Wildflowers & Freedom

An Evening of Revelations

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the asphalt parking lot as I stepped out of The Roost, letting the door swing shut behind me. It had been a long afternoon—filling in for Mina had meant more hours spent balancing plates and banter with the locals. The summer air was still warm, thick with the scent of honeysuckle from nearby fields, and as I glanced around the lot, the familiar beat of my heart quickened.

There he was, leaning casually against the hood of his car at the edge of the lot, arms crossed, eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my stomach flip. Bellamy's presence was magnetic, but not in the way that screamed for attention—no, his appeal was quieter, darker, an undercurrent of something dangerous that pulled at my senses. He was dressed simply, a worn leather jacket slung over his shoulders, dark jeans clinging to muscular legs, his hair tousled just enough to suggest he hadn't thought about it at all.

I couldn't help myself; I noticed everything—everyone's style, whether they meant to make a statement or not. Bellamy? He was effortless. The jacket looked like it had seen a life before him, the kind of leather that only got better with age, just like he seemed to. He didn't follow trends or indulge in flashy displays, and that understated confidence intrigued me. I knew that he was aware of how he looked—knew that each decision, even the smallest, was intentional. He was a man who wielded power in his restraint.

As I walked toward him, my boots clicking softly against the pavement, I could feel his eyes tracing the lines of my body, lingering just a second too long on the curves hidden beneath my apron. I adjusted the strap self-consciously, but that only drew his gaze lower. His smirk was subtle, but it was there, a flicker of heat in the twilight.

"Going somewhere?" His voice broke the silence, smooth and teasing, with that accent that seemed to coil around my spine and tug. His Latin ancestry bled into his words, giving them a cadence that was both lazy and lethal, like he knew just how deadly a well-placed syllable could be.

I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat, reminding myself to breathe. I raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, even though the air between us crackled. "Just heading home," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Hmm," Bellamy hummed, pushing off the car and closing the distance between us with a predator's grace. His eyes—dark, sharp, observant—were always watching me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve. "Funny," he murmured, his hand brushing against my arm as he stepped closer. "I gave you my number. Thought I'd hear from you by now."

I froze for a heartbeat, guilt creeping in. He wasn't wrong. He had given me his number after the picnic a few days ago, but I hadn't called. Couldn't. I hadn't figured out what to say or how to handle the way he made me feel—like I was standing too close to the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating.

"I—" I hesitated, looking up at him, my defenses crumbling under the weight of his gaze. "I didn't know what to say."

Bellamy's expression softened, though his smirk remained. "You could've started with 'hello, Bel,'" he said, his voice deepening as he stepped even closer. His presence was overwhelming now, consuming. "Or maybe, 'I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.'"

My breath caught in my throat as the words wrapped around me, heat flooding my cheeks. His bluntness, the way he just said what he wanted, left me breathless. I wasn't naive—I'd had my share of attention from men, but none of them had ever approached me like this, like they could see right through my walls and were hell-bent on dismantling them.

"Bel," I whispered, not trusting myself to say more.

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, clearly liking the way his name sounded on my lips. He took another step forward, the space between us disappearing entirely. "That's better, preciosa. See how easy that was?"