David's words lingered in the air, heavy and teasing, as if there was something more he wanted to say but chose not to. I could still feel his eyes on me, and the weight of his gaze seemed to press down even harder. It was like he could see every thought that passed through my mind, and I hated that. I hated feeling so exposed in front of someone who seemed so...perfect.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling my face heat up again. My fingers were now gripping the edge of my coffee cup, but it wasn't helping. If anything, it only made my awkwardness worse. I stared down into the dark liquid as if it held some magical escape route out of this situation.
David leaned back again, his movements slow and relaxed. His green eyes—still locked on me—glimmered with a faint amusement, like he was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. His posture was so at ease, his arms draped casually on either side of his chair as if he belonged to every part of this place. That, combined with the way he had effortlessly taken control of the space between us, made my heart beat faster.
"You're very quiet, Emily," he said, his voice smooth but gentle, like he was trying to coax me out of my shell.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. I wanted to speak, to say something witty or clever, but my mind had completely blanked. I was painfully aware of the awkward silence stretching between us. Why was this so hard? He was just a person—a person with incredible green eyes, thick eyebrows, short blonde hair, and a jawline so sharp you could probably cut glass with it—but still, just a person.
"I... uh..." I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. Great, Emily. Really smooth.
David's lips twitched, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slight smile. Not a mocking smile, but one that told me he found this whole situation amusing. His thick eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, as if waiting for me to continue, but I had nothing. I was completely out of words.
Feeling utterly embarrassed, I broke eye contact again and glanced around the café, desperate for something—anything—to take my mind off the way he was looking at me. My gaze landed on the salt and pepper shakers, neatly placed in the middle of the table. The little grains of salt sparkled under the dim light, and for some reason, I found myself staring at them, focusing on their simplicity. Focus on the salt. Don't look at him. Focus on the salt.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw David lean forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. I could feel the air between us shift, becoming even more charged. It was like he was waiting for something, expecting something from me that I just couldn't give.
"You don't have to be nervous," he said softly, his voice low and reassuring, like he had sensed the storm brewing inside me.
Don't have to be nervous? Easier said than done. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could feel the awkwardness rolling off me in waves. How could I not be nervous when he was sitting there, looking like some kind of model out of a high-end magazine, with his perfectly tousled blonde hair and those piercing green eyes that saw too much? And his voice—God, his voice—so smooth, so calming, yet it only made me more flustered.
I glanced at him again, trying to keep my gaze casual, but it was impossible not to notice the way his features were so perfectly sculpted. His skin was fair, and his straight nose seemed to accentuate his sharp jawline. Even his posture, relaxed and confident, made me feel like I was intruding on his space.
"I'm not nervous," I lied, my voice coming out much higher than I intended. Great, now I sound like I'm five.
David's smile widened, but he didn't call me out on it. Instead, he leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest in that easy, relaxed way of his, and simply watched me. His gaze was still intense, but now there was something else there—something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Amusement, sure, but also...curiosity?
I shifted in my seat again, my fingers now playing with the edge of my sleeve. I could feel my palms starting to sweat, and I prayed he wouldn't notice. What is wrong with me? I couldn't even sit still. Everything about this situation felt like it was amplified, from the noise of the café to the heat of his gaze.
And then, because fate clearly hated me, I knocked over my coffee cup.
It wasn't a dramatic spill—just a tiny tip that sent a few drops spilling onto the table—but it was enough. I gasped, grabbing a napkin to mop up the mess, my face turning an even deeper shade of red.
"Sorry, I'm... I'm just..." I couldn't even finish the sentence. I didn't know what I was trying to say. I'm just what? Awkward? A complete disaster? Probably both.
David chuckled softly, reaching out to help me with the napkin. His fingers brushed against mine for the briefest moment, and I froze. My heart was now beating so fast I was sure he could hear it.
"Relax," he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just coffee."
Just coffee. Easy for him to say. To me, it felt like a monumental disaster. I nodded, forcing a tight smile, and sat back, clutching the napkin in my lap as if it were some kind of lifeline.
I could feel his eyes on me again, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. Was he laughing at me? Did he find me completely ridiculous?
But when I finally dared to glance up, there was no judgment in his eyes. Just that same quiet curiosity, mixed with something else I couldn't quite place.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was heavy, thick with all the things I wasn't saying—the things I couldn't say. I stared down at my lap, feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up my neck.
And then, out of nowhere, David leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied me. "You're interesting, Emily," he said, his voice soft but clear.
Interesting? My heart nearly stopped. That wasn't what I had expected him to say. Not at all. I blinked, my mind scrambling for a response, but all I could manage was a quiet, "Oh."
David smiled again, but this time it was different—softer, almost like he was letting me in on some secret. "Yeah," he continued, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "You're not like other people."
I had no idea what he meant by that, but the way he said it made my stomach twist in the most confusing way. Not like other people? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I wasn't sure, and I was too embarrassed to ask.