Chapter 18: Nearer Than Comfort
1482 Words
The northern farm sat farther from the main estate than most Monteverde properties.
Rolling fields stretched beneath broad skies while irrigation canals cut through fertile land like silver veins. The air smelled of wet soil and fresh grass, untouched by city noise and social expectation.
Lola always liked this property.
It felt quieter.
More honest.
The SUV rolled to a stop beside a modest operations building.
Neither she nor Gabriel spoke immediately.
Their earlier conversation still lingered.
You don’t know what you want yet.
The words had followed him all the way there.
And annoyingly—
he could not dismiss them.
Workers greeted Lola warmly.
“Ma’am Lola.”
She smiled.
“How are the pumps?”
The foreman sighed.
“Stubborn.”
“Aren’t they always?”
Gabriel watched quietly.
Again—
that same thing.
People relaxed around her.
Not because she demanded respect.
But because she gave it naturally.
The realization stirred reluctant admiration.
For the next hour, work kept conversation practical.
They inspected irrigation systems, reviewed fertilizer schedules, and discussed delayed repairs.
And unexpectedly—
they worked well together.
Gabriel noticed it too.
Lola approached problems methodically.
No dramatics.
No ego.
Only solutions.
At one point, while examining damaged water lines, the foreman looked apologetic.
“We tried temporary repairs.”
Lola crouched beside the pipes.
“Temporary solutions become permanent disasters.”
Gabriel smirked.
“That sounds personal.”
She looked up.
“It’s agricultural.”
“Of course.”
The workers laughed quietly.
And somehow—
for a brief moment—
things felt easy again.
Dangerously easy.
The sun climbed higher.
Heat settled over the fields.
Eventually the foreman led them toward a smaller irrigation site farther uphill.
The pathway narrowed through tall grass and uneven soil.
Lola walked ahead carefully.
Gabriel followed.
“You know,” he said, “you’re bossy at work.”
She glanced back.
“That sounds like jealousy.”
“I prefer efficient.”
“You survive under my management remarkably well.”
He almost smiled.
The wind moved softly through sugarcane.
And for a moment—
he forgot jealousy.
Forgot Matteo.
Forgot caution.
Then—
the ground shifted.
Lola stepped onto damp earth hidden beneath grass.
Her footing slipped.
The incline was not dangerous—
but steep enough.
Gabriel reacted instantly.
One arm caught her around the waist before she lost balance entirely.
The world paused.
Again.
Too close.
Her body pressed briefly against his.
Warm.
Solid.
And absurdly familiar.
Lola looked up.
And suddenly became aware of impossible details.
His hand steady against her side.
The smell of sun and cedar.
The concern already visible in his expression.
Not pride.
Not irritation.
Only concern.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
But neither moved immediately.
The moment lasted longer than it should.
Then—
voices approached.
Reality returned.
Gabriel released her at once.
The foreman looked alarmed.
“Ma’am—”
“I’m fine,” Lola assured gently.
But something had shifted.
Small.
Unwelcome.
And dangerously noticeable.
They continued uphill.
Neither mentioned it.
Neither wanted to.
Unfortunately—
silence sometimes revealed more than words.
By noon, the inspection ended.
The workers insisted they stay for lunch.
Refusing would have seemed rude.
So they sat beneath a shaded nipa structure overlooking fields shimmering beneath sunlight.
Simple food filled the long wooden table.
Grilled fish.
Fresh vegetables.
Rice.
Mangoes.
Nothing extravagant.
Yet somehow—
Lola preferred meals like this.
Gabriel noticed.
“You like this.”
She looked up.
“Food?”
“The place.”
Her gaze wandered toward the fields.
“Yes.”
He studied her quietly.
“No parties.”
“No politics.”
“No galleries?”
That earned faint amusement.
“No galleries either.”
The breeze softened the heat.
Workers ate nearby, laughing among themselves.
And unexpectedly—
the atmosphere felt peaceful.
Then Gabriel asked—
“You really never imagined marriage?”
The question arrived without warning.
Lola paused.
Interesting topic.
“No.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It isn’t.”
He waited.
And surprisingly—
she continued.
“I simply stopped expecting happiness to arrive through another person.”
The answer unsettled him.
Not because it sounded cynical.
But because it sounded earned.
“What happened?”
Dangerous question.
She looked toward the mountains.
And memory brushed quietly against her.
A ship once lost at sea.
A child she buried in another century.
A husband whose death left winter living permanently inside her chest.
Too many stories.
Too many endings.
When she answered—
her voice remained calm.
“Life.”
The incomplete answer frustrated him.
“You avoid history.”
“I survive through editing.”
He almost laughed.
“That sounds tragic.”
“It’s practical.”
He looked at her carefully.
“No.”
She lifted a brow.
“No?”
“It sounds lonely.”
The words landed unexpectedly.
And for one brief second—
something flickered across her expression.
Too fast to name.
Perhaps because—
he was not entirely wrong.
Before conversation could deepen—
a phone rang.
Lola looked down.
Matteo.
Of course.
And immediately—
the atmosphere changed.
She answered politely.
“Hello?”
Gabriel looked toward the fields.
Very maturely.
Very calmly.
He heard enough.
“Yes, we’re still at the farm.”
A pause.
Then—
“That’s thoughtful.”
Another pause.
“I’ll let you know.”
The call ended.
Silence returned.
And unfortunately—
so did irritation.
“He calls often.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You count?”
“No.”
“Yes,” she said calmly.
“You do.”
The workers nearby remained blissfully unaware of emotional weather.
Gabriel folded his arms.
“He worries about you.”
“That’s generally considered kindness.”
“He’s persistent.”
“And you’re repetitive.”
The answer carried amusement.
Which somehow irritated him more.
“He wants something.”
Her gaze settled on him.
“Most people do.”
The words landed heavier than she intended.
He looked away.
Because suddenly—
he wondered what she thought he wanted.
Possession?
Control?
The realization bothered him.
Lunch ended soon after.
The drive back began beneath blazing afternoon skies.
This time—
the silence felt sharper.
Not angry.
Only thoughtful.
Until suddenly—
traffic forced them to stop along a provincial roadside.
A local festival procession crossed ahead.
Music drifted through the streets.
Children carried flowers.
Vendors sold sweet rice cakes.
The delay stretched.
Lola looked out the window.
“Oh.”
“What?”
She pointed.
A small chapel stood nearby decorated with sampaguita and ribbons.
“Fiesta.”
The streets glowed with provincial celebration.
Gabriel watched her expression soften.
“You want to get out.”
She hesitated.
“Maybe.”
So unexpectedly—
they did.
The roadside festival felt worlds away from Monteverde formality.
Children ran laughing through narrow streets while elders sat beneath tents exchanging stories.
No one treated Gabriel like an heir.
No one treated Lola like estate management.
They were simply strangers beneath afternoon sunlight.
And strangely—
that felt liberating.
An elderly woman selling delicacies smiled at them.
“Mag-asawa?”
The question arrived casually.
Husband and wife?
Lola blinked.
Gabriel looked equally surprised.
And before either corrected—
the woman continued cheerfully,
“Bagay kayo.”
You look good together.
Lola nearly laughed.
Gabriel, annoyingly—
did not dislike hearing it.
“No,” Lola said gently.
“We’re not married.”
The woman looked unconvinced.
“Boyfriend?”
“No,” Lola repeated.
The older woman only smiled knowingly.
Ah.
Young people and denial.
They walked farther into the festival afterward.
And somehow—
the moment lingered.
Not because of romance.
Certainly not.
But because something about the misunderstanding felt oddly intimate.
Dangerous thought.
They paused near the chapel courtyard where children released small paper lanterns.
Lola watched quietly.
And unexpectedly—
Gabriel watched her instead.
No guarded conversation.
No Matteo.
No family pressure.
Just sunlight and provincial music.
Then she spoke softly—
“You’re staring again.”
He looked away.
“You notice too much.”
“And you still haven’t learned subtlety.”
The breeze moved between them.
And for a second—
he almost said it.
That he liked being near her.
That her absence had begun bothering him.
That jealousy frightened him because it made him unfamiliar to himself.
But footsteps interrupted.
A child ran toward Lola carrying flowers.
“For Ate.”
She blinked.
“For me?”
The little girl nodded seriously.
Lola accepted the flowers with surprised warmth.
And watching her smile at the child—
Gabriel discovered another inconvenient truth.
The problem was no longer jealousy.
No.
The real danger was this—
being near Lola had started feeling less like conflict—
and more like home.
And that—
more than jealousy—
terrified him.
- Writer
