Chapter 10: Circles and Glances
The crackle of firewood echoed beneath the stars, casting flickering gold across the group gathered in Jonas's garden.
A large oak tree spread its limbs above us, ancient and comforting, as if it, too, was listening.
Jonas had invited a few friends—Marc, the easy-going architect with a deep laugh; Nina, a sharp-witted redhead who worked in publishing and had a soft spot for romantic poets; and David, quiet and observant, whose steady presence put everyone at ease.
Mia and her brother Leo joined us too, fitting in as though they'd always been part of the circle.
There was wine. A lot of it. Laughter rose like smoke into the night sky.
Stories flowed—some real, some exaggerated, all welcome.
At one point, Marc nudged Jonas. "You still remember that damn Bon Jovi song?"
Jonas rolled his eyes but smiled. "Only when I've had two glasses."
He stood up, brushed imaginary dust off his jeans, and picked up his guitar from the porch.
The first chords of Bed of Roses rolled gently into the evening, drawing a small, delighted gasp from Nina.
But I didn't look at them. I looked at him.
His voice was deeper than I expected, textured with something raw.
It wasn't just a performance—it was him, bare and soft around the edges.
I want to lay you down in a bed of roses…
Every word landed somewhere deep inside me.
And it wasn't just the lyrics. It was the way he kept glancing at me.
Not nervously, not seeking approval—but as if he was checking that I was still there.
As if I mattered.
When the song ended, the group clapped and whistled.
Jonas bowed dramatically, then turned and walked back toward me, offering me his hand.
"Come," he said, voice low. "There's a spot I want to show you."
We slipped away unnoticed, down a short path behind the house to where the oak spread out wider, a bench tucked beneath its shadow.
The moon painted the grass in silver.
I sat. He remained standing, leaning against the tree.
"I like them," I said after a moment.
He nodded. "I don't let many people into my circle.
But you… I wanted you here tonight."
I looked up at him. The firelight still danced in his eyes, even out here.
"I'm not always easy company," I said, quieter than I meant.
"Neither am I."
He moved closer, and for a moment, the night seemed to hush around us.
Then, soft as the breeze, music drifted from the speakers still playing in the garden.
Barbara Pravi's Voilà.
I closed my eyes.
Voilà, voilà, voilà qui je suis…
"That song…" I murmured.
"I know. It's not just beautiful—it's true."
I looked at him again, and something cracked. Something inside me, silent and guarded for so long.
"I was going to tell you," I began. "That weekend… Mia's brother—Leo—he's kind, and good. I almost… I tried. But I couldn't. Because he wasn't you."
Jonas didn't move. His breath caught, just slightly.
"I'm scared," I said finally. "Of what this is. Of how much it might matter."
He crouched in front of me, took my hand.
"I know fear," he said. "But I also know what it feels like when something's real.
And this—whatever it is—we don't have to name it. Not yet. Just don't run from it."
I didn't reply. I couldn't. Instead, I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his.
In the quiet beneath the oak, with the stars overhead and the last notes of Voilà fading, I let myself feel it.
Not everything had to be rushed.
Some things needed to be held.