Seduced Fall ✔️

47. Moved on

Clara Carter

A jolt of anxiousness laced with a tinge of happiness fills my thoughts. Should I go there?

Will he be there?

I don't even know if he's ready to see me. And I don't think it's a good idea to drive through the city in search of the café Charlie mentioned. Charlie's visit to the repair shop where I work, he said, is a coincidence.

He calls it coincidence; I call it fate.

I look for the address Charlie gave me, wishing I could get rid of all this growing anxiety. Stefan, he explained, is coming here for a business meeting.

Who the hell holds a business meeting in a café?

I shake my head and look up to find the similarly described building in front of me. Killing the engine, I let the sudden silence created in the car and muffled conversations of pedestrians work its way to my ears.

My palms begin to sweat, as does the façade I put on to appear casual and unbothered.

A sleek black Bentley pulls up to the curb next to the café's entrance. Awareness spreads through me, my eyes focused on the car.

Even with tens of meters between us, I zoom in on the person-hard to miss-stepping out.

The man in the pitch-black three-piece suit with a white shirt underneath the black waistcoat is impossible to miss.

The definition of my insanity stands a few meters from me.

I lean back in my seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly to narrow my feelings.

He looks divine with his long strands of hair caressing his collar. The perfect blend of muscles and intensity of gaze demands attention.

He says something to the driver while holding the door open, then turns to face the back seat and extends his hand to someone inside.

My car is parked at such a perfect angle and spot that no one gives a damn about it.

My stomach knots as I catch a ghost of a smile on his face. Who's inside the car?

I can't see anything beyond the door and Stefan's face since his car is facing me.

A small sandy-haired boy steps out, carrying a small backpack on his shoulders.

My breath catches in my throat. The boy looks oddly familiar, though I can't put my finger on it. The way Stefan's poker face switches to a smile just for the boy makes my heart ache even more.

The car door closes, allowing me to get a better look at Stefan and the boy holding his hand.

Who is this boy?

The air in my lungs leaves in a rush as a possibility of this sandy-haired boy being Stefan's son comes to my mind.

No, no, no. That can't be possible. Stefan can't be the father.

But what if he is?

My brain is weirdly against my beliefs, thrusting this thought of 'Stefan has moved on, he has a family' on me.

I catch the boy's wondering eyes through my open window. He tilts his head and smiles at me.

I stiffen, too shocked to respond to the innocent eyes staring at me.

On any other day, I would have smiled and made funny faces to amuse the kid. But not today, not when the boy might be the son of my ex-boyfriend.

I shift my gaze to Stefan. He's on his phone, his sharp eyes darting everywhere, holding the boy's hand tightly.