The Attraction Theorem #2
Goat cheese salad, followed by the freshly baked ratatouille, and then—my cherry on top—crème br?lée was just about to make its grand entrance.
My hand reached for the cool glass of dry and aromatic rosé.
“From Provence,” my father proudly beamed, and apparently its origin matched the main dish of the night.
The evening was going rather well but, truth be told, I was a bit overwhelmed by the lavish attention Blake was giving me.
Not that I minded, he was certainly a charmer.
It was just that it had been a very long time.
On top of that, there was Josephine. She kept arching an eyebrow at me or widening her eyes each time Blake sent another compliment my way.
She was definitely more excited about Blake and me than I was.
And then there was Miles, suspiciously quiet all evening.
He barely even glanced my way. Or if he did say a word, he certainly wasn’t talking to me, because, yes, the Bugatti Chiron Super Sport 300+’s record-breaking speed was certainly something I was interested in. What was going on?
***
“Tea or coffee, anyone?” my mother asked, glancing around the table.
“I’m good with wine, thanks,” I said, bringing the glass to my lips, fingers tracing the delicate curve of its stem.
“But you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand, would you?” she suggested, giving me a long, piercing stare, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Um…” I pushed my chair back. “Absolutely.”
“I thought I’d give Dorothy an early evening, you see,” she said, walking towards the kitchen.
“Well, that’s very nice of you,” I took a long, very greedy gulp as I followed.
“Oh, actually—” She suddenly twirled back, eyes fixed on Miles. “—might I borrow you too?”
Miles, in the middle of explaining about yet another car, something about Formula 1 and its big mortifying speed numbers, paused mid-sentence, turning his full attention to her. “Sure, Elizabeth,” he said with a quick nod.
“Well,” my mother sighed, innocently batting her eyelashes, “I desperately need someone tall to reach for that top cupboard.”
“What happened to the stepladder, Mother? Did someone break into our house and take just that ?”
“What are you implying exactly, Florence?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “If I knew where it was, would I be standing here looking helpless?” she said, then deliberately glanced away.
“Yeah, very suspicious indeed,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at her.
“What are we looking for, Elizabeth?” Miles asked.
“There must be a box with the mugs…somewhere in this mess!” she said, watching him rummage through the shelves. And I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the ones we’d been completely fine using for the last couple of days.
“Ah, there they are!” Elizabeth beamed, carefully lifting a mug from the box. “These fine ceramics were imported straight from Japan, you know. Just look at this delicate work of art.”
Miles leaned closer, feigning interest. “Yeah,” he murmured, “quite impressive.”
Sure . I mentally rolled my eyes. God, he couldn’t care less where they were from. Neither did I.
“Oh, dear!” my mother exclaimed. “It seems I’ve forgotten something in the storage room,” she sighed dramatically right before she disappeared inside. “Don’t you mind me. Carry on with your…well, yeah!”
Great! Dead silence enveloped us the moment we were left alone. I glanced at Miles, our eyes meeting for a brief, awkward moment, each of us perfectly aware of what my mother was up to.
And so while helping me with the coffees, a task I surprisingly excelled at under pressure, we both tried to act normal.
Yet something was clearly bothering him as he barely said a word to me, if you could even count a curt nod as one, because that was all I got out of him.
Were we back to loathing each other? Because I must have missed that memo.
Well, whatever this was, it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea.
Perhaps now that my mother was gone, doing her crucially important business at the storage, this was a good time to ask him what his problem was?
Perhaps…Unwillingly, my gaze fell upon him.
Gosh, the air, thick and suffocating, itself tasted of misery.
What was going on in his head? What was he thinking?
Why was he acting like I’d committed some unforgivable crime, like I’d crashed his precious Ferrari or something?
“Miles?” I finally broke the silence. “Is everything okay?”
“Perfectly,” he muttered under his breath.
“So, the reason you haven’t spoken to me all evening is…?”
“Have I not? Sorry, I hadn’t realised.” He shot me a quick, aloof glance.
“You haven’t?” I stared at him, watching his hair fall over his eyes; his jaw clenched tight as his hands deftly worked over the tray.
“It seems so,” he replied, sounding as enthusiastic as if my mere presence was giving him a migraine.
“Seriously?” I muttered, both fists clenched against the table. “What is your problem?”
Shifting on his feet, he tilted his head to look at me. Well, finally! Some eye contact here!
“What made you think there is one?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Oh, please!” I breathed, arching an eyebrow at him. “You barely even looked at me during the dinner!”
“Well.” Miles paused, eyes narrowing at me. “Didn’t know you wanted me to look at you?” he murmured.
“What?” I suddenly found myself blinking rapidly at his words. “That’s…that’s not what I meant!” The heat immediately radiated from my cheeks. Ugh! “God! It’s just basic ethical behaviour to, you know, acknowledge another human’s presence. Or at least pretend, in your case.”
Miles leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, you want me to pretend?”
“No!” I blurted out, my face flushing even deeper. “I mean…in a way. Well, no, not really. Ugh, forget it!” I turned away, instantly regretting I started this conversation in the first place and trying to busy myself with literally anything I could find.
“Florence?” Miles murmured.
“I said just forget it!” I muttered, quickly counting the napkins in my hands. Did we even need napkins? And, ugh, how many were there, again?
“Florence?” He let out a soft chuckle. “If I knew that me not looking at you would bother you so much—”
“Well, it doesn’t!” I hissed at him over my shoulder. “So do whatever you want! I don’t care!”
“I promise I’ll try my best to acknowledge your existence from now on,” he said with a tease.
“Gee, thanks!” I turned back, my heart pounding in my chest. That smug face of his I wanted to slap so badly staring right at me with a smirk.
“Hmm.” Miles smiled, a slow, devilish grin spreading across his face. “You know, Florence, for someone who claims not to care, you seem awfully flustered.”
“I’m not flustered!” I shot back, trying to regain my composure.
“You are not?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I’m just…annoyed. With you!” I sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes darting around the room in search of my wine glass. “Where’s my wine?” I muttered, desperate for a distraction from that intense gaze.
And perhaps this conversation would have continued but, thank God, my mother had concluded her important storage business and entered the kitchen at that very moment.
An awkward silence settled over the room once again, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware.
And, oh…never had I been so relieved to see my mother.
With desserts in hand, she began caramelising the sugar on top. Both Miles and I, pretty much done with making coffee, stood there uncomfortably. At least I had my wine.
“You are very quiet today,” my mother said suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. Glancing at her, I realised she was staring intently at the two of us, a dramatically alarming frown etched on her forehead. “Both of you, actually.”
“Oh, we are?” I asked, taking a long gulp then glancing at Miles over the rim, our eyes locked for a fleeting second before I looked away.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, arching her eyebrow so high it almost terrified me.
Miles cleared his throat, offering her a polite smile. “Just tired, I guess,” he blurted out.
“Yeah, that,” I added, quickly taking another sip of wine.
“Well, you certainly do look like it,” she said, her tone so deliberately nonchalant it almost felt forced. “Did you two—” She paused with a faint smirk tugging the corners of her mouth, “—happen to have any sleep last night at all?”
Wait, what? Rewind! My drink nearly went down the wrong way and Miles froze in place for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise. Did that just come out of her mouth?!
“Darling, are you okay?” my mother muttered with exaggerated concern, placing a palm on her chest.
“Yeah,” I breathed, still coughing. “I’m fine.”
“Gosh, I’ve never seen anyone choke so many times!” She stared at me, feigning distress. “You’re making me nervous just watching you drink.”
Huh…? And there it was, the scoreboard that proudly read Elizabeth: One, taking the lead. Florence: Zero, falling behind and clearly off her game tonight. Wow, Mum! Even I had to appreciate that sarcastic jab, leaving me speechless for a hot second.
Meeting my mother’s eyes across the kitchen table, I paused, “Um.” Carefully composing my response, its hidden meaning only she and I could understand, though Miles probably wouldn’t be too far behind.
“Not really, Mum,” I sighed theatrically.
“It feels like that huge king-size mattress you paid so much money for isn’t sturdy enough…
even for me, let alone two people,” I added with a quick eye roll.
“And, actually, you know what? Now that you mention it, do you think maybe you could call the warranty people?”
My mother simply smiled, her eyes dancing between the two of us, completely ignoring my question.
The only person who remained thunderstruck was Miles. He furrowed his brow, his gaze locking onto mine with a silent question: Did you really just say that to your mother?