Loving The Flame

Chapter Twelve

And here I am, welcomed by my parents at the airport. I am surprised and confused by his attempts to bring me joy, yet I cannot contain my excitement; I won't let his effort go to waste. I don't want to be overwhelmed by this question and falsely believe that I have complete control over it. It's too soon to jump to conclusions.

"Mr. Henry," I playfully call out to my dad, who responds with a silly catwalk towards me. Mom playfully hits him on the shoulder as she walks beside him. He appears to have aged since the last time I laid eyes on him, while Mom's appearance remains unchanged.

"Oh, sweetheart," she whispers into my ear as we exchange a warm embrace.

"I really miss you," I say to both, and I give dad a warm hug. I glance over my shoulder to check on Mr. Anderson—I mean Christopher—who stands nearby, hands casually tucked in his pockets. He watches us as we share warm hugs, a genuine smile playing on his lips and reaching his eyes.

I can't believe what he just did for me. I'm speechless and incredibly grateful. I couldn't help but smile as I observed his humble reaction to the situation.

"You must be Mr. Anderson," Dad says, reaching out his hand towards him.

“Christopher,” he says as he shakes his hand. He possesses a certain modesty, and I respond with a nonchalant shrug, a smile playing on my lips.

"Very nice to meet you," my mom adds, extending her hand for a handshake as well. "We were taken aback when his assistant called, and a car was at our disposal," she murmurs to me while standing beside me. "Private, Jet must feel pretty cool, huh?" she whispers with a playful tone, and I quickly hush her, pursing my lips.

“Thank you so much for bringing our girl home,” dad expresses, while Christopher glances towards me.

"Anything to bring joy to that lovely face," he says. "I have to say, it's clear that beauty runs in the family," he playfully remarks to my dad, who lovingly embraces my mom.

"You just witnessed it," he says, and we all burst into light laughter.

"Our rides are ready; we should depart," Christopher informs us, and I gasp, averting my gaze.

"Rides?" Mom asks, feeling perplexed. "Wait, why don't you come over to our place?" she suggests to him. "You simply must try my renowned casserole before you go," she insists.

"Maybe he has another plan, mom," I say in a low tone, trying to reason with my parents. However, my dad dismisses my words, shaking his head as he takes a step closer to me.

"We insist," Dad said, his voice filled with determination as he pressed his chest and looked at him with a hopeful smile. He wears a vibrant red shirt with a floral pattern, paired with white shorts. Meanwhile, mom wears a flowing chiffon dress that elegantly showcases her long legs. Her medium-length blond hair gracefully sways in the gentle breeze. I'm a bit concerned that they might pressure him into coming over. I grasp my mother's hand tightly, locking eyes with her, silently pleading for her to cease, dad.

Dad has a tendency to become more relaxed when he feels at ease, and having grown up in a family that values companionship, I understand how quickly things can change. It took me some time to adapt to the way most individuals cherish their personal space after I chose to stay behind when my parents relocated to Miami.

"Well then," Christopher says. And holds his hands tightly against his chest. "Can I count on you to keep that invitation for Sunday?" he inquires. "I'll still come to pick her up."

"So, you're here for the weekends?" Mom leans in close to me, her voice hushed with excitement. I give a hesitant nod, unsure. It's clear that whatever he has in store, when he flies me out here, I have completely zero knowledge of why he did it and no idea about the plan.

“Sure, what time should we expect you?” Dad asks after looking at my mom, who is nodding.

"We'll be living after six. I can make it for lunch," he says, flashing a smile in my direction. “Make the best out of your short visit.” He states this to me and heads towards one of the luxurious vehicles awaiting him, and I follow his trail.

I was at a loss for words during our journey here, remaining completely silent. Now, I feel compelled to express myself to ensure he doesn't leave without hearing something proper from me.

“Mr. Anderson.” I address him, and he halts, clearly taken aback.

"I thought we had a clear understanding," he says, sounding surprised. I glance behind me and see my mom and dad waiting by the other car that's prepared for us. "It's Christopher for you," he says, clearing his throat, and I can't help but smile, casually tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Call it a reflex,” I explain, glancing at my scarpin heels that perfectly complement my chic brown dress with a sheer bodycon design and a trendy turtle neck. "I just want to say," I say, gazing into his captivating grey eyes. "Thank you!" I exclaimed, my body swaying from side to side with childlike enthusiasm. "About everything." There is a brief pause as we lock eyes, and he shakes his head.

“Just maintain that smile,” he says as he heads towards his car.

"Oh, and here," I mention, removing his overall coat and passing it back to him. "Thanks for this as well; I guess I don't need it anymore," I explain as I hand it over.

“Sure,” she says with a smirk, watching as he takes it and bites his lower lip. "You know," he says, his voice filled with a sense of intrigue as he subtly closes the distance between us. “You’re a very interesting woman. Do you know that?”

“I get that a lot, but never let it get over my head.” I grin as I move away.

"I'll see you on Sunday," he says, and I give him a nod before turning around and making my way to the car where my parents are waiting.

Somehow, this is an indication that I keep my job, but at the same time, it feels like the weight of my fishing net in the sea is increasing. It's important to be cautious and strategic when it comes to gathering my fish, or else I risk unintentionally setting them free in the vast sea. It's evident that I lack a concrete plan, but sometimes the best approach is to go with the flow, or at least in this situation, I suppose. I strive to maintain a constant state of spontaneity and alertness.

***

"We're just fifteen minutes away, sir." Vincent quietly informs Christopher, who is in the back seat, going through files. He glances up at Vincent in the passenger seat, acknowledging his sigh, before refocusing on the files in his hands. He puts it aside and grins as he realises the black velvet overall coat that is still resting across his legs.

His fingers caress slowly and gently, tracing the intricate patterns of the wool under his right-hand palm. He feels the softness and warmth of the fabric against his skin. He closes his eyes, reliving the fractured moments that are itched in his memory. He could almost feel her touch again when he offered his hand to help her enter his private jet. He sees the way she smiled when he first gave her his coat and how her slender fingers clutched at the ends, pulling it tighter around her small frame. He sees the way her curious gaze lingered on him, trying to decipher his thought, and her last gaze that seems to convey a subliminal message. And he opens his eyes as he clenches his jaw and grabs the coat to set it aside. But he deepens his furrow lines on his forehead, gets the coat closer to his nose, and savours the scent that still lingers on it.

It still smells like her; the lingering scent mingling with his cologne on his coat fills his nostrils. It's working like a brain virus spreading so fast, controlling his thoughts, creating scenarios that never happen... or might happen, igniting a fire in his heart, which sparks an unsettling feeling in his belly, which wakes the goosebumps on his skin. It’s like a chain of firework in a splendid manner.

But what is this to him? He bites his lower lip hard as he opens his eyes while turning to his left and setting the coat aside, his hand still clenching on it. He leans on his left hand, looking out the car window, contemplating the situation he is surging himself into. His body was in conflict, his fingers clinging desperately to a coat that represented both protection and burden.

Upon arriving at their destination, Vincent courteously holds the door open for Christopher. Stepping out of the vehicle, Christopher casually removes his coat and loosens his shirt by unbuttoning two more buttons. He walks into a warehouse, where diligent employees are efficiently transporting packages on a cart.

He confidently heads to a door that leads him to a basement. It's dimly lit, with only a few corner lights on the walls. The space is quite and almost empty, with only three men gathering around a table, engrossed in their work—one dealing with papers and the other two counting and cross-checking boxes.

As they see him enter, they exchange a glance with him before returning to their tasks. Christopher looks around the basement that's packed with boxes, unbuttoning his shirt sleeve button. The only sound of a law hum of a machine and the occasional rustle and bumping of papers and boxes start to fade here. He quietly proceeds down a narrow corridor leading to a hidden entrance with a barely visible light that dangles from the ceiling, but they navigate their way expertly. And the sound completely dies the further they walk, assuring total privacy here. He gets the door by the end of the corridor and enters as he rolls his sleeve up his arm.

Dr. Mark is in the room with two other men in black, and Christopher's arrival makes him smile as he takes a glimpse of him approaching him from behind. He is sitting before a man who is restrained on a chair, as one of the men's knuckles is stained red from the obvious beating he was giving the men. They all exchange a glance, and Vincent walks past Christopher only to check on the vitals of the man on the chair.

"I am a doctor," Mark reminds him playfully, and Christopher gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he stands. Vincent flashes a smile, acknowledges Christopher with a nod, and gracefully steps back, distancing himself from the men.

"I must say, the level of hospitality here is truly exceptional," Christopher remarks, moving closer to him. "Tell me, who tried to betray me?" He requests, while holding his chin up with his four fingers, to direct his gaze towards him. The man's face is marred by the presence of blood.

"You're in for a surprise," Mark says, standing up and casually placing his hands in his pockets. He is letting him know that he has already discovered what they need to hear.

"Robert," he murmurs weakly, his voice fading, and the mention of that name wipes the smile from Christopher's face.

"Thank you," he says, extending his right hand towards Vincent. The gesture is clear to him, and there's no need to exchange words in between. He right away pulls a firearm and places it in his palm. He's done with asking questions, but he senses that things are about to take a complicated turn with his cousin, Robert. "This means war," he declares, gripping the gun tightly against his temple while the men anxiously inhale and exhale fearfully, bracing himself for the imminent events about to transpire.

Regrettably, Christopher is eager to convey a message to his cousin. Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger.