The Unexpected Touch
The next morning, Elena woke to the faint warmth of sunlight spilling across her face. She blinked slowly, the quiet hum of the city outside reminding her that life was moving forward, even if her heart still danced in the chaos Adrian had brought into it.
She stretched lazily, but her mind wasn't ready to rest. Every thought seemed to return to him—his voice, his deep gaze, and the way his presence made her chest feel both lighter and heavier at the same time.
Still in her loose pajama shirt, she padded into the kitchen. The kettle whistled gently as she poured herself a cup of tea. She tried to distract herself with the morning news on her phone, but a knock at the door made her pulse skip.
Nobody visited her this early.
Curiosity winning over hesitation, she pulled the door open—and froze.
Adrian.
He stood there, holding a small white box tied with a ribbon. His hair was slightly messy, like he had been out in the wind, and his grey shirt clung to his broad shoulders in a way that made her mouth go dry.
"Morning," he said with that half-smile that seemed to know exactly how to undo her composure. "I… might have woken up earlier than usual. Thought I'd bring you breakfast."
Elena blinked. "You… cooked?"
"Don't look so shocked," he chuckled, stepping inside before she could protest. "I'm not entirely useless in the kitchen."
She set her tea aside, still trying to figure out what he was doing here—why he kept showing up in her life like a storm she hadn't prepared for. "You didn't have to."
"I know." He placed the box on the counter and opened it, revealing perfectly baked croissants, a small jar of strawberry jam, and slices of fresh fruit. "But I wanted to."
Elena's lips parted to thank him, but the words got stuck when he stepped closer. The faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her, warm and deep, making her heartbeat jump.
She stepped back instinctively, her mind screaming at her to keep distance, but he only tilted his head slightly, observing her with those unreadable eyes. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she admitted, then quickly added, "But not in the way you think."
That made his lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. "Then… I'll take that as a good sign."
She rolled her eyes, trying to mask how flustered she was. "Don't get too full of yourself."
They ate together, conversation flowing more easily than she expected. He asked her about her favorite books, her music taste, the places she wanted to see someday. And when she mentioned Paris, his expression softened.
"Paris suits you," he murmured. "Romantic, beautiful… a little hard to forget."
Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she quickly changed the subject, asking about his morning routine. But every time she looked at him, she noticed the small things—how his fingers tapped lightly against the table when he was thinking, the way his eyes held hers just a second longer than necessary.
After breakfast, he stood, gathering the dishes. "Let me wash these."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
She watched as he rolled up his sleeves, his forearms flexing under the light. She hated how her eyes lingered, how her mind wandered into places she shouldn't let it go.
When he turned back to her, his hands still wet from the sink, he stepped closer—too close. "You've got…" His voice dropped as he reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against the corner of her lips. "A little jam."
Her breath caught. His touch lingered longer than it needed to, and their eyes locked, the air between them charged and heavy. She knew she should step away, but she didn't.
Instead, she whispered, "Thanks."
"Anytime," he said softly, almost like a promise.
For the rest of the morning, she couldn't focus on anything. His presence had seeped into her thoughts like sunlight through a curtain—warm, uninvited, and impossible to ignore.
And deep down, Elena realized something dangerous…
She didn't want to ignore it.