Chapter 2 — A Table for Two

Clara soon discovered that Ethan’s silence had rules.

He didn’t speak in the morning.

He spoke only when necessary during the day.

And at dinner, he sometimes said no more than three sentences.

Yet Clara began to understand him without words.

She learned that he liked strong coffee.

He hated overly sweet desserts.

He preferred biscuits slightly burned around the edges.

And although he never asked for seconds, he always finished whatever she placed in front of him.

So she began experimenting.

Monday was beef stew.

Tuesday was fried chicken with mashed potatoes.

Wednesday was cornbread and beans.

Thursday became apple pie.

On Friday, Clara made pancakes for dinner because there was nothing special about Friday, and she decided that was exactly why it deserved something special.

Ethan stared at the plate.

“Pancakes?”

“Yes.”

“For dinner?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her.

“You’re strange.”

Clara laughed.

“You’re the one who eats dinner alone every night.”

His expression changed.

Only slightly.

But she noticed.

“I don’t mind.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Clara said. “But the house does.”

Ethan frowned.

“The house?”

“It feels lonely.”

He looked around.

The old wooden walls.

The empty chairs.

The fireplace that was rarely lit.

Then he looked back at her.

“It’s a house.”

Clara shook her head.

“No. A house becomes a home when someone wants to come back to it.”

Ethan didn’t answer.

That night, he sat beside the fireplace long after dinner.

Clara thought he had gone to sleep.

But when she came downstairs for water, she found him staring into the flames.

“You can’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Bad memories?”

His jaw tightened.

“Something like that.”

Clara didn’t ask again.

She simply placed a cup of warm milk on the table.

Ethan looked at it.

“I don’t drink milk.”

“Tonight you do.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

The next morning, Clara discovered an old wooden rocking chair beside the kitchen.

It had been repaired.

The broken leg was fixed.

The seat had been polished.

She stared at it.

Ethan walked past.

“You needed somewhere to sit.”

Clara looked at him.

“You fixed this?”

He shrugged.

“It was broken.”

She smiled.

“So was the house.”

Ethan stopped.

For a second, she thought he might say something.

Instead, he walked outside.

But Clara saw the corner of his mouth lift.

It was the first time she had ever seen him smile.