Heart Me

37

Dinner had been quiet. They had kept it calm for the children's sake, though it was difficult to escape Zane's increasingly perceptive gaze. His awareness made the air heavier, but they managed to remain polite, careful not to let the tension slip through. Even after dinner, when they gathered in the living room to watch TV, they sat side by side, exchanging polite words, though it felt like they were choking on everything that was yet to be said. Outwardly, they may have seemed calm, but inside, both were a wreck. Their minds circling the conversation that loomed ahead. When the time came, the children were sent off to bed, and Iris quietly made her way upstairs to help Ula. She still loved a bedtime story before falling asleep, and it was Iris's turn tonight. As her soft voice drifted down from the hallway, Stone sat in the quiet of the house, knowing their long-awaited conversation would begin once Ula was tucked in. Though Iris had suggested they talk in the bedroom, Stone decided on a more comforting, intimate setting.

Thus, he started preparing the ambience. His hands steady as he knelt before the fireplace. He could hear Iris upstairs, her voice soft as she murmured to Ula, lulling her to sleep. The distant hum of her words mixed with the rhythm of the rain, which was pouring down in torrents, battering the windows like it was raining cats and dogs outside. He reached for the bundle of logs stacked neatly beside the hearth, their bark rough beneath his fingertips. Gently, he placed them on the iron grate, one after another. With a flick of a match, the room seemed to hold its breath. The flame caught slowly at first, flickering uncertainly, before it flared to life. The crackling sound filled the quiet, slowly overwhelming the steady patter of rain. A warm glow began to creep outwards, casting the room in amber light that flickered and danced across the walls. Stone stood, his gaze lingering on the growing fire before turning to the side table. He reached for the bottle of Château Margaux, the 1996 vintage- earthy and rich with the scent of dark fruits and time. He worked the cork slowly, the soft pop reverberating through the room. The smell of aged oak and blackberries filled the air, mingling with the smoke from the fire. Pouring the wine into two tall glasses, he watched the liquid swirl, deep and crimson, catching the firelight like something alive. He set the bottle down and crossed the room, the floorboards creaking softly underfoot as he laid a thick, soft blanket in front of the hearth. He smoothed it out, then placed two pillows at one end, adjusting them until they were just right, making the space feel intimate, ready for the quiet conversation they both knew was coming. Finally, he sat down. Eyes on the dancing flames, racing heart and the glass in his hand.

His muscles tensed the moment he heard Iris's footsteps on the stairs. Her light, steady tread grew louder as she descended, and though he had been waiting for this, preparing for this, a sudden knot tightened in his stomach. The storm outside raged on, a fitting reflection of the swirling storm within him, but now the moment was real, imminent. He took a breath, gripping the stem of his wine glass a little too firmly as he tried to steady himself. When Iris reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the room, she stopped in her tracks. The soft, amber glow from the fire illuminated the space where Stone had laid out a blanket and pillows, the bottle of wine uncorked resting on the floor by his side. Her surprise was palpable; she hadn't expected this-an intimate, almost tender setting for what she knew would be a heavy, difficult conversation. For a moment, she wondered if this was the right place for such a talk. They were about to unpack months of hurt, secrets. Could this cozy environment hold the weight of all that? Yet, despite her uncertainty, she found herself approaching him.

"Wine? Fireplace?" Iris whispered as she stopped by his side, her voice barely audible over the soft crackling of the fire.

Stone looked up at her, his expression a blend of calm and something deeper-something like vulnerability, though he tried to mask it. Even if dressed just in an oversized shirt, she looked stunning. He couldn't help but notice. Still, he gestured to the pillow beside him with a soft tap.