Chapter 102 Chapter 102
Chapter 102
Celine sat across from Ariana at the little kitchen table, hands moving as she talked, fingers opening and closing like she needed them to help the words come out right. She didn’t notice how often she smiled until Ariana set her mug down and just watched her, quiet and steady.
“And then,” Celine said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “we just stayed there. Talking. Nothing huge. Nothing planned. Just… talking.”
Ariana lifted her tea slowly. “How long?”
Celine paused. “Way longer than we meant to. We got there at four. Left when it was almost dark outside.”
Ariana smiled into her cup.
“It wasn’t even a big deal,” Celine added fast, like she needed to explain it away. “Just coffee. People do that. Friends do that.”
Ariana nodded. “They do.”
Celine let her shoulders drop a little. “Exactly. That’s all it was. Friendly. Normal.”
She looked down at her own untouched tea, finger tracing slow circles on the tablecloth. “He was nervous though. I could tell. Kept clearing his throat. Rubbed the back of his neck every time there was a quiet second. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.”
“And how did that feel?” Ariana asked, voice soft.
Celine shrugged one shoulder. “Nice. Seeing him like that. Like he wasn’t always in control.”
Ariana didn’t speak right away. Just listened.
“He’s different when he’s not at the office,” Celine went on. “Not so closed off. He listened. Really listened. Like what I was saying mattered. I kept thinking I was going on too long, so I’d stop, and he’d say, ‘No, keep going. I want to hear this.’”
She gave a small laugh. “I talked about Ariana’s terrible reality TV habit. He laughed. Actually laughed.”
Ariana’s mouth curved.
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” Celine said quickly. “We’re just friends. That’s it.”
Ariana finally spoke. “You haven’t said his name once since you sat down.”
Celine blinked. “I haven’t?”
“No.” Ariana’s tone stayed gentle. “But everything else about you has.”
Celine felt warmth climb up her neck. “Ariana…”
“I’m not poking fun,” Ariana said. “I’m just paying attention.”
Celine leaned back in the chair, arms folding across her stomach. “I don’t like him like that.”
Ariana nodded once. “All right.”
“I mean it,” Celine pressed. “He’s my boss. He’s Ethan Castellan. That should stop the whole thought right there.”
“And yet you’re still smiling,” Ariana said.
Celine touched her mouth like she could catch the smile and put it away. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s happy,” Ariana said. “And you were happy today. I haven’t seen you light up like that in months.”
Celine looked down at the table. The smile stayed even when she tried to push it back.
After a quiet minute she stood. “I should get some sleep.”
Ariana nodded. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night.”
Celine walked down the short hallway to her room. Closed the door softly. Leaned against it for a second with her eyes closed. Then crossed to the bed and sat on the edge.
She didn’t turn on the light. Just let the hallway glow slip under the door and spread across the floor.
Her mind kept pulling up pieces from the afternoon: the way Ethan’s eyes had stayed on her face when she talked about her weekend plans with Ariana. How he’d asked follow-up questions like he wanted every detail. The small moment when their hands brushed reaching for the same sugar packet—both of them pulling back at exactly the same time, both pretending nothing happened.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand. Opened the messages. Read the last one she’d sent him again: Home now. Thank you for today.
His reply had come in under a minute: Glad you’re safe. Sleep well.
She stared at those four words longer than she should have.
Then she set the phone face-down.
“Friends,” she said to the dark room.
She slid under the covers, turned onto her side, pulled the pillow close against her chest.
Sleep came slow, but when it arrived it carried the memory of sunlight on a small café table and a man who looked at her like her words were worth keeping.
Across the city Ethan sat on the edge of his bed in the quiet penthouse. The only light came from the city outside the window and the soft glow of his phone screen.
He opened the photos app. Scrolled to the one he’d taken without planning.
She hadn’t been posing. Hadn’t even known the camera was up. She’d been laughing at something she’d said head tilted just enough that the afternoon light caught the side of her face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. Mouth open in the middle of the sound.
He’d lifted his phone on impulse. Clicked once.
Now the picture filled the screen.
He studied it again. The way her shoulders had relaxed. The unguarded smile. The way she looked when she thought no one was watching.
“You shouldn’t keep doing this,” he muttered.
He didn’t stop.
He opened the settings menu. Thumb hovered.
Then he set the photo as his lock screen.
Every time he woke the phone from now on, there she would be. Simple. Private. His.
He leaned back against the headboard. Let his head rest against the wall.
He’d spent years keeping everything in tight lines emotions, decisions, people. This felt loose. Unsteady. Dangerous.
And still, when he looked at the image again, something inside him eased.
“She doesn’t even know,” he said to the empty room.
That part stung.
And somehow felt safe.
He locked the phone. Placed it on the nightstand. Turned onto his side.
Sleep came eventually, carrying her laugh with it.
Neither of them knew how much longer the word “friends” would hold.
But for tonight, it still did.
Took out his phone again.
Looked at the photo one more time.
Then he lay back, phone still in his hand, and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow was Sunday.
Monday would bring the office again.
But tonight, the memory of her sitting across from him laughing, talking, real stayed close.
And for once, he didn’t push it away.