Borrowed Affection

Lunches

I don’t know when it became routine our chats, I mean no day passes by without us sending messages to each other,Maybe it started with the harmless “Good morning, sunshine ” messages that made me smile when I woke up. Or maybe it was the way he checked in at random hours like he knew when I was about to crumble under school pressure and dealing with mum. Whatever it was, Ethan Whitaker had gone from being a stranger who slid into my DMs to someone I now talked to more often.

He was clever, funny, effortlessly charming. And God, he was patient and nice,I never once felt rushed with him. He’d tell me about his work how his publishing house had just picked up a young adult author whose book was going viral on blog sites,about his workers. He said I’d love it, and he was right. I devoured the sample chapters he sent me.

“You’ve got good taste,” I told him after reading.

He replied, “So do you. That’s why you’re still talking to me.”

I rolled my eyes at my screen but smiled anyway. He had a way of making me feel… seen and making me blush.

The funny part? I’d always had my eye on Whitestone Publishing his company long before I knew he was behind it. It was one of my dream places to intern after graduation. Now, with Ethan in the picture, it didn’t feel like a far-fetched dream anymore. I didn’t even have to send in my resume yet, and he already knew about my writing, my essays, my love for editorial layouts even suggesting that I apply.

“You’d fit in there,” he’d said one night during a phone call that lasted until 2 a.m. “You’re sharp,bold,articulate and a little chaotic. Perfect combo for publishing.”

“Thanks, I think,” I’d said, biting back a laugh.A week later, he asked to take me out to lunch.

It wasn’t a big deal. At least that’s what I told myself when I stared at my closet for fifteen minutes trying to figure out what to wear. I didn’t want to look like I tried too hard but I also didn’t want to look like I didn’t care. Because I did so I asked for Ella's help,Ella poked her head into my room. “You’re still getting ready?”

“It’s not a date,” I muttered, applying lip gloss and wiping it off right after,Inwent for a simple look a knee length Zebra print body-con gown with bold jewelries and a small bag to fit the essentials.

“Girl, you’re glowing. You’ve been glowing since Mr. Whitaker entered the chat.” She smirked.

I sighed. “It’s lunch, El.”

“Uh-huh.” She folded her arms. “Lunch with the hot older man who runs a publishing empire and sends you flirty emojis at night?”

I didn’t answer. Because… yeah. There was no arguing with that.

Ella flopped onto my bed. “I like him, by the way. He makes you happy. You laugh more. You’re not always in that moody, stressed-out mode.”

I paused. “You sure it’s not weird?”

She shrugged. “It’s unexpected. But weird? Nah. You’re grown. And he treats you better than that situationship with Mike who didn’t even know how to spell commitment.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re horrible.”

“But I’m right.” She grinned.Ethan took me to this Italian spot downtown soft lighting, classy but not too uptight. He stood up when I walked in, smiling like he’d been waiting for this moment all week.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and I felt my cheeks warm up.

“Thanks,” I replied, sliding into the booth opposite him.

We talked about everything the podcast he was starting,the time he almost got arrested in college for starting a fight at a frat party, I laughed so hard, I spilled my drink over my dress,He reached over with a napkin, gently blotting it, eyes locked on mine the entire time.

“Sorry,” I said, flustered.

“Don’t be.I like seeing you laugh you look beautiful.”

Something shifted in the air.

For a moment, it wasn’t just lunch.

It wasn’t just a casual meet-up between two people who’d been chatting for weeks.

It was something more,and I felt it in the way his eyes softened when I spoke, in the way he leaned in to listen like I was the only person in the world.

I wanted to kiss him.

But I didn’t.

And he didn’t try.

He just drove me home and walked me to the gate, hands tucked into his pockets.

“I had a great time,” he said.

“Me too,” I replied, clutching my phone so tightly I thought the screen might crack.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. But instead, he smiled and said, “Talk to you soon, Carla.”

That night, I didn’t sleep much,not because I was overthinking well, not entirely but because I couldn’t stop replaying everything in my head.

The way he smiled. The way he listened. The way I didn’t want it to end.My mom noticed something was off by the next morning.

She was pouring coffee in the kitchen when she looked up and asked, “What’s going on with you lately?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

“You’re… different,” she said slowly. “Happier. But distracted.”

I shrugged. “School’s almost over. Maybe I’m just relieved.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push either.

Just nodded and said, “Hmm,” like she was storing it somewhere for later.

She’s been suspicious ever since.

Watching me closely when I laugh at my phone, asking who I’m texting even when I say it’s Ella. She doesn’t believe me I can see it in the way her eyes linger. But she’s keeping it to herself. For now which is better for both of us

And maybe part of me is glad she hasn’t asked the real question yet. Because I don’t know what I’d say.

That I like a man eight years older?

That he makes me feel seen and understood in ways I didn’t think were possible?

That I look forward to his messages more than I probably should?

It all sounds insane when I say it out loud.

But it doesn’t feel insane when it’s just us. When it’s Ethan calling me “sunshine” and asking how my day went. When he sends me snippets of poems he likes or tells me which coffee shop has the best muffins downtown.

He feels… safe.

And maybe a little dangerous too.Ella caught me smiling at my phone in the library a few days later and grinned.

“You’re whipped.”

“Am not,” I muttered.

“Girl. You smiled at a GIF. A GIF.”

I laughed, but deep down I knew she was right.

He’d sent a little animated heart that bounced like it was excited, followed by “Miss you already. Next lunch on me?”

And I didn’t hesitate before replying: “Yes.”

I don’t know what this is between Ethan and me. It’s not a relationship. Not yet. But it’s more than just talking.

We’ve started flirting more openly. He calls me “trouble,” and I call him “sir” just to mess with him.It sometimes feels like fire like something dangerous is about to start and neither of us knows how to stop it.

Other times, it’s warm and soft, like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.

Last night, he told me he’d been thinking about me all day about how he couldn't wait to close so we could speak over the phone.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I sent a heart emoji and turned my phone over.

But I couldn’t stop smiling.

And I couldn’t help but wonder where this was all heading.

Because even though I told myself not to get too deep, I was already knee-deep in it and a part of me didn’t want to come up for air.When I told Ella everything later that night from the lunch to the “I miss you” text she grinned from ear to ear and said, “I’m rooting for you.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “You deserve to feel wanted. Seen. Even if it’s a little complicated.”

That word stuck with me. Complicated.

Because it is.

There’s still the cautious distance I keep between my mom and this new thing in my life. There’s still the fact that Ethan isn’t just some random guy he’s Ethan Whitaker. Known. Respected. Powerful.But he treats me like I matter.

And I don’t want to run from that.

Not this time.