First Date IV
695 Words
That seemed to interest him. His gaze sharpened slightly, studying me in that same careful way. “You’re cautious,” he observed.
“I’m realistic.”
“About what?”
“About people,” I said. “About situations. About… this.”
I gestured slightly between us, though my hands were still held in his. He followed the movement, his expression unreadable.
“And what is ‘this’ to you?” he asked.
I hesitated, because I didn’t have a clear answer. “It’s unexpected,” I said finally. “And usually, unexpected things come with complications.”
“Not always.”
“No,” I agreed. “But often enough.”
He considered that for a moment, his grip on my hands loosening slightly but not letting go.
“You think I’m a complication.”
I met his gaze. “I think I don’t know you well enough to decide yet.”
Something in his expression shifted at that.
“Fair,” he said.
The word settled between us, simple but meaningful. For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, almost reluctantly, he released my hands, the absence of warmth was immediate. I curled my fingers slightly, as though I could hold onto it for a second longer.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded once. “Yeah.” but it didn’t feel entirely true because the cold hadn’t been the only thing that had changed. I reached for my glass instead, taking a small sip just to ground myself in something normal. I gazed at him, he was still watching, like he was cataloging every reaction, every shift in expression, and deciding what to do with it.
“You’re thinking too much,” he said.
I let out a soft breath. “I tend to do that.”
“I noticed.”
There was no judgment in his tone, which somehow made it worse. I glanced at him, studying his face more carefully this time.
“And you don’t?”
“Not in situations like this.”
“Why not?”
“Because overthinking usually ruins the outcome.”
“That depends on the situation,” I said.
“It does,” he agreed. “But I prefer to let things unfold before I decide whether they’re a mistake.”
I tilted my head slightly. “That sounds like a risky approach.”
“It is.”
“And you’re comfortable with that?”
His gaze held mine, steady and unwavering. “Yes.” The answer came without hesitation before I could respond, a quiet movement at the edge of my vision drew my attention. The same man who had greeted us earlier approached the table, his posture just as precise as before. This time, however, there was something different in his expression, more measured, more careful.
“Sir,” he said quietly, leaning slightly toward Ethan. “There’s a call.” Ethan didn’t look away from me immediately.
“From?” he asked. The man hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.
“Mr. Lawson.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” he said.
“It’s regarding the Singapore deal.” Ethan paused.
“Five minutes,” Ethan said finally.
The man nodded once. “Of course, sir.”
He stepped away as quietly as he had arrived. I stared at Ethan.
“Singapore deal?” I repeated.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for his glass, taking a measured sip before setting it down again. When he looked back at me, the earlier softness had not disappeared, but something else had settled over it.
“Work,” he said simply.
“That didn’t sound like normal work.”
“It depends on what you consider normal.”
I leaned back slightly, crossing my arms. “Most people don’t have someone interrupt their dinner to whisper about international deals.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Most people aren’t having dinner with you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.” The calm way he said it made it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate. At least, not yet.
- Writer
