THE END | Big News
Now...what?
I want to introduce you to my new story, which is already up on my profile!
This story is a show of my improvement in writing over the years, because I have certainly grown, and I can boldly say that this story I'm about to introduce to you will make your hearts flutter and also teach you a thing or two about God!
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· Description ·
Grace is a sports physiotherapist working for a hospital that hosts the elite athletes of West Hampton. A favor for a friend gets her on the path of being Isaiah King's physiotherapist — the tennis star who suffered a dire knee injury.
At first, she's simply dedicated to healing both his body and mind— perhaps also getting him to believe in God. But things get complicated when hearts start to flutter, lines start to blur, and feelings get involved.
Feelings that are especially not one-sided.
· Excerpt ·
I scooped a bit of my pistachio swirl, trying —and failing — not to look flustered. I could feel it. His gaze. Heavy, fixed, and entirely unashamed.
"Isaiah," I almost snapped, lifting a brow, spoon halfway to my mouth. "We really need to work on your social mannerism. It's rude to stare so hard."
That was my attempt to calm the growing tension, but the second it left my mouth, I realised I'd walked straight into the trap.
Because that look crossed his face. That lazy smirk that said he knew what I was thinking. He took another spoon of his ice cream, and shrugged.
"Well, you are a gorgeous woman," Were his words. "I can't help but stare."
My face heated immediately, and I dropped my gaze like a guilty teenager. I tried to force the blush down - stuff it into some imaginary drawer and slam it shut. But my body was already betraying me. My ears heated up, my hands nervously twirling with the spoon - anything to get my mind off him.
With a shaky breath, I tried feigning nonchalance and I looked up "Isaiah." Calling out sharply.
He lifted both hands in mock surrender, laughter spilling from his lips. "I'm serious!"
Huffing, I looked down at my pastel green gelato. Why had I agreed to come here? This was adding gasoline to fire, yet, I didn't regret it as much as I wanted to.
I tried not to be a hypocrite, stopping myself from looking at him longer than needed.
Why did he have to look this good today? His fitted navy sports shirt clung to his torso like it had been stitched onto him. His blonde curls were slightly damp from the practice earlier, and those blue eyes stayed on me like I was the only thing worth seeing in the room.
After a minute, I felt him lean in, tapping the table which made me look up.
"I promise," He said, voice gentler now, "I'm not trying to jest. That's just...truly how I see you."
My heart slammed against my chest.
Abort mission, it said. Abort right now.
"Excuse me, I'll just be a second," I muttered, standing so fast I nearly knocked over my cup. "Bathroom." I completed with a stiff smile, needing to clear my mind.
It was the oldest move in the book, but I needed to breathe. Or just shove my head under the faucet until I forgot how close he'd been standing when we practiced serves earlier. How I'd caught myself laughing, leaning into him, letting my hands brush his.
But before I could leave, I felt his hand close gently around mine, pulling me towards him.
"Wait," Isaiah called out softly.
I froze. Not because of the words, but because of the way he pulled me, just enough so I stumbled a little, my legs bumping against the edge of the booth, and now I was standing between his knees.
He held my hand in both of his, warm and careful.
"Can I be honest with you?"
I didn't speak. I couldn't. What now? Hesitantly, I nodded, my breath stuck somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
Everything from a few minutes ago came rushing back—his laugh, how I'd wanted to fix the curl stuck to his forehead, how giddy I felt when he jokingly called me 'my lady'. And how I shouldn't have felt any of it.
"I can't help but stare," He said again, but this time his voice was low, his words deliberate. "You're an amazing woman, Grace. You're strong, kind, and you push me to try harder everyday."
I blinked, heat rising up my neck again.
"And your laugh," Isaiah added, smiling faintly, "It's the kind of sound a man remembers. Long after he's gone home."
"Isaiah..." I whispered, the rest of my words stuck in my throat.
He looked at me intently. Then, without letting go, he brought my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles—slow, reverent.
The silence swelled, adding tension to the air, he hadn't once looked away. While I on the other hand could barely hold his gaze. "I probably shouldn't say this, but..." He began, his words slow.
"I'm falling for you, Grace Lewis."
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