One step at a time
I couldn't say it. I'd marched to the café full of determination, the kind you only get after pacing your room a hundred times, practicing in the mirror, and telling yourself, "This is it." My heart was set, my courage intact.
When I spotted her, though—Emma, casually sipping her drink, looking far too calm for the storm inside me—everything I had rehearsed went flying straight out the window. I stood there, stiff as a soldier about to declare war, with the most serious expression I could muster. I drew in a breath, gathered every ounce of courage... and then completely betrayed myself.
"Would you... uh... go grocery shopping with me tomorrow?"
Yes. Grocery shopping. Not dinner, not a movie—just two people, fluorescent lights, and a cart with a squeaky wheel.
In my head, I had already jumped off a cliff, cringing at my own disaster of an invitation. But then—miracle of miracles—she didn't laugh, she didn't frown. Instead, Emma smiled, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and said yes.
And just like that, my epic embarrassment turned into a strange little victory. Maybe it wasn't the confession I planned, but hey—at least I got the date... even if it comes with a grocery list.
So here we are in the present: grocery shopping day. I stood outside Emma's apartment building, waiting like I'd promised, determined to play the part of a gentleman. My hands were shoved into my pockets, pretending patience, though inside I was checking the invisible clock in my head every five seconds.
Ten minutes later, she appeared, descending from one of the joint apartments as if she'd stepped straight out of a magazine. Emma was dressed head-to-toe in white: a delicate lace top with long sleeves that caught the sunlight, paired with sleek white pants that brushed just past her ankles. A slim black belt cinched her waist, her matching shoes tapping lightly against the steps. Two small diamond earrings sparkled whenever she turned her head, and her hair flowed loose over her shoulders, framing her face in an effortless cascade.
In that moment, I almost forgot this was just a grocery trip. She looked less like someone going to pick out tomatoes and more like someone headed to a runway.
I was moonstruck. She was driving me absolutely crazy, and for a second, the only thing I wanted was to sweep her up in my arms, carry her to the car, and kiss her forehead before placing her gently into the seat beside me.
"Hey!" Emma called out, waving as she walked toward me. The sound of her voice pulled me back to earth just in time. She stopped a few steps away, her eyes widening at the sight of the car. "Wow... Mr. Ardel must be someone rich," she teased, her lips curling into a sly smile.
It was a Bentley. Of course, it had to be a Bentley.
My stomach tightened. Ah, fuck. Not now. I can't let her know who I really am—not yet. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to look casual. "Oh, I borrowed it from a friend," I lied, hoping the excuse would pass.
She tilted her head, giving the car another glance before turning those bright eyes back on me. "It's a lovely car," she admitted, "but to me, I think the driver looks far lovelier than the car." She placed a hand dramatically over her chest, feigning shock. "I can't believe my chauffeur is such a handsome man."
I couldn't help but laugh, the tension easing from my shoulders. Stepping forward, I gave her an exaggerated prince's bow. "So, shall we go to the grocery store, ma'am?"
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she mirrored me, dipping into a graceful bow of her own—like a princess humouring her knight.
"Sure," she said softly, and the single word felt like the start of something far more magical than a simple trip to the market.
The whole drive, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. My hands gripped the wheel, but my gaze kept betraying me, sliding sideways to steal quick glances at her. Every time I thought I was being subtle, I wasn't. And then—it happened. Our eyes met.
It was electric. And awkward. My chest tightened, my nerves tangled. I immediately looked away, pretending to focus on the road, but my heart was hammering like it wanted to burst through my ribs.
Did I want to hold her hand resting so casually on her lap? Absolutely.
Did I want to reach over and tuck that rebellious strand of hair behind her ear, just to feel the warmth of her skin against my fingertips? More than anything.
And did I want to kiss her like the world was ending tonight—kiss her until we were both fighting for breath, our bodies trembling, slick with sweat, clinging to each other as if nothing else mattered? God, yes. Every nerve in me screamed for it.
But I stayed still, trapped somewhere between the gentleman I promised I'd be... and the man I was aching to become in her presence.
We were finally at the grocery store, and I was doing everything I could to keep myself under control. Every time she moved, I felt my composure slipping—her hand brushing a box off the shelf, her hair catching the light, the sound of her voice when she hummed under her breath. It was maddening, standing this close and pretending it didn't affect me.
She was choosing between two brands of cereal, completely unaware that I was fighting not to lose my mind. I shouldn't want her like this—not here, not in a place with fluorescent lights and quiet chatter—but desire doesn't ask for permission.
I thought about asking her to come home with me. Not for dinner. Not to talk. Just to exist in the same air, to let the silence between us finally say what I couldn't.
She doesn't know what she does to me—how her nearness twists inside my chest, how her laughter feels like both comfort and punishment. I want to drop my guard, to kneel and kiss the ground she walks on, and that thought alone terrifies me.
"Kisses?"
Her voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and sudden.
"What?" I turned to her, dazed.
She frowned, crossing her arms. "Hershey's kisses, Aubrey. Do you like them? I've been asking you for the third time."
I blinked. "Oh. Sorry. I haven't had them."
She stared at me like I'd said something impossible. "You've never had these?"
I shook my head, my lips twitching with a faint, helpless smile.
"Then you have to try them." She dropped a bag into the cart, then turned toward me, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Anyway, I think I'm done with my groceries. Now it's your turn. What do you need? Got a list?"
What do I need? God, if she only knew.
"I actually don't need anything," I murmured.
Her brows lifted. "Then why did you even suggest grocery shopping?"
I swallowed, trying not to stare at her lips. "Maybe I just wanted to come with you."
Her laugh was soft, almost disbelieving. "You're impossible."
Maybe I was. Because standing there beside her, surrounded by rows of canned food and dull background music, I felt anything but calm.
The air between us was electric—thick, dangerous, alive. And when she brushed past me, close enough that her sleeve grazed my arm, I had to shut my eyes for a second.
If she turned around right then, if she looked at me the way I was looking at her, I knew I'd do something reckless.
Because for me, being near her wasn't enough anymore. It was never enough.
"Aubrey, do we go home now?"
I looked at her, almost startled. "Already?"
She raised a brow, half amused. "What do you mean already? It's been two hours since we started shopping."
Two hours? It felt like minutes. Time never behaved properly around her.
I hesitated, my voice dropping. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"
She was scrolling through her phone, her focus shifting between the screen and me. "I would love to," she said, glancing up, "but not today. Maybe tomorrow." Her tone softened. "Where do you want to go?"
I shrugged, though my thoughts were anything but casual. "I haven't thought about it yet. I'll call you later?"
Her lips curved into a small, effortless smile. "Okay."
And somehow, that was enough. That one look—warm, gentle, completely unaware of what it did to me—was sweeter than anything we could've bought from the store.
As she turned away, I stayed still for a moment, watching her walk ahead with the fading afternoon light tracing the edges of her hair. I didn't follow right away. I just stood there, holding onto that smile like it was something precious, something dangerous.
Because for me, that simple smile was enough to ruin the calm I'd spent all day trying to build.
The sun was sinking low, streaking the parking lot in gold. The world around us felt muted — like everything had slowed just enough for me to notice the small things: the breeze catching in her hair, the faint scrape of cart wheels, the soft rustle of grocery bags.
Emma popped open the trunk and began lifting the bags one by one. I stepped closer, instinctively reaching for one.
"I got it," she said quickly, her tone firm but kind.
"I know," I murmured, hovering beside her. "But still."
She glanced at me over her shoulder, amused. "You don't trust me to lift a few grocery bags?"
"It's not that," I said, though it was exactly that — not about trust, but about the quiet pull in me that hated seeing her do anything that might tire her out. I knew she didn't need me. She never did. But the thought of standing still while she worked didn't sit right.
Her lips curved into a teasing smile. "Relax, Aubrey. I lift heavier things than this at home."
That only made it worse — that casual confidence of hers. I shoved my hands into my pockets, watching as she placed the last bag neatly inside, brushing a stray hair from her face.
When she finally closed the trunk, she turned to me, sunlight glinting in her eyes. "See? All done. No casualties."
I smiled faintly, though my chest tightened. "Didn't doubt you for a second."
She gave a small laugh and walked around to the passenger side, slipping into her seat. I followed, slower this time, trying to steady the quiet storm inside me.
Once the doors closed, the air shifted — enclosed, heavier. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered, sweet and familiar.
"You really don't talk much when you drive," she said after a few moments, buckling her seatbelt.
I started the car, keeping my eyes ahead. "Maybe I'm just trying not to ruin the peace."
She smiled, turning toward the window. "That's one way to look at it."
The drive was quiet. Not the kind of silence that asked to be filled, but the kind that hummed — low and electric. Every turn of the wheel, every flicker of her reflection in the glass, every time her hand brushed against her knee — it all felt louder than words.
When I finally pulled up in front of her building, the spell began to fade.
"Thanks for driving," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "And for... offering to help. Even though I didn't let you."
"I just didn't want you to do it alone," I admitted before I could stop myself.
Her expression softened — gentle, kind, completely unaware of what those words meant for me. "You're sweet, Aubrey."
She smiled, and that was it — one simple smile that felt like both mercy and cruelty at once.
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
When she got out of the car, I watched her walk toward her building, the grocery bags swinging lightly by her side. She didn't look back.
And I didn't start the car right away. The seat beside me was empty now, but it still carried her warmth. Her laugh. Her scent.
She had no idea what she'd left behind.
And I had no idea how to let it go.