in a wave he wasn't sure she could see.
Then she was gone. The house was quiet again. Ethan closed the door, locked it this time, and stood in his hallway, trying to process what had just happened. A billionaire in his shower, eating frozen pizza at his kitchen table, wearing his clothes. This wasn't his life, but for forty-five minutes, it had been.
He went back to the kitchen, cleaned up the plates, put the leftover pizza in the fridge. The mug Selena had used still sat on the table, a faint lipstick mark on the rim. He should wash it, put it away, forget this ever happened. Instead, he left it there. Saturday morning came with rain and the realization that he had two days alone with absolutely nothing to do.
Ethan spent the first hour grading essays he'd already graded twice, then gave up and went for a run. The rain soaked through his jacket by the first mile, but he kept going anyway, his mind circling back to the same impossible question. What were the odds? Wrong house, wrong street, wrong door. And yet she'd ended up in his shower, eating his pizza, sitting at his table like she'd always been there.
He was still thinking about it when his phone rang that afternoon. Unknown number. Hello, Ethan Carter. The voice was familiar even through the phone, confident, warmer than last night. Selena, I got your number from the cab company.
I hope that's not creepy. It's little bit creepy. She laughed. I'm calling because I wanted to thank you again properly. Are you free for coffee sometime this week?
Ethan looked around his empty living room, at the stack of ungraded papers, at the pizza boxes in the recycling bin, at the life he'd built out of routine and safety and absolutely zero surprises. Yeah, he said, "I'm free Wednesday. There's a place called Riverstone Cafe near the high school. Does that work?" That works. Good.
He could hear the smile in her voice. And Ethan, thank you for everything. She hung up before he could respond. Ethan stood there holding his phone, staring at the rain streaming down his windows, feeling something he hadn't felt in three years. Possibility.
Oops. Wednesday arrived with sunshine and the kind of nervous energy Ethan hadn't experienced since college. He changed his shirt three times before settling on the same button-down he always wore. Told himself this was just coffee, just a thank you, just nothing. Except it didn't feel like nothing.
Riverstone Cafe was busy when he arrived. He spotted Selena immediately sitting by the window in jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than his mortgage payment. She looked different in daylight, more real, less like someone who'd accidentally wandered into his life and more like someone who might stay. She saw him and smiled. "You came," she said.
"You doubted little bit." She gestured to the chair across from her. "I ordered you a coffee, black. Was I right?" "You were right." They talked for an hour, then two. Selena told him about the deal, how she'd spent six months negotiating, how it fell apart in the final meeting because one investor got cold feet, how she'd walked out thinking her whole career might collapse, but it didn't. She said, "I closed it yesterday.
Different terms, better, actually, and now the investors who screamed at me are calling me a genius. Congratulations. Thanks." She stirred her coffee, not drinking it. I keep thinking about Friday night, about walking into the wrong house. If I'd read the street sign correctly, if the cab hadn't broken down, if any of it had gone differently, I never would have met you.