Eternal Echoes

Chapter One Hundred- Eighteen: A Moment to Breathe (Part 1)

3rd Person POV

Michaella found herself walking alongside Damien as they made their way to the restaurant. The afternoon sun was still warm, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Despite the breeze brushing against her skin, the heat between them remained palpable. Damien's hand occasionally brushed hers, but neither of them acknowledged it. There was no need to; the air between them was already thick with unspoken words.

They arrived at a small, intimate bistro with a few scattered tables outside. Damien held the door open for Michaella, his usual calm demeanour now tinged with something more—something Michaella wasn't quite ready to name.

Once inside, they chose a table near the window, away from the few other patrons. The ambient hum of quiet conversation allowed for a small bubble of privacy. As they sat, Michaella was acutely aware of Damien's eyes lingering on her, as if trying to read the thoughts that danced just beneath the surface.

"So," Damien started, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "You handled Alex pretty well back there. Not many people can hold their ground like that."

Michaella smiled faintly, though her mind still buzzed with the aftermath of everything that had happened. "I just couldn't let him talk to me like that. It wasn't fair, and honestly, I've had enough."

Damien nodded, his expression softening. "I'm glad you stood up for yourself. But you don't always have to. I would've handled him for you."

Michaella tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "I don't need saving, Damien. I can take care of myself."

There was a beat of silence, but instead of the usual tension that came with such statements, Damien smiled. "I know you can. That's one of the things I admire about you."

His words hung between them, and Michaella felt the intensity of the moment settle around her. Damien's gaze was steady, the same calm protectiveness she'd come to rely on, but there was something else there now—a depth she hadn't fully acknowledged before.

A waitress approached their table with a bright smile. "Good afternoon, I'm Emmy, and I'll be your waitress today. What can I get you?" Her gaze lingered a little too long on Damien, clearly captivated.

Damien noticed but remained unfazed, turning his attention to Michaella. "You first, love."

Michaella glanced at the menu and nodded. "I'll have the quinoa salad, please."

Emmy jotted it down, then looked back at Damien, her interest barely concealed.

"And for you, sir?" she asked, almost too eagerly.

"I'll take the steak, medium rare, with vegetables on the side," Damien replied. He paused for a moment, then added, "And bring your best bottle of French red wine."

"Absolutely," Emmy said, her voice a bit too enthusiastic. She flashed another smile before walking away.

"Rude," Michaella said under her breathe, then she cleared her throat, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. "I don't want things to get complicated," she admitted softly. "Between us, I mean."

Damien leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I think it already is complicated, Michaella."

A small laugh escaped her lips, but it was filled with uncertainty. "Yeah, you're probably right."

The waiters brought their food, but as soon as they were alone again, Damien's focus returned to her.

"What happened between us last night, and today..." he began, his voice low but filled with meaning, "I know it changes things. I know you're probably still figuring it out, but I'm not going to pretend like it didn't mean something."