Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 45: Chapter 45
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 45: Chapter 45. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
It started with a whisper of an idea — not grand, not loud, just a quiet tug at Jade’s heart the night she held Leah as she cried.
After all the tears had settled into silence, after Leah had fallen asleep with her head on Jade’s chest, and after Clementine had jumped up to curl at their feet, Jade had laid awake in the dark with one thought circling in her mind:
She deserves peace. Just for herself.
Not shared peace. Not survival peace. Not the kind that follows struggle like an apology.
But soft, deliberate, selfish peace — a day just for her.
No obligations.
No errands.
No roles to perform.
Just breath. Just being.
The next morning, Leah woke slowly. Her eyes were still slightly swollen, her body heavy from the weight of release. But when she looked over, she found Jade already dressed, brushing her hair with lazy strokes, the faint smell of toasted bread drifting from the kitchen.
“You’re up early,” Leah murmured.
Jade turned and smiled. “And you’re exactly where you should be. Stay there.”
Leah blinked at her, confused. “Why do you sound like a yoga teacher right now?”
“Because today,” Jade said with a playful bow, “you are officially under my care.”
Leah raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning…” Jade crossed the room, placed a hand over Leah’s forehead like a doctor, then nodded. “Yep. Diagnosis: emotionally overloaded with a touch of perfectionism. Prescription? A full day of quiet.”
Leah snorted, but her smile lingered. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re tired,” Jade said softly, brushing hair from Leah’s face. “Let me take care of you today.”
Leah’s expression shifted. She hesitated — not because she didn’t want it, but because accepting softness had never come naturally. Not even now.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Jade cut in gently. “No expectations. Just follow me. Please?”
There was something in Jade’s voice — something unwavering and warm — that Leah couldn’t argue with.
So she nodded.
And the day began.
The first thing Jade did was draw a bath.
Not just any bath — she made it feel like something sacred. Eucalyptus oil. A lavender candle on the windowsill. Soft music humming through the small speaker Jade always carried from room to room.
“Ten minutes alone,” Jade said, guiding Leah into the bathroom. “Then I’ll bring tea. Don’t even think about checking your phone.”
Leah raised her hands. “Okay, okay. I surrender.”
But once she settled in — once the water kissed her skin and the steam wrapped around her shoulders — Leah felt herself begin to unravel again, in a different way this time. Not like last night. Not broken.
But softened.
Held.
For the first time in weeks, maybe months, she let herself fully sink. Not just into the water, but into the permission to rest.
Ten minutes later, true to her word, Jade returned — gently knocking before entering, carrying a tray with tea and a tiny plate of buttered toast cut into triangles.
“Triangle toast?” Leah teased.
“Shhh,” Jade grinned. “It tastes better that way.”
She sat on the closed toilet seat and chatted quietly while Leah soaked, telling her stories from their past — things they hadn’t spoken about in a while. The first time they met. Their first awkward almost-date. The time Leah spilled coffee on both of them because she was so nervous.
Leah laughed, really laughed, and Jade watched the tension slip from her like petals in water.
After the bath came fresh clothes — not fancy, not styled. Just Leah’s favorite hoodie and soft socks that Jade had warmed in the dryer.
Then came a walk.
They didn’t go far. Just down to the little garden near the apartment building, where the breeze carried the scent of damp earth and the distant sound of a violin from a street performer around the block.
Jade held Leah’s hand the entire time, not speaking unless Leah did, letting the silence do the work.
Leah stopped at one point and tilted her head back to feel the sun on her face.
“It feels good to stop pretending,” she said suddenly.
Jade looked at her. “Pretending what?”
“That I’m always okay. That I don’t miss things I tell myself I shouldn’t.”
Jade squeezed her hand. “You’re allowed to miss things. Even if they hurt you.”
Leah didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The wind blew softly around them, and Jade stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her from behind.
By midday, they were back home. Jade had already prepared a simple lunch — Leah’s favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese, made the way she liked it, with just a little too much butter.
They ate on the couch, under the big blanket, Clementine curled at their feet. They didn’t turn on the TV. No phones. No noise.
Just warmth.
Just presence.
After they ate, Leah dozed off with her head in Jade’s lap.
Jade didn’t move. She stroked Leah’s hair, gently, as if memorizing the rhythm of her breathing. And in that hour of stillness, Jade made a quiet promise to herself:
I’ll keep making room for this. For her. Even when she forgets she’s allowed to be held.
That evening, Leah woke to the sound of rain tapping softly on the windows.
The world outside looked different — softer somehow. Or maybe she was.
She sat up slowly, stretching, and turned to see Jade at the kitchen counter, scribbling something into a notebook. Her hair was tied up, her sweatshirt too big. She looked like safety.
Leah stood, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around her from behind.
Jade hummed. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
“Hey,” Leah whispered. “Thank you.”
Jade turned in her arms. “For what?”
“For giving me a day I didn’t know I needed.”
Jade cupped Leah’s cheek. “You deserve days like this every time the world forgets to be gentle with you.”
Leah leaned in, forehead to forehead. “You see me in ways no one ever has.”
“That’s because I look at you with love,” Jade said softly. “Not expectation. Not fear. Just love.”
They kissed — unhurried, familiar — the kind that says I’m here, I see you, I’ll stay.
That night, they crawled into bed and tangled their legs under the covers. Clementine claimed her spot at their feet with a dramatic flop.
Leah rested her head on Jade’s shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“You didn’t get lucky,” Jade said. “You got brave. You let someone in.”
Leah closed her eyes, her voice just a breath. “Promise we’ll always make time for the quiet?”
Jade nodded, her hand finding Leah’s in the dark. “Always.”
And just like that, a quiet day turned into a quiet forever.
Not loud.
Not perfect.
But beautifully real.
The kind of love that doesn’t shout.
The kind that stays.
After all the tears had settled into silence, after Leah had fallen asleep with her head on Jade’s chest, and after Clementine had jumped up to curl at their feet, Jade had laid awake in the dark with one thought circling in her mind:
She deserves peace. Just for herself.
Not shared peace. Not survival peace. Not the kind that follows struggle like an apology.
But soft, deliberate, selfish peace — a day just for her.
No obligations.
No errands.
No roles to perform.
Just breath. Just being.
The next morning, Leah woke slowly. Her eyes were still slightly swollen, her body heavy from the weight of release. But when she looked over, she found Jade already dressed, brushing her hair with lazy strokes, the faint smell of toasted bread drifting from the kitchen.
“You’re up early,” Leah murmured.
Jade turned and smiled. “And you’re exactly where you should be. Stay there.”
Leah blinked at her, confused. “Why do you sound like a yoga teacher right now?”
“Because today,” Jade said with a playful bow, “you are officially under my care.”
Leah raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning…” Jade crossed the room, placed a hand over Leah’s forehead like a doctor, then nodded. “Yep. Diagnosis: emotionally overloaded with a touch of perfectionism. Prescription? A full day of quiet.”
Leah snorted, but her smile lingered. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re tired,” Jade said softly, brushing hair from Leah’s face. “Let me take care of you today.”
Leah’s expression shifted. She hesitated — not because she didn’t want it, but because accepting softness had never come naturally. Not even now.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Jade cut in gently. “No expectations. Just follow me. Please?”
There was something in Jade’s voice — something unwavering and warm — that Leah couldn’t argue with.
So she nodded.
And the day began.
The first thing Jade did was draw a bath.
Not just any bath — she made it feel like something sacred. Eucalyptus oil. A lavender candle on the windowsill. Soft music humming through the small speaker Jade always carried from room to room.
“Ten minutes alone,” Jade said, guiding Leah into the bathroom. “Then I’ll bring tea. Don’t even think about checking your phone.”
Leah raised her hands. “Okay, okay. I surrender.”
But once she settled in — once the water kissed her skin and the steam wrapped around her shoulders — Leah felt herself begin to unravel again, in a different way this time. Not like last night. Not broken.
But softened.
Held.
For the first time in weeks, maybe months, she let herself fully sink. Not just into the water, but into the permission to rest.
Ten minutes later, true to her word, Jade returned — gently knocking before entering, carrying a tray with tea and a tiny plate of buttered toast cut into triangles.
“Triangle toast?” Leah teased.
“Shhh,” Jade grinned. “It tastes better that way.”
She sat on the closed toilet seat and chatted quietly while Leah soaked, telling her stories from their past — things they hadn’t spoken about in a while. The first time they met. Their first awkward almost-date. The time Leah spilled coffee on both of them because she was so nervous.
Leah laughed, really laughed, and Jade watched the tension slip from her like petals in water.
After the bath came fresh clothes — not fancy, not styled. Just Leah’s favorite hoodie and soft socks that Jade had warmed in the dryer.
Then came a walk.
They didn’t go far. Just down to the little garden near the apartment building, where the breeze carried the scent of damp earth and the distant sound of a violin from a street performer around the block.
Jade held Leah’s hand the entire time, not speaking unless Leah did, letting the silence do the work.
Leah stopped at one point and tilted her head back to feel the sun on her face.
“It feels good to stop pretending,” she said suddenly.
Jade looked at her. “Pretending what?”
“That I’m always okay. That I don’t miss things I tell myself I shouldn’t.”
Jade squeezed her hand. “You’re allowed to miss things. Even if they hurt you.”
Leah didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The wind blew softly around them, and Jade stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her from behind.
By midday, they were back home. Jade had already prepared a simple lunch — Leah’s favorite tomato soup and grilled cheese, made the way she liked it, with just a little too much butter.
They ate on the couch, under the big blanket, Clementine curled at their feet. They didn’t turn on the TV. No phones. No noise.
Just warmth.
Just presence.
After they ate, Leah dozed off with her head in Jade’s lap.
Jade didn’t move. She stroked Leah’s hair, gently, as if memorizing the rhythm of her breathing. And in that hour of stillness, Jade made a quiet promise to herself:
I’ll keep making room for this. For her. Even when she forgets she’s allowed to be held.
That evening, Leah woke to the sound of rain tapping softly on the windows.
The world outside looked different — softer somehow. Or maybe she was.
She sat up slowly, stretching, and turned to see Jade at the kitchen counter, scribbling something into a notebook. Her hair was tied up, her sweatshirt too big. She looked like safety.
Leah stood, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around her from behind.
Jade hummed. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
“Hey,” Leah whispered. “Thank you.”
Jade turned in her arms. “For what?”
“For giving me a day I didn’t know I needed.”
Jade cupped Leah’s cheek. “You deserve days like this every time the world forgets to be gentle with you.”
Leah leaned in, forehead to forehead. “You see me in ways no one ever has.”
“That’s because I look at you with love,” Jade said softly. “Not expectation. Not fear. Just love.”
They kissed — unhurried, familiar — the kind that says I’m here, I see you, I’ll stay.
That night, they crawled into bed and tangled their legs under the covers. Clementine claimed her spot at their feet with a dramatic flop.
Leah rested her head on Jade’s shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“You didn’t get lucky,” Jade said. “You got brave. You let someone in.”
Leah closed her eyes, her voice just a breath. “Promise we’ll always make time for the quiet?”
Jade nodded, her hand finding Leah’s in the dark. “Always.”
And just like that, a quiet day turned into a quiet forever.
Not loud.
Not perfect.
But beautifully real.
The kind of love that doesn’t shout.
The kind that stays.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 45. Continue reading Chapter 46 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.