Friday arrived faster than either of them expected.
Aria spent a solid hour standing in front of her closet, hating every single dress she owned. It was ridiculous. She'd argued with Ethan in boardrooms, threatened him in back alleys, and kissed him half-drunk under flickering patio lights — but a real date? Somehow terrifying.
Finally settling on a soft pink wrap dress and ankle boots, she checked herself in the mirror one last time.
Okay, Lane. Don't be weird.
Meanwhile, Ethan was standing in front of his mirror, cursing at his own reflection.
"Get it together, man. It's just Aria."
Except it wasn't just Aria anymore.
It was her.
When he showed up at her place, he brought flowers. Not the cliché roses — white tulips, because she mentioned once she liked them, back when they were still pretending to hate each other.
Aria opened the door, and her face went adorably pink.
"Well, aren't you disgustingly charming tonight."
"Wait till you see me after two glasses of wine."
They ended up at a small Italian restaurant tucked between city buildings — brick walls, string lights overhead, the whole soft, romantic vibe thing.
Ethan pulled her chair out, made her laugh with some dumb story about his intern mistaking the fax machine for a coffee maker, and they ordered way too much pasta.
For once, no office drama. No rivalry.
Just them.
Somewhere between the tiramisu and the second bottle of wine, Aria rested her chin on her hand and smirked.
"You know, I used to daydream about poisoning your coffee."
Ethan nearly choked on his drink.
"Jesus, Lane."
"I'm serious," she grinned. "Every time you called me 'kid' or left passive-aggressive notes on my reports."
"Yeah? Well, I used to imagine locking you in the storage closet and leaving you there for hours."
They burst out laughing.
And just like that, the tension that always hummed between them turned playful instead of sharp.
The night was warm as they left, city lights reflecting off wet sidewalks from an earlier rain. Neither of them felt like hailing a cab.
"Walk me home?" she asked, tucking her hand into his.
"Wouldn't dare do otherwise."
Halfway there, fat raindrops started to fall again.
Aria squealed, tugging him by the hand.
"Race you!"
"Seriously? You're in heels—"
But she was already bolting down the street.
Ethan took off after her, laughing as rain soaked through his shirt. She ducked under an awning, breathless and grinning.
"I win."
"Cheater," he grinned back, closing the gap between them.
And right there, with the rain pattering around them, Ethan leaned down and kissed her — slow, teasing, tasting of wine and trouble.
It wasn't wild like the first time, or urgent like the second. It was easy. Comfortable. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When they finally pulled apart, she whispered against his lips,
"I guess I don't hate you anymore."
"About time."
They didn't bother racing again.
They just walked the rest of the way, soaked and stupidly happy...