One Nights Mistake

Chapter 10

Crystal

It's been over a week since I told Alan I didn't want to see him anymore. Since then, he's been sending gifts; flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals, makeup, and even money. At first, it was sweet, almost endearing. It made me smile knowing someone would go to such lengths for me. But then, the gifts kept coming, day after day. What started cute began to feel... a bit much. Especially when he started sending things to my job. I never told him exactly where I worked, but somehow, he found out.

I wasn't upset, just a little annoyed. I told him to stop, and to my surprise, he listened. The gifts stopped.

Now, it's 6 in the morning and I'm lounging on the couch, trying to focus on the show I've been binging- "The Big Bang Theory", but my gaze keeps drifting to the easel in the corner. The empty canvas has been sitting there for weeks, collecting dust, mocking me with its blankness. I haven't had the urge to paint in so long.

But today, something about it feels different. The way the light filters through the window makes the canvas glow, and for the first time in ages, I feel that familiar itch to create.

I pause the show, drawn to the easel like it's calling my name. "Okay, Crystal, let's get to it" I murmur to myself as I grab my art supplies from the closet; acrylics, brushes, a palette, and set up my workspace. The paint feels cool in my hands, and the first stroke across the canvas is like breathing after holding my breath for too long.

As the colors blend, I lose track of time. It's freeing, like all the tension I've been holding in my chest is pouring out with each brushstroke.

Eventually, my stomach growls, pulling me out of my creative trance. I need food. I clean my brushes quickly and head out to Joe's, my favorite breakfast spot.

The fresh air feels good on my skin, and inside the café, the familiar smell of coffee and sizzling bacon wraps around me like a warm hug. I sit at the counter and order my usual, breakfast sandwich with strawberries on the side.

As I wait, I barely notice the food arrive, too caught up in watching the flowers in the garden across the street. The way the light hits the petals, the soft mix of colors—it gives me ideas for my painting. I grab my phone and jot down some notes.

Just as I'm about to take a bite of my sandwich, I sense someone approaching. I stiffen, hoping they'll just walk past, but no such luck.

"Mind if I sit with you?" The voice is smooth and confident.

I glance up, meeting the eyes of a man who's hard to ignore. He's tall, with messy brown hair that falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look effortlessly cool. His athletic build and confident smile make him stand out in the otherwise quiet café. I just wanted to enjoy breakfast in peace. "It's a free country," I mutter, hoping that'll discourage him.

Of course, it doesn't. He sits down with a smooth, easy movement, and I can feel his gaze on me before he even speaks. I sigh inwardly, trying to focus on my food.

"You're beautiful," he says, his tone deep, dripping with confidence, like someone used to getting what he wants.

His words catch me off guard, but I play it cool. "Thanks," I say, taking a bite of my sandwich.

He introduces himself as Andy, and surprisingly, our conversation flows easily. I find myself relaxing despite my earlier hesitation. When he asks about the paint on my clothes, I tell him about my art, half-expecting him to lose interest, but he doesn't. He seems genuinely intrigued.

"Are you working on something specific?" he asks, leaning in a little, his interest piqued.

"Not really. Just whatever pops into my head," I reply, feeling a spark of excitement at sharing my passion.

"I'd love to see it sometime," he says, his eyes brightening. "I'm more of a numbers guy myself, an architect, so I don't get to be creative as much as I'd like."

"That's still pretty artistic," I say, genuinely interested. "What are you working on right now?"

"I'm designing a community center," he replies, enthusiasm bubbling in his voice. "It's been a challenge, but I love it."

As we talk, I glance at my phone and realize I've stayed longer than intended. I gather my things, ready to leave, but Andy isn't ready to let me go just yet.

"Can I get your number?" he asks, his voice low, gaze steady.

I pause, weighing my options. "I'm busy a lot," I reply, trying to sound polite but noncommittal. "I probably won't pick up."

"That's okay," he says with a warm smile, scribbling his number on a napkin and handing it to me. "Just in case you change your mind."

I take the napkin, unsure if I'll ever use it, and with a polite smile, I say goodbye and head out the door.

As I walk out, the crisp morning air hits me, and I take a deep breath. Just as I'm about to walk to my car, I catch a glimpse of a familiar car parked in front of the pet shop next door. A pang of guilt hits me when I think about my dog Lady. I should've brought her with me. I consider going inside to buy her a treat, but the idea fades quickly. I'm not in the mood for distractions.

Back home, I toss my keys onto the counter and head straight to my living room, still thinking about the unfinished painting waiting for me. But before I can even sit down, my phone vibrates in my hand. Alan's name flashes across the screen.

My heart skips a beat, but I hesitate only for a moment before answering. "Hey, Alan," I say, trying to sound casual like I'm not affected.

"Who was the guy you were with?" His voice is calm, but there's an edge to it, something darker lurking beneath.

I freeze. How did he know? I hadn't told him where I'd be. "First of all, what happened to hello, how are you, how was your day? And are you spying on me or something?" I snap, and suddenly defensive. "How the hell do you know I was with someone?"

Alan laughs softly, the sound too calm for my liking. "I wasn't spying, Crystal. I just happened to be on my way to the pet shop when I saw you at Joe's. So... who was he?"

"Why does it matter?" I ask, trying to deflect, but the irritation in my voice is clear.

"It doesn't," Alan says, but I can hear the control in his voice, the way he's trying to keep it cool. "I just want to know."

I walk over to the fridge, pull out the napkin with Andy's number, and stick it up with a magnet. I'll consider calling him. "It's none of your business," I say, my tone sharper now.

There's a long pause on the other end, the silence thick with tension. When Alan speaks again, his voice is lower and more serious. "Crystal, why did you really say you didn't want to see me anymore? Was it something I did?"

I sigh, feeling a mix of guilt and uncertainty. "Alan, we've been through this. I just need space."

"Bullshit," he says, his voice hardening. "Everything was fine until that phone call. What changed?"

I don't answer. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable.

Alan's voice drops to a husky whisper. "Let me take you out one more time. Just once. If you still feel the same, I'll back off. But if you don't... then we'll keep trying."

I hesitate, my fingers tapping nervously against the table. I should say no. I know I should. But Alan has this hold on me, and no matter how hard I try to pull away, part of me doesn't want to.

"Fine," I say finally, the word barely above a whisper. "One more time. But I pick where and when."

"Deal," Alan says, his voice warm with satisfaction. "You pick."

As I hang up the phone, I lean against the kitchen counter, my mind racing. The words "one more time" echo in my head. I shouldn't feel this way, yet a flutter of excitement mixes with anxiety in my stomach. Just what am I getting myself into?

I glance at the napkin with Andy's number still stuck to the fridge, a stark reminder of my brief encounter. My fingers twitch, itching to reach for my phone. I could call him, and distract myself from Alan's hold, but the thought of going out with someone new feels daunting.