Chapter 12
1120 Words
Chapter 12
Jake
I didn’t expect her to come. She’s not easily moved or convinced.
I like that about her.
When I left her door, I told myself it was enough that I asked, but I was not going to force anything.
I was stirring a stew that didn’t need stirring when I heard her door creaking.
She thought I wouldn’t notice.
I’ve been listening through the walls since she slammed her door shut ten minutes ago.
I walked out quietly so that she didn't hear my footsteps. I leaned against my doorway, and there she was, trying hard with the door not to make a sound. I pretended I hadn't been watching her.
I cleared my throat deliberately. “Rave,” I called out.
She was startled immediately when she saw my face, her eyes wide open for a second before she masked it. She froze.
For someone who pretends not to care, her heartbeat was doing a terrible job at it. I could see the rapid pulse fluttering at her throat.
“What?” she asked, already defensive.
She’s always on guard.
I stepped forward just enough for the light to hit me properly. “You don’t have to sneak.”
“I wasn’t sneaking.” She folded her arms instantly.
There was still tension in her posture, like she was prepping for a fight that wasn’t coming.
I liked that about her.
She never relaxed too easily.
“You were,” I said calmly.
“You came,” I added immediately.
“I said I’d think about it.”
“And?”
“And I’m still thinking.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s fine.”
I stepped aside slightly and gestured toward my open door. “You can come in if you want.”
Her eyes flicked toward the light spilling from my apartment.
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes wandered around the room like she was checking for what could harm her. I could feel tension radiating off her like she didn’t know what to do with a mix of caution.
I stayed where I was, letting my posture show her that there’s no pressure. “It’s okay,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “You’re safe here, Brid.”
She let out a shaky sigh and shrugged her shoulders lightly as she walked in.
She walked in like she owned the place.
I liked that.
She didn’t sit, she wandered her eyes at everything.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked suddenly.
“Doing what?” I asked calmly.
“This.” She gestured between us. “Being… nice.”
I smiled gently. Because she said “nice” like it was kind of a threat to her.
“I made dinner,” I replied simply. “And I wanted to share.”
Something got softer in her expression.
“That’s it?” She looked down at the table.
“That’s it,” I repeated.
Our eyes met. She looked at me like she was scanning, for manipulation I guess.
“You expect me to believe that?” She muttered.
“Birdy, I cooked because I was hungry,” I replied. “And I thought you might be too.”
“I don’t bite,” I continued.
“Don’t start,” she replied immediately as she rolled her eyes at me.
Her eyes.
They are darker up close, almond shaped, and slightly lifted at the outer corners.
They are not just brown but layered like different shades fighting for dominance.
Her eyes aren’t soft when she looks at me. They are heavily intense, sharp, and daring.
That look scares people off but definitely not me.
She has the kind of eyes that fight you and pull you in at the same time.
I stepped aside.
I moved back another step, giving her space.
“I’ll stop talking now,” I said lightly. “Before you punch me out.”
“You can sit here.” I gestured with my hands to the table.
“No, I’m okay standing.”
“Who stands while eating?” I thought to myself.
I pulled out a chair anyway.
“You can interrogate the food from there,” I said jokingly.
She walked reluctantly to the table as she murmured some words I couldn’t hear to herself like she was negotiating with herself.
It’s totally understandable. We kissed at my garage the other day, I asked her for a dance at the festival and now I’m asking her to eat with me, who wouldn’t think I’m up to something?
“What did you spike it with?” She frowned at me.
“Birdy, should I have spiked it with something?” I replied calmly.
She looked at me like she was about to cut my tongue off.
I like that look.
“If I die or you try anything funny with…...”
“No you won’t.” I interrupted her almost immediately.
“Just like I told you for the 100th time,” I said, "I cooked and I thought to share with you, nothing serious.”
“Relax. I muttered.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
I raised my hands in surrender, “Okay, fine. I shut up.”
“Do you live like this?” She asked, “Like a functioning adult.” Her eyes were glued to the counter.
I huffed a laugh. “Occasionally.”
Something softens in her look.
I leaned back against the counter. “The food will take a minute. The stew needs another five.”
“I didn’t ask how long it’ll take.”
“I know.”
She exhaled sharply, annoyed.
I pushed off the counter. “Make yourself comfortable. Or don’t. Your choice.”
I walked back into the kitchen, giving her space again.
I lifted the lid of the pot, stirred once, this time it actually needed stirring and I lowered the heat.
I could feel her moving. I didn’t look at her immediately but her footsteps weren't towards the door so I knew she wasn’t leaving.
When I glanced over my shoulder, she wasn’t at the table anymore.
She was by the small shelf near the wall.
My books.
Her fingers traced through them like she was testing them.
She then pulled one out and flipped it over. Her brows knit slightly.
That caught my attention more than anything else.
She looked irritated, but tried to hide it.
“What?” I asked casually.
She held the book up so slightly not enough for me to see the page she had landed on.
Her expression had gone cold again.
Whatever she just read, it hit deeper than the kiss we had.
- Writer
