Chapter 4
980 Words
Lucy floated out of the Anderson Group building with a grin so wide her cheeks hurt. She wanted to scream, to dance, to hug every stranger on the street. Instead, she settled for a self-congratulatory twirl right outside the revolving door.
She hadn’t been officially hired yet. The final approval still rested with the “big boss,” but Mr. Caballero’s words were enough. Finally, after endless rejection letters and fake promises of “We’ll call you,” someone had recognized her worth.
Lucy Cordova was on her way.
Instead of heading straight home, she decided she deserved a celebration. Something simple but special enough to mark the day she finally broke the curse of joblessness.
So she found herself in a bustling mall food court, balancing a tray loaded with fried chicken, spaghetti, and a large soda. She claimed a table by the glass window, where the sun lit the tiles golden. With a satisfied sigh, she dug in, savoring each bite as though it were the feast of a queen.
Halfway through her spaghetti, a shadow fell across the table. Lucy looked up, and the fork froze in her hand.
He was tall. Strikingly tall, in fact, with broad shoulders that filled out his crisp shirt perfectly. His skin was fair, his features sharp and flawless, the kind of face sculptors dreamed of chiseling into marble. His hair was slightly tousled, falling across his forehead in an artful mess that looked accidental but absolutely wasn’t.
Lucy’s jaw nearly hit the tray. Dear heavens. Did angels start taking field trips to earth?
“Miss,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. “Mind if I sit here?”
Her brain short-circuited. Words jammed in her throat. And then, in the single most humiliating moment of her life, she blurted out,
“Ah… eh… Lucy! Hehe… I’m Lucy.”
The man blinked, clearly confused.
Lucy wanted to die on the spot. “I-I mean yes! Please, sit!” she corrected quickly, cheeks blazing.
He gave a small chuckle as he set down his tray.
Lucy, meanwhile, was not okay. Her eyes betrayed her, glued to him as if he were a painting in a museum. She leaned her chin in her palm, openly staring like a lovesick puppy.
And of course, he noticed.
“Staring is rude,” he said casually, unwrapping his burger. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”
Lucy’s cheeks burned hotter. “S-sorry! It’s just… you’re so… good-looking. No, scratch that. You’re beautiful. Honestly, you’re too beautiful. It makes me shy.”
He smirked, a slow, cocky lift of his lips. “Not my fault. Born this way.”
Lucy nearly choked on her soda. The nerve! The arrogance! And yet, with that face, he had a point.
She took a quick breath to steady herself. “You’re not from Manila, are you?” he asked, eyeing her with mild curiosity.
“Well, no. I’m here for a job interview. And by God’s grace, I passed!” Lucy’s eyes sparkled with pride. “So here I am, celebrating.”
“Congratulations,” he said simply, nodding. “I’m Trent.”
“Lucy,” she replied, this time properly.
Their conversation was brief, painfully brief as far as Lucy was concerned. He ate quickly while she tried to memorize every detail of his face: the almond shape of his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his voice seemed to settle into her bones.
When he stood, her heart sank. Already?
But before leaving, Trent leaned down, close enough that she froze. His hand lifted, and with a light brush of his thumb, he wiped something from the corner of her lips.
“You had ketchup,” he said matter-of-factly, straightening up. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Lucy sat there, stunned. Her fingers automatically rose to touch the corner of her lips where his thumb had been. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest.
“Did that… did that just happen?” she whispered.
She fought the urge to squeal and instead stuffed the rest of her chicken into her mouth, cheeks burning with a foolish grin.
By the time she reached the bus terminal for the ride home, she was carrying not just a full stomach but a new daydream.
At dusk, she entered their small home with a wide grin plastered on her face. Too distracted to notice her surroundings, she promptly rammed her knee against the wooden sofa.
“Ouch! Son of a—!” she yelped, hopping on one leg.
Momsie appeared from the kitchen, unimpressed. “If you weren’t walking around like a crazy person, that wouldn’t have happened. Don’t blame the sofa. It’s innocent.”
Lucy shot her a glare. “What if one day it answers back, huh?”
“Then you’d have someone new to argue with,” Momsie deadpanned.
Lucy flopped onto the nearest chair, massaging her knee. “Anyway, Momsie, the interview went amazing! Finally, after all the waiting, I’m in. Just need the big boss’s signature, then I’ll officially start!”
Her mother smiled, relieved. “At least I won’t have to listen to your whining anymore.”
“Momsie! I’m a good daughter.”
“You’re only good when you’re asleep.”
Lucy gasped dramatically. “You’re not even my real mom!”
Her mother smirked. “Excuse me? You came out of my womb!”
Lucy groaned and stomped to her room, sulking like a child. “Raising a mother is exhausting!”
Later that night, sprawled on her bed, Lucy whispered his name into the quiet.
“Trent… Trent…”
She brushed her fingers over her lips again, smiling like a fool. For the first time in a long while, her dreams that night were sweeter than ever.
- Writer
