Dinner With Strangers
255 Words
Chapter Thirteen
That evening, Mom insisted on a family dinner. She was radiant, fussing over table settings and laughing too brightly at my stepfather’s jokes. I wanted to shrink into my chair, invisible.
The dining room shimmered like something out of a magazine—long polished table, candles flickering, the scent of roasted lamb filling the air. Yet I couldn’t breathe.
He sat across from me, shoulders relaxed, as though nothing in the world could rattle him. But his eyes… they never left me.
“So,” my stepfather asked, his tone warm, “how are you adjusting, sweetheart? Is the new school treating you well?”
I forced a smile. “It’s fine. Just… different.”
“She’s doing more than fine,” he cut in smoothly. His smirk curved, almost daring me to argue.
My fork slipped, clattering against porcelain. Mom glanced up, frowning. “Everything okay, honey?”
“Yes,” I said quickly, my cheeks heating. But under the table, something brushed against my foot. I jerked back, only to realize—it was him.
The tiniest flicker of a grin played on his lips as he chewed leisurely, like he hadn’t just lit my entire body on fire with one touch.
Dinner stretched on endlessly, every word, every glance, tangled in unspoken tension. By the time I escaped to my room, I felt wrung out, like I’d run a marathon I hadn’t agreed to enter.
And yet, a part of me couldn’t stop replaying that fleeting touch under the table.
- Writer
