Dinner was served. Dad and Adrien sat on one side of the table, while Martha and I sat opposite them.
The conversation flowed easily, mostly carried by Dad and Martha.
They talked about the farm, the weather, and things that I was sure only people who had lived in the same area for years could understand.
Adrien, however, seemed perfectly content listening.
Or rather, eating.
His attention was almost entirely on the food in front of him. And I couldn't stop myself from watching him.
The way he held his spoon with quiet precision, the way he took each bite, like he wasn't just eating but actually appreciating the meal.
Then there was the way he closed his eyes while chewing very slowly.
It seemed like nothing but I found myself captivated that he had this side to him.
Sitting there beside my father, I realized something.
They were similar.
Not exactly in appearance.
But in the quiet way they carried themselves.
The kind of people who didn't need to fill every silence just to prove they were there.
The realization made me smile slightly.
I was so distracted that I barely touched my own food and dad caught on.
"Li?"
His voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
I blinked.
"Hm?"
He glanced at my plate, then at me.
"You alright? You've barely eaten."
"Yes. I'm fine."
I picked up my spoon and scooped some food into my mouth.
In haste, I swallowed too quickly and immediately regretted it.
What followed was a rather intense coughing fit.
Dad sighed.
"Eat slowly."
He reached for the jug and poured water into a cup for me.
Meanwhile, another glass was already being pushed toward me.
I looked up at Adrien.
His hand was still extended, his expression calm.
Oh, now I have his attention?
I took the half full glass from him and chugged it down.
Then my brain did what it knew best.
It registered at that moment.
This was his glass.
The one he had already been drinking from.
No. Absolutely not.
It was just a glass of water. People share glasses all the time.
We were not about to go there.
Too late.
I choked again. On my thoughts this time.
My cheeks suddenly felt warm.
And the fact that Adrien's eyes were still on me did absolutely nothing to help.
"Oh dear," Martha exclaimed, immediately reaching over to rub my back. "Take it easy, sweetheart."
Dad pushed another glass of water toward me.
I took it and drank, hoping that maybe the embarrassment would disappear with it.
It didn't.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and let out a small hiccup.
Just great.
Could this night possibly get any worse?
I pushed my chair back quickly.
"I'm going outside for a bit."
If I stayed there another second, I was convinced I would find another ridiculous way to embarrass myself in front of him.
I stepped out before anyone could ask or say anything.
I walked toward the back porch, dropping into the familiar rocking chair as soon as I reached it.
The chair creaked beneath me.
I leaned my head back and let out a long breath.
What was wrong with me?
I was a fully grown woman.
Thirty years old.
Not some sixteen year old teenager who was experiencing her first crush.
I had a career.
I kicked ass in the corporate world.
So why was my brain turning a shared glass of water into some ridiculous romantic moment?
I covered my face with my hands.
"Get a grip, Yareli."
The worst part was that Adrien wasn't even trying to do anything.
He wasn't flirting or trying to charm me.
He was just being himself.
And somehow that was enough to make me forget how to act like a normal person.
I sighed, letting my hands fall into my lap.
Lena was right. I needed closure.
But the problem was how to get it.
I thought seeing him again would help me finally let go of the strange attachment I had to the memory of him.
But this? This was ridiculous.
A soft breeze moved through the trees, calming the chaos in my head little by little.
Then came the sound of the porch door opening which made me sit up.
I turned.
Adrien stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched me.
Aside from the soft glow of the moon, there was little light between us, leaving most of his features hidden in the darkness.
And yet, even like that, I could still feel his eyes on me.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he did. "Are you feeling better?"
I nodded.
"Yes, thank you... for earlier."
He didn't respond but his gaze remained fixed on me.
I didn't dislike the keen stare.
But it didn't help either.
I shifted slightly.
Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I asked.
"Why do you stare so much?"
Silence. For what felt like ages.
My palms started to sweat.
"Is it bothersome?" he asked finally.
"N-no, I mean not exactly." The words came out too fast. "It's just... a little distracting sometimes. I don't hate it or anything like that. I just..."
I trailed off.
The silence returned, heavier this time.
Then he spoke again.
"I apologize if it made you uncomfortable. I'll refrain from doing so."
That was the longest sentence I had ever heard him say.
Secondly, who said anything about refraining?!
"I didn't mean..." I let out a small breath, rubbing my forehead. "That isn't what I meant."
I looked back up at him.
"I just wanted to know why."
He held my gaze for a moment longer, like he was deciding how much of an answer he wanted to give.
"I find you interesting."
I blinked.
"Was that a compliment?"
I saw the corner of his mouth lift slightly.
"What do you think?"
I looked away, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at my lips.
Interesting.
A comfortable silence settled between us.
Then a thought crossed my mind.
My vacation was ending soon and I'd be going back to Los Angeles.
Maybe I should ask for his number.
Shouldn't be that hard.
Except the moment I imagined actually doing it, it suddenly became the most difficult thing in the world.
What would I even say?
"Yareli."
My head snapped toward him.
"Huh?"
At some point, he had moved away from the doorframe and was now standing closer to me.
Close enough that I could see the faint reflection of the moonlight against his glasses.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
I stared at it then at him.
"What?"
"Your number."
"My... number?"
What are the fu- sorry, freaking odds?
His expression remained calm, completely unaware he just asked me something that had caused me to spiral into a mental crisis.
"Yes."
"Oh, okay."
"Mhm. I'd like to talk to you again."
That simple sentence affected me more than any grand declaration ever could.
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