Innocent Seduction

Chapter 10: For now

The sun wasn’t even fully up when I stepped into the open-air kitchen area near the dining hall. The concrete was cool beneath my slippers, and the scent of wood smoke and sliced onions lingered like a dream that hadn’t shaken off the night yet.

I pulled my hair back. Tied the apron around my waist. Tried not to smile too obviously when I saw his name scribbled on the whiteboard under “assistants.”

Evren – delivery crew.

He didn’t know what he’d just signed up for.

When he arrived—carrying two plastic bags filled with tomatoes and eggs—I didn’t even look up at first. I let him come to me. Let him watch the way I chopped garlic with practiced hands, my shoulders bare in the thin-strapped shirt I slept in and never bothered to change out of.

He cleared his throat.

I looked up slowly, like I hadn’t already felt him the second he stepped inside.

“Morning,” I said, wiping my hands on the apron.

“Hey,” he mumbled, placing the bags on the steel counter. His voice was still soft from sleep. Rough in a way that made my chest feel tight.

“You’re up early.”

“So are you,” he said.

I smiled and took the bag from him, fingers brushing his as I did. He flinched—but just barely. Like he wasn’t sure if he imagined the warmth, or if it meant something.

I made sure it did.

“Can you pass me the oil?” I asked, pointing with my chin. “And the onions too.”

He obeyed. Quiet. Efficient. A little slower than usual.

I leaned forward as he placed them down, and my arm touched his again—bare skin on bare skin. Warm. Humid. Charged.

“Thanks,” I murmured, turning to stir the sizzling garlic in the wok.

He didn’t say anything. But I could feel his eyes on me.

And when I bent slightly to grab the salt, I made sure to angle my hips just right. Subtle. Innocent. Almost.

The others started arriving—noisy, sleepy, dragging chairs and flipping plates—and Evren stepped away. But not far. Not really. He stayed within reach. Close enough for my voice to follow him. Close enough to remember.

Later. Lunch.

We sat on opposite ends of the same table.

He didn’t speak much. He never did. But today, he was quieter.

He kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Once, our eyes met. He looked away instantly, mouth tightening like he bit back a thought too dangerous to speak aloud.

I let the conversation around us blur. Let the sound of clinking utensils and the low hum of gossip fade into a static I didn’t care about.

Because every now and then, I shifted in my seat.

Let my foot slide forward under the table.

And when my knee brushed his—not once, not twice, but three times—he didn’t pull away.

He just sat there, jaw tight, face unreadable, fingers clenched around his fork like he wasn’t sure if he should move or stay.

He stayed.

And that was enough.

For now.