Ethan wasn't sure if the awkwardness in the air was coming from Claire or radiating from him.
Possibly both.
They sat in the corner reading nook of Rowan's Books, a small round table between them, surrounded by neatly shelved volumes and the comforting scent of old paper. Claire sipped from a bottle of iced tea and looked at him with the kind of expression he hadn't seen in years—soft, searching, personal.
"I just… wanted to check on you," she said, breaking the silence. "After everything."
He gave her a cautious smile. "You mean the part where I accidentally got engaged to the school's most terrifying heiress?"
Claire exhaled a tiny laugh. "Yeah. That part."
"I'm surviving," Ethan said. "More or less."
Her fingers tightened slightly on the bottle. "I know I've been distant lately. We used to talk more. Hang out more. But I thought I'd have more time. With you."
Ethan looked down. She wasn't wrong. He'd just always assumed they'd have more chances too.
"I didn't think you were the type to do something impulsive like that," Claire added.
"I didn't think Isabella was the type to accept it."
Claire's eyes held his. "And now?"
He opened his mouth to answer—
Click. Click.
He heard the sound first. Precise. Measured.
He didn't need to look. He already knew.
Claire turned her head slightly, her posture stiffening the moment the front bell jingled.
"Speak of the iceberg," she murmured—her own quiet nickname for the girl known more for her poise than warmth.
Ethan stood reflexively.
Isabella Wynn walked in, carrying nothing but the weight of her presence. Heads turned—again. They always did.
She spotted them instantly.
"Claire," she greeted without pause, tone cool but polite.
"Isabella," Claire returned, slightly forced.
Ethan tried to step in. "We were just—"
"Catching up?" Isabella said, glancing at the two chairs, the narrow distance between them. "Old friends reconnecting."
Claire crossed her arms. "You're early."
Isabella's gaze remained on Ethan. "It's hard to stay away when my fiancé's schedule is so... crowded."
"Fiancé," Claire repeated quietly, as if trying the word on her tongue. "Right."
Ethan sighed. "Can we not do this here? It's a bookstore."
"I like bookstores," Isabella said, still smiling. "And I like knowing where you are."
Claire stood. "Of course you do."
Ethan looked between them.
Claire's expression was determined now—calm, but iron beneath.
Isabella tilted her head, like analyzing an opponent who'd finally stepped into the ring.
And Ethan?
He felt like the prize no one had agreed to compete for—but somehow was.