Chapter 73 Concerned
Hannah
I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the foyer.
The house was quiet in that peculiar way that felt… staged. Too deliberate. The air smelled faintly floral, sweet and heavy, and my steps slowed as my eyes lifted.
Oh.
Right there. On the console table.
A massive bouquet of lilies; white and soft pink, my favourite flowers arranged so carefully it made my chest ache. They were fresh, dewy, and definitely expensive. The kind of flowers that didn’t say sorry as much as they said I thought about you. Tucked beside the vase was a small velvet box.
My fingers trembled as I picked it up.
I already knew what it was before I opened it.
Inside lay a Pandora charm bracelet, silver gleaming under the lights, delicate and unmistakably luxurious. My breath caught as I lifted it out slowly, charms clinking softly against one another.
A tiny tree.
A paintbrush.
A puppy.
My throat tightened.
Each charm felt like a small confession. Like he’d been watching me. Noticing things. Caring in a way I hadn’t prepared myself for.
“Dammit,” I whispered, my lips trembling.
Why now?
Why when I’d finally decided to pull back? Why was he making this harder?
Tears pricked my eyes and I blinked them back furiously, setting the bracelet down like it burned. I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not when my heart was already in too deep.
I grabbed the bouquet and the box, my arms full, pulse racing, and marched down the hallway before I could second-guess myself. I placed everything carefully at Timothy’s doorstep, too carefully and then turned and fled like a coward back to my room.
I locked the door.
Dinner came and went upstairs. I barely tasted the food. Momo ate beside me, blissfully unaware, while my thoughts churned in tight circles.
I knew he’d notice.
I knew he’d come.
And sure enough, sometime later, footsteps stopped outside my door.
A knock.
“Hannah.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I stayed silent.
Another knock. Softer.
“I know you’re in there,” Timothy said, his voice low, controlled, but there was something underneath it. Frustration. Confusion. Maybe hurt. “You returned the gifts.”
I pressed my lips together, eyes burning.
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” he continued. “But this avoiding game? It’s getting old. We should talk.”
Silence stretched.
I curled my fingers into the sheets.
“Hannah,” he sighed. “Please.”
I didn’t answer.
Another beat. Then a defeated sigh and footsteps moving away.
Only then did I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders slumping.
“I’m doing the right thing,” I muttered to myself. “I have to be.”
Even if it didn’t feel like it.
——
The next morning, I waited.
I listened carefully as Timothy moved around the house, his footsteps, the distant murmur of conversation, the front door closing. Only when I was sure he’d left did I finally relax.
Day off.
I dressed lightly, tied my hair up, and headed to my painting room. It had been calling to me all week.
I pulled on my apron, opened the curtains, and let sunlight flood the space. I set up my canvas, squeezed out paints, mixed colors slowly. Music hummed from the speaker, a bit loud but familiar.
This was safe.
This was mine.
I dipped my brush into a muted blue….
And the music cut off.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned.
Timothy stood in the doorway.
Casual sweatpants. A simple T-shirt. Hair still damp like he’d just showered.
My heart jumped into my throat. Silence stretched on as we stared at each other.
Finally, “Hannah.”
“H-Hey. I…” I swallowed. “I thought you’d gone.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s what I wanted you to think.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why are you avoiding me, Hannah?”
“I’m not,” I said too quickly.
He stepped into the room.
I stepped back.
“We’ve both just been busy.” I continued.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said gently. “Tell me why.”
“I already told you…”
He took another step. I retreated again, gripping my palette like a shield.
“Hannah.”
My back hit the wall.
He took the palette from my hands and set it aside carefully, like it was something reverent.
He leaned down slightly, not touching, but close enough that I could feel his presence surrounding me on all sides.
“Tell me,” he murmured.
My mind raced.
“I… I was on my period!”
The words burst out of me.
Timothy blinked. His mouth opened and closed and then he finally settled on, “Okay…”
I nodded quickly, seizing it. “I get really moody. Like, really droll. I just wanted to be alone. It wasn’t… serious.”
He searched my face, eyes intent. “Are you sure?”
I forced a tight smile. “Yes. Of course.”
I reached out and squeezed his arm, instantly regretting it when my fingers met solid muscle. His biceps flexed slightly under my touch and my breath hitched.
I ducked out from under his arm before he could notice.
“I hope you didn’t take it personally,” I said, returning to my paints. “I get like that sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said after a pause. “I don’t know much about periods. But I do know they can be… complicated.”
Guilt twisted in my chest.
I nodded, unable to look at him.
Silence settled.
I reached over and turned the music back on, hoping he’d take the hint.
Instead, he lowered the volume.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I usually don’t.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Can you teach me?”
I turned to stare at him. “Now?”
“Yeah,” he said, shrugging. “Why not?”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked. “Your corporate battle thingy?”
He shrugged again. “It’s not going anywhere. I think I’ve got a day or two to spare.”
My heart skipped.
I looked away, forcing nonchalance. “Sure. If you want.”
I jerked my head toward the corner. “Grab an easel and a canvas. And an apron.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he walked away, my shoulders sagged.
Well, I thought bleakly, there goes that plan.