Between Then and Now (Hallow’s End #1)

19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

T HE NEW WEEK ARRIVED with a renewed sense of purpose, and I threw myself into transforming the gallery into the beautiful space I’d always envisioned. Each day was a step closer to making my dream a reality, and the blank walls and empty rooms took shape under my direction.

Ethan, true to his word, was there to help me every step of the way. He showed up at the gallery most evenings after work, rolling up his sleeves and diving into the work with a determination that I found both comforting, and ridiculously attractive. He handled the heavy lifting, installed the lights, and assembled the furniture, with an effortless strength that made my heart race every time I glimpsed his muscles flexing under his shirt.

Watching him work was a guilty pleasure, one I indulged in far more often than I should have. There was something about the way he moved—so focused, so capable. And when we stole kisses between painting walls and rearranging furniture, those moments were electric. Some kisses were quick and playful, but others lingered, simmering with a heat that left me breathless and wanting more.

Amelia and Ivy pitched in when they could, their enthusiasm infectious as they helped with decorating. But they were also careful to give Ethan and me space, especially in the evenings.

Those late nights in the gallery quickly became my favorite part of the day. After hours of work, we’d collapse onto the floor, or the makeshift couch, and we’d talk for hours, the conversation flowing easily as we got to know each other on a deeper level. I found myself opening up to Ethan in ways I hadn’t expected, sharing bits of my past, my fears, and my dreams. And he was wonderful—patient, kind, and genuinely interested in everything I had to say.

The tension between us was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but I found myself savoring it. The slow build-up made every touch, and every glance, feel even more meaningful.

Yet, there was a part of me that ached with a different kind of longing. As the week wore on, I couldn’t help but wish I could share this part of my life with my mom. I wanted to call her up, to tell her about the gallery, about Ethan, about how everything was finally coming together. But every time the thought crossed my mind, the memory of our last conversation—the sharp words and the unresolved pain—quickly chased it away. The years of emotional distance between us felt too vast to bridge right now, so I left that wound untouched.

Friday arrived faster than I expected, the week a blur of activity and stolen moments. By the time evening rolled around, the gallery was looking like the space I’d always dreamed of—warm, inviting, and full of character. The lights were installed, the furniture was arranged just right, and the walls were freshly painted .

All that was left to do now was set up the social media accounts for the gallery, and hang the artwork next week. It felt surreal to be so close to the finish line, knowing that soon, people would fill this space, admiring the art.

The exhaustion was starting to catch up with me, though and, after tidying up the last few things, I decided to call it a night. As much as I wanted to keep pushing forward, my body was begging for rest, and I knew I’d need my energy for the final stretch.

I left the gallery feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that we’d accomplished so much in such a short time, and the cool night air felt refreshing as I made my way home, the quiet of the town soothing my tired mind. By the time I climbed into bed, it was just before 9 P.M.

I nestled into my pillows, my body sinking into the comfort of the mattress as I let out a long, contented sigh. Despite the exhaustion, there was a sense of peace settling over me—a feeling of accomplishment, of things falling into place. I was about to drift off when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A smile tugged at my lips as I read the message, my heart doing a little flip at the thought of seeing him again.

There was a pause, and then his reply came through, making me laugh.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as I imagined what he could possibly have planned. The anticipation was enough to make my already tired mind race with possibilities.

His reply was almost immediate, and I could practically hear the playful tone in his voice as I read his message.

I set my phone down, my eyes growing heavy as I settled deeper into the blankets. Despite the lingering curiosity about what he had in store for me, the exhaustion won out, and I soon drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.

I woke up earlier than expected, the soft light of dawn filtering through my curtains. The room remained cloaked in a gentle hush, as the world outside had not yet fully awakened. I stretched beneath the covers, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from the week’s hard work. Despite the exhaustion of the previous night, my mind was surprisingly alert, humming with a quiet energy that I couldn’t ignore.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand—7 A.M. The thought of Ethan’s surprise tugged at the corners of my mind, but he hadn’t said what time he’d be over. The house was silent, the perfect atmosphere for creativity and, as I lay there, inspiration started to take root, growing and spreading until I couldn’t resist it any longer.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I threw off the covers and padded to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. The rich, comforting aroma filled the air as I brewed a fresh pot, and I savored the warmth of the mug in my hands as I made my way to the living room.

I set my cup down on the table, the steam curling into the air as I began gathering my paints and brushes, a familiar excitement bubbling up inside me.

I hadn’t planned on painting today, but something inside me had shifted, urging me to create. Maybe it was the culmination of the week’s work, or maybe it was the anticipation of seeing Ethan later. Whatever it was, I needed to put it on canvas.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I arranged my paints around me, the colors calling to me in a way that felt almost instinctual. I didn’t have a clear picture in my mind of what I wanted to paint, but that didn’t matter. Today, I wanted to let go of structure and just let my emotions guide me. I reached for a brush, dipping it into a soft shade of blue.

As the brush moved across the canvas, I let myself get lost in the rhythm of the strokes, the colors blending and flowing together. Blues melted into greens, which softened into blush pinks and warm, earthy tones. The shapes and lines weren’t precise. They were fluid, almost ethereal, like the emotions I’d been holding inside for weeks were finally spilling out in a language that only the canvas could understand.

Time slipped away as I painted, the morning turning into mid-morning without me noticing. The coffee in my mug had long since cooled, but I didn’t care. I was lost in the act of creation, my heart and hands working together to bring this piece to life .

When I finally leaned back to look at what I’d done, I felt a swell of satisfaction. The painting was different from my usual work, but it was a good different. It felt right. It felt like me—like us . The abstract shapes and soft hues spoke of a connection that was still unfolding, still finding its form, but that was undeniably there .

I was just admiring the finished piece when I heard a soft knock at the door. My heart skipped a beat, excitement flaring as I realized it must be Ethan. I glanced at the clock that read 11 A.M, and I quickly wiped my hands on a rag but, as I stood up, a sudden wave of nerves washed over me. I looked down at myself. I was still in my messy paint-stained outfit, and my hair was pulled into a loose, haphazard bun, with stray tendrils falling around my face.

With a deep breath, I made my way to the door and opened it. I was greeted by the sight of Ethan standing on the porch, and my breath caught at how effortlessly handsome he looked. He was wearing a soft, plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned, and worn like a jacket over a crisp white T-shirt that hugged his chest just right. The flannel’s sleeves were casually rolled up, revealing his strong forearms, and the shirt hung loosely. His well-worn jeans fit him perfectly, sitting low on his hips, and a pair of sturdy boots completed the look, giving him that rugged edge that made my pulse quicken.

There was a playful glint in his hazel eyes, and I noticed he was holding something behind his back, but I was too distracted by how good he looked to focus on what it might be.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. His gaze swept over me, taking in my paint-splattered outfit and the smudge on my face, but instead of looking put off, his smile only widened. “Hope I’m not too early? ”

“Not at all,” I replied, feeling a little flustered. In my attempt to remove the paint from my cheek, I ended up smearing it even more. “Sorry about the mess. I was painting.”

Ethan chuckled, his eyes twinkling with affection as he stepped closer. “Here, let me help,” he said gently, leaning in. He reached up with his thumb, brushing it lightly across my cheek to wipe away the smudge.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low as he pulled back, but not before our eyes met. “All better. And for the record, you look adorable with a little paint on you.”

My nerves eased at his words, but I couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. “Come in,” I said, stepping aside to let him enter. “Just, um, give me a minute to change.”

As Ethan walked past me, he revealed what he had been hiding behind his back—a charming bouquet of rustic, seasonal fall flowers. The arrangement was a perfect mix of deep oranges, warm yellows, and soft browns, with sprigs of wheat and dried grasses woven in. It was simple yet beautiful, the kind of bouquet that looked like it had been gathered from a sunlit meadow.

“These are for you,” he said, his voice soft as he handed them to me. There was a touch of shyness in his smile, as if he wasn’t sure how I’d react.

I took the flowers, my heart melting at the thoughtful gesture. “They’re beautiful, Ethan,” I murmured, a smile tugging at my lips.

“They made me think of you,” he shrugged, his gaze meeting mine with that familiar warmth that always made me feel at ease.

A flutter of warmth spread through me at his words. “Thank you. This is really sweet.”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up as he watched me. “Worth it, just to see that smile on your face. ”

Blushing, I hugged the bouquet to my chest, feeling my heart skip a beat. “I’ll just put these in water and change real quick,” I said, trying to calm the sudden rush of emotions. I gestured for him to make himself comfortable in the living room.

He walked past me, his presence filling my small space in a way that felt both new and completely natural. I watched him as he took in my personal sanctuary, filled with canvases, brushes, and the little things that made it mine. There was a quiet reverence in the way he moved, as if he understood how much this place had come to mean to me.

Seeing Ethan in my space felt right, but it also made me feel exposed, like he was stepping into a part of me I’d kept hidden from the world. I waited for any sign of judgment, but all I saw was curiosity.

I dashed to my bedroom to change, heart racing with excitement and a twinge of anxiety. What if clothes were scattered on the floor? Or dirty dishes in the sink? The thought of Ethan seeing any mess hurried me. As I pulled on fresh jeans and a soft sweater, I tried to push the worries aside. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d think of my space. I heard his footsteps in the living room, and hoped he wouldn’t stumble upon anything embarrassing.

When I returned, I found him standing in front of one of my paintings. It was the last piece I had done in Cresden, just before Sebastian and I broke up. The painting was bold, full of vivid colors and abstract forms, a chaotic mix that mirrored the turbulence of my relationship with him. I had planned to take it to the gallery next week along with my other works, but I hadn’t gotten around to wrapping it yet, so it remained in the living room—a reminder of a chapter I was ready to close.

Ethan turned as I approached, his eyes filled with genuine appreciation. “This is beautiful, Vinnie. There’s so much emotion in it.”

I smiled, a mix of pride and vulnerability washing over me. This piece held so much of my past, so many raw emotions. “Thank you. What do you really think of it, though? How does it make you feel?” I asked, hoping for an honest reaction. His opinion mattered to me, and I wondered if he could see beyond the bold colors and abstract forms, to the feelings that had inspired it.

He glanced back at the painting, brow furrowing in thought. “It feels . . . intense. Like there’s a lot going on beneath the surface. The colors almost seem to be in conflict, but they’re also creating something striking and powerful.” He chuckled softly, adding, “I’m no art critic.”

I laughed, appreciating his effort. “Not bad, Ethan. Not bad at all. Honestly, I’ve never created art for critics, anyway. I create it for everyone. For anyone who sees it and feels something, whatever that might be.”

He smiled, visibly relieved, and turned to face me fully, leaning against the wall in a relaxed, attentive stance. “Tell me the meaning behind it. What were you feeling when you painted this?” His eyes were earnest.

I took a deep breath. This was a poignant moment—letting Ethan in on a part of my past that I hadn’t thought about in a while. But my history with Sebastian was part of who I was, and sharing it with Ethan felt like the right step.

“This piece is about conflict and passion. The bold, clashing colors represent the intense emotions I was feeling at the time. The red symbolizes anger and love, the blue represents sadness and longing, and the yellow is for moments of hope and happiness. It’s an abstract depiction of the push and pull of my relationship with my ex, Sebastian. Everything was so vibrant and chaotic, but there were moments of beauty within the turmoil.”

Ethan listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine. “I can see that now. It’s incredible how you’ve captured so much emotion in a single piece.”

A quiet pause hung between us, and then he asked. “Was he the reason you left Cresden? Your ex, I mean?”

“Yeah, he was part of it,” I replied, my voice calm as I met Ethan’s gaze. “Sebastian and I were together for a while, but it got to a point where we were both holding each other back. Things ended, and I knew I needed a fresh start. That’s what brought me to Hallow’s End.”

Ethan nodded, his expression filled with understanding and patience. “It sounds like you made the right choice,” he said softly. “You deserve to be somewhere that inspires you, with people who make you happy.”

I felt a wave of gratitude for his gentle reassurance, his willingness to listen without judgment. “Thank you, Ethan,” I said, my voice just as soft. “It means a lot that you’re here, and that you get it.”

He reached out, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here, Vinnie, and I’m glad you trusted me with that.”

Ethan’s eyes softened, and without a word, he stepped closer, his hand gently cupping my cheek. The warmth in his gaze made my heart flutter as he leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss to my lips. It was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes, without needing words. A connection that felt as natural as breathing.

When we pulled back, he smiled, his thumb brushing lightly across my cheek. “Shall we go?” he asked.

I laughed softly, the lingering warmth of the kiss making it impossible not to smile. “You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

Ethan’s grin widened, and he shook his head, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “Not a chance,” he teased.

I sighed dramatically, but the excitement bubbling inside me was impossible to hide. “Fine,” I said, giving him a mock pout. “But you better not keep me in suspense for too long. ”

He chuckled, taking my hand in his as he led me toward the door. “I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”