Chapter 17 #2
I let my eyes drop briefly to the table before looking back at her. “Magic,” I repeat, quieter now.
Her smile softens. “Yeah.”
I let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh. “Feels like a stretch.”
Her brows pull together just slightly. “Why?”
I shrug, looking down at the table, turning my cup a fraction to the left.
“I don’t know. Feels more like I’ve just been compensating.
” The word sits there between us. Flat. Practical.
Safer than anything else. “Like I’ve spent most of my life trying to keep up and not realizing I was doing it differently. ”
I pick at the edge of the chopstick wrapper, not really seeing it, while she waits. “I mean, yeah, I notice things. But that’s because I have to. Otherwise I miss stuff. Or I get it wrong.”
I glance up at her, half expecting her to agree. But she doesn’t. She just tilts her head slightly. “Or maybe you notice things because you’re good at it.”
“See, that sounds nicer.”
“It’s also true.”
“Still feels like I’ve been playing catch-up,” I admit, quieter now. I’m not dismissing her, exactly. I’m letting this all soak in.
There’s a pause before she leans forward. “Maybe you have.”
I look up at that.
“But that doesn’t cancel out what you can do now.”
There’s a moment here where I have no words. I simply let what she’s said be. I don’t need to argue it, nor do I need to agree with it.
“Magic,” I say again, like I’m testing the shape of it.
Her mouth curves. “We’ll work on that part. Okay?”
Steam curls up between us from the bowls sitting on the tiny table, carrying the rich scent of broth, garlic, and sesame.
Vivian reaches for a dumpling with her chopsticks, dipping it into chili oil before taking a bite, while I twist noodles around mine with significantly less coordination than she has.
Dishes clink softly somewhere behind the counter, the restaurant crowded enough to feel alive without either of us needing to fill the silence ourselves.
She studies me, like she’s checking something over in her head.
“Hey,” she says gently. “I know I already apologized for it, but that first time…when I kissed you.”
I pause mid-chew. I was not expecting that.
She exhales, steady but a little more careful now. “Knowing what you just told me—about how things can feel, and space, and all of that—I’m really sorry if that was…too much. Me just pushing into your personal space like that. I didn’t think about it at the time.”
I tilt my head slightly, watching her. It’s not the apology that catches me. It’s how she got there.
“I—” I start, then shake my head once. “I mean, it was unexpected.”
Her mouth tightens a fraction, like she’s bracing.
“But,” I add, before she can run too far with that, “it worked out. I like kissing you.”
Well, that came out more straightforward than I planned.
Her eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering in before morphing into something else entirely.
“Oh,” she says, a tiny laugh slipping out. “Good to know.”
I clear my throat, reaching for my tea even though I don’t need it. “Just…for the record.”
“Noted,” she says, a hint of a smile pulling at her mouth.
I shake my head lightly, nudging us forward so we don’t stay here. Because if we do, I’m pretty sure I’m going to sit in it too long, and then I won’t know what to do with it. This is already more than I planned for. More than I mapped out.
Which, according to Dr. Hale, is kind of the point.
I shift in my seat, playing with the edge of my placemat and attempting to be cool, like I’ve got everything handled. Like this isn’t starting to feel a little like stepping out onto something without knowing if it holds. Like ice, funnily enough.
This is dinner. It’s a date. People do dinner and dates all the time.
“So,” I say, giving up on my chopsticks and stabbing at my noodles with my fork. It’s not as if I didn’t just crack myself wide open for Vivian to see and lay myself bare in the middle of Golden Dynasty’s dining room. “What’s new in your world?”
She smiles, settling back into her seat. “My grandmother is currently planning her next getaway. Again.”
“That sounds ominous.” I pause halfway through picking up my chopsticks. “Planning to do what, exactly?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. Just affection wrapped in disbelief. “White water rafting.”
Pretty sure my eyes crossed when she said that. “She what?”
“The woman does not stop,” she continues.
“Last month she took off at the last minute to try out circus college, whatever that is, but I now know it’s in Sarasota and she loved it.
Before that, she disappeared for a week and came back with a tan, a tattoo, and a story which she refuses to fully explain.
Oh, I almost forgot about her trip to Atlantic City when she came back two thousand dollars richer. ”
A laugh pulls out of me before I can stop it.
“I’m telling you,” she adds, leaning forward slightly, “next thing I know, she’s going to be parachuting out of a plane.”
“Parachuting,” I repeat, shaking my head. “Yeah, that feels like a logical next step.”
She points at me like I’ve finally caught up. “Right?”
“Right,” I echo, settling back in my chair. And for once, it actually feels like that. Settled.
The noise in the restaurant hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still layered, still there. The music ebbs and flows, like my breathing.
And for once, I don’t feel like I’m tracking ten things at once. Just this. Just her. The table between us. The warmth of the tea. The easy rhythm of conversation that doesn’t feel like I have to get it exactly right.
My thumb drags slowly along the seam of my cup, back and forth, following the same path each time. I don’t even notice I’m doing it until I’ve already done it three, four times. The repetition settles something in me, keeps everything lined up.
I stop what I’m doing and glance up to find her watching my movements.
Her gaze drops briefly to my hand, then back to my face, like she’s connecting it to something I said earlier, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Instead, she nudges the plate of dumplings a little closer to me, like that’s the only adjustment needed.
No judgement. No weirdness. It’s like I don’t have to adjust myself to stay. Which is a good thing. I let out a slow breath, something in me easing just enough to not fight it. Maybe I don’t have to figure it out tonight.
I shift forward slightly before I can talk myself out of it, reaching across the table. I half expect her to pull away. Or make a joke.
However, she doesn’t. Instead, her fingers relax, turning just enough that my hand fits against hers. Warm. Steady.
Like it was always going to land there.