Chapter 32 Smitten
The evening air is perfect, cool but not too cold. Michael suggested we walk since the restaurant's only a few blocks away, and I agreed without a second thought. It’s a beautiful night. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling this unexpected lightness. It’s like everything’s slipping into place.
Talking to Michael is too easy. He’s a good talker, charming without trying. The effortless way he weaves himself into every conversation like he’s always been part of it. He’s got this ability to make me drop my guard without me even realizing it’s happening, and it’s unsettling in the best way. I can’t remember the last time someone made me laugh the way he does.
I’m walking beside him now, the rhythm of our steps matching without thinking about it. I’m not sure if the good mood I’m in is distracting me from the exhaustion creeping up on me, or if it’s just this night. It's like I’m drunk on something I can’t quite name but I don’t want to let go of.
“I’m just saying, you were a total jerk that night,” I tell him, trying to sound casual, but it’s hard not to smile when I remember how he acted that night at the Book Forum. Especially his phonecall in the elevator.
He stops walking for a second, glancing at me with a feigned look of offense. “I was not a jerk,” he says, raising his brows. “I had a long day.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s the excuse?”
“Trust me, you would’ve understood if you’d seen the things I had to deal with that day.” He shrugs, but it’s one of those nonchalant moves, like we've done this countless times and he knows I’m about to ask.
“What happened?”
He pauses before giving a dramatic sigh.
“One of the editors went on maternity leave, and I got stuck with this writer who was way behind schedule,” he starts, voice clipped, still working through his irritation. “She writes horror. Not my thing, I'm more of a literally fiction type of guy....but whatever.”
I lean in just a little, our shoulders brushing, and then the tips of my fingers grazes his. It's the smallest thing, but the air between us thickens in a way that makes everything else feel distant.
“So, this writer’s manuscript is fucking nightmarish. And I mean that literally. You ever read something that’s so twisted, you can’t get it out of your head?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t really read horror. Don’t watch it either.”
“Because you’re normal,” he says, shaking his head. “Anyone who willingly sits through hours of people getting murdered either has a few things to work through or has unresolved issues with their own fear.”
“Alright, so what was it about?”
He actually shudders, like the thought of it physically pains him. A soft sound escapes him, something between a scoff and a nervous laugh, like he’s trying to shake off the memory. He stops walking for a moment, rubbing his temples, then sighs heavily. “I’d rather not. But since you’re practically begging....”
He looks at me, this wicked gleam in his eyes, then his lips twitch into a playful frown. “Though if I tell you, you’re gonna have to pull me back from the dark place I’m about to go, yeah? And that’ll involve a lot of physical contact. I’m talking uncomfortably close.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. “Nice try.”
Michael just grins, but then his expression goes serious, and his tone shifts, taking on this dark quality. “So, here’s the deal,” he says, lowering his voice. “She wrote about a spirit masquerading as a therapist. It would feed on the pain of its clients. This thing tortures them. Forces them to relive their deepest traumas, their most unbearable memories until it’s fed enough to grow stronger.”
I pause mid-step, frowning at him, but he’s not done.
“And the worst part?” He leans in a little, his voice dropping to barely a whisper which I assume is meant to send a shiver down my spine. “It’s this perfect, charming professional on the outside.... but really, it’s just breaking them more with every session. The more they suffer, the more it feeds. And by the end, it’s stronger than they are. It destroys them. All because it feeds off pain.”
It’s a chilling idea, the kind that sticks in the back of your mind long after you’ve read it I'm sure. But before I can process the impact of the story, we’re interrupted by a man with a bunch of bouquets in his arms walking past us.
Without hesitation, Michael taps him on the shoulder, making the guy stop in his tracks. “I’ll take one,” he says, glancing over the flowers like he’s picking out something rare from a garden. As he starts inspecting them, his voice doesn’t falter, “The clients are already broken when they see the therapist. Some of them have been through hell, some of them can barely function, and this thing just feeds on them. But they keep coming back because they think it’s helping. It’s a cruel, sick game.”
The vendor hands him the bouquet he picks and Michael pulls out a couple bills from his wallet, He takes the flowers, then hands them straight to me, “Here,” he says, as if it's the most normal thing.
I take the flowers, feeling the delicate petals brush my fingers, unsure what to do with them. Michael doesn’t seem to notice the way I’m staring. His eyes are back on the road, his voice casual again. “Yeah. So, according to the writer, it’s all about control. This thing breaks those clients mentally and emotionally, until they can’t tell the difference between the nightmare and their real lives anymore.....”
The flowers are full of pastel hues, and smell really good, though not nearly as good as Michael’s scent, which I can still feel lingering in the air. For a moment, I can’t help but think about the fact that I’ve never gotten flowers before. I’m sure that’s a common thing for most guys, but it doesn’t stop the thought from creeping in.
My mind starts to wander, comparing this to my last relationship. Not that whatever Michael and I have is even close to that, but still, I think about it for a second. How simple things like this were always missing, the way I craved that casual acknowledgement.
But then my mind snaps back when I hear Michael call my name. I turn and he's watching me with this odd little look. “You listening?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you made me narrate that horrifying story just to have you zone out.”
I open my mouth to say something, and what comes out is, “You bought me flowers.”
His gaze narrows, and I swear he looks a little confused for a second as his eyes fall to the bouquet. Then, with a shrug, he lets out an amused chuckle. “I noticed all that greenery at your place. Clearly, you’ve got a thing for plants.”
I blink, processing his words. He smirks, leaning in slightly, “It’s all part of my plan to seduce you, obviously. Step two: show how observant I am. Is it working?”
I smile, shaking my head a little. “So, step one was what? Scaring the hell out of me with a creepy story?”
There's a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Exactly. You were supposed to be so freaked out that you'd end up in my arms.” He raises an eyebrow. “Guess it didn’t go quite as planned.”
I try to keep it cool, but there’s this stupid little pull in my chest. “I’ll give you points for effort.”
He tilts his head, giving me a slow once-over, eyes darkening just a fraction, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Just points?” he asks, teasing and charged. Then, before I can blink....he reaches out, two fingers brushing against my chest, tracing downwards, alternating just enough to make it feel like they’re walking a path only we can feel.
“That’s a bit harsh,” his fingers stop at my belt buckle. “I was hoping for something a little more exciting.”
Heat floods me instantly. I take the tiniest step back because, for God’s sake, we’re in public. My chest hammers, pulse racing in a way that makes it impossible to pretend I’m unaffected.
I hold his gaze, a weak smirk tugging at my lips. “I can’t believe your ex just let you walk away with all this blinding charm. Seriously, you really know how to keep a guy on his toes.”
He leans in just slightly, the air between us thickening with something unspoken. “Keeping you on your back would be preferred.....but that can wait till step five.”