Learning How to Stay
After Elias left the room, Clara remained standing near the window for several minutes, trying unsuccessfully to calm the chaos inside her chest.
The kiss still lingered in her mind with painful clarity. Not only the kiss itself, but everything surrounding it. The look in his eyes afterward. The honesty in his voice. The quiet certainty when he said I know.
It would have been easier if this had felt reckless.
If it had felt temporary.
Instead, it felt frighteningly sincere.
Clara sat slowly on the edge of her bed and pressed both hands against her face with a quiet groan. Somewhere downstairs, she could hear Margaret speaking loudly enough for half of Edinburgh to hear her. A man laughed awkwardly in response, which probably meant the delivery driver was still trapped in conversation.
Normally, Clara would have found the situation funny immediately.
Right now, however, her entire brain seemed occupied by Elias.
The realization should have alarmed her more than it did.
A few weeks ago, she had still been planning a wedding. Her life in Boston had felt stable then, predictable in the comfortable way adulthood often becomes. She had imagined years unfolding in a straight line beside Daniel.
Instead, she was now standing emotionally unbalanced inside a guesthouse in Scotland because a quiet photographer with grief hidden behind his eyes kissed her once and completely ruined her ability to think clearly.
The strange part was that she didn’t regret it at all.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts again.
This time, when Clara opened the door, Margaret stood outside holding a tray with tea and biscuits arranged carefully on top.
“You look overwhelmed,” Margaret announced immediately while walking into the room without permission.
“I wonder why.”
Margaret placed the tray onto the small table beside the window before turning toward her with unbearable satisfaction. “So,” she said calmly, “how was the kiss?”
Clara nearly walked directly into the wall.
“Oh my God.”
“What? I’m old, not blind.”
“You are genuinely impossible.”
Margaret smiled proudly. “And yet consistently correct.”
Clara grabbed one of the biscuits mostly to avoid answering.
Margaret studied her face carefully for a second before her expression softened slightly. “You care about him already.”
The words landed quietly but heavily.
Clara lowered her eyes toward the tea in her hands. “I think that’s the problem.”
“No,” Margaret replied gently, “that’s the frightening part. It’s not the same thing.”
For once, Clara didn’t immediately argue.
Margaret sat down beside the window and folded her hands loosely in her lap. “You know,” she continued softly, “Elias hasn’t looked at someone the way he looks at you in a very long time.”
Clara’s chest tightened.
“He loved Sophie very much,” Margaret added. “But grief can convince people their story ended when the person they loved disappeared.”
Clara listened quietly.
“And then someone arrives unexpectedly,” Margaret said with a small smile. “Someone who reminds them they’re still alive.”
The room fell silent for a moment except for distant rainwater dripping outside.
Clara hesitated before asking the question that had been lingering in her mind all afternoon.
“Do you think he feels guilty?”
Margaret didn’t need clarification about who she meant.
“Yes,” she answered honestly. “But not because of you.”
That surprised Clara slightly.
Margaret noticed immediately. “Elias isn’t comparing you to Sophie,” she explained. “He’s terrified because loving someone again means risking that kind of pain twice.”
The thought ached inside Clara’s chest.
She suddenly understood why Elias always seemed caught between moving closer and pulling away. It wasn’t uncertainty about her.
It was fear of surviving another loss.
Later that evening, Clara finally went downstairs after spending nearly an hour pretending she wasn’t emotionally spiraling. The guesthouse had grown quieter by then. Most guests had gone out into the city for dinner, leaving only soft music drifting through the sitting room and the warm glow of lamps against old wooden walls.
Elias sat alone near the fireplace reading a book.
Or at least pretending to read one.
The moment Clara entered the room, he looked up immediately. His attention found her so quickly and naturally that it sent warmth rushing through her all over again.
For a second, neither spoke.
Then Elias closed the book slowly and stood.
The atmosphere between them had changed completely now. Not awkward, but undeniably different. The uncertainty that once existed had disappeared, leaving behind something quieter and far more intimate.
“You survived Margaret?” Clara asked carefully.
“Barely.”
She smiled softly while walking closer. “How bad was it?”
“She informed me that emotional repression is apparently unattractive.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She also called me dramatically tragic.”
Clara laughed quietly. “She’s not entirely wrong.”
A reluctant smile appeared at the corner of his mouth before fading again into something softer.
For a moment, they simply stood there beside the fire listening to the quiet sounds of the guesthouse around them.
Then Elias spoke more seriously.
“Are you okay?”
The question carried more meaning now than before. Clara could hear it immediately.
Not Are you uncomfortable?
Not Do you regret it?
Something deeper.
Are you still here with me?
Clara stepped a little closer before answering. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think I am.”
Relief moved visibly across his expression.
That tiny reaction touched her more than any dramatic declaration could have.
“You looked worried earlier,” she admitted gently.
Elias exhaled slowly and glanced toward the fire for a second before meeting her eyes again. “I was.”
“Why?”
A faint crease appeared between his brows like he was searching for the right answer.
“Because I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line you weren’t ready for.”
Clara stared at him in disbelief for half a second. “Elias, I kissed you back.”
“I noticed.”
“Then why are you acting like you committed a crime?”
A quiet laugh escaped him before he shook his head slightly. “I don’t know how to do this carefully anymore.”
The honesty in that sentence made her chest ache again.
Clara reached for his hand slowly this time, giving him every opportunity to pull away if he wanted.
He didn’t.
His fingers closed gently around hers almost immediately.
The warmth of it settled something inside her she hadn’t realized was still unsettled.
“You don’t have to do everything perfectly,” she said softly.
Elias looked down briefly at their hands before answering. “That sounds suspiciously optimistic.”
“I’m trying something new.”
He smiled faintly at that, and Clara realized she was beginning to understand something important about him.
Elias wasn’t cold.
He was careful.
Careful with emotions. Careful with attachment. Careful with hope.
Because losing Sophie had taught him that love could disappear without permission, and once someone learns that lesson deeply enough, they never approach happiness recklessly again.
The problem was that Clara no longer wanted careful distance from him.
She wanted closeness.
Real closeness.
And somewhere in the quiet warmth of Blackwater House, while winter pressed softly against the windows outside, she began realizing she might already be falling in love with him.