The One She Needed

SIX

RAQUEL

He loves rainy days—calls them an overcast paradise.

Says there's something about the way the world slows down, the way the air smells fresher, the way the grey sky feels like a soft blanket wrapping around the earth.

His favorite movies? Braveheart and pretty much every Marvel film ever made. But his guilty pleasure? He'd watch Pretty Woman on repeat without shame.

He wants to start his own business.

His favourite colour is green. Same as mine.

But he's almost a decade younger than me.

It was just lunch, I told myself. Nothing more.

And yet, hours later, curled up in my living room, the soft glow of the TV flickering across the walls, I couldn't shake the way that hour had unraveled me. The conversation. The laughter. The way his eyes lit up when I told him something he didn't expect.

It opened doors—ones I didn't even realize existed.

Ones I shouldn't step through.

I knew I needed to stop this. Knew I shouldn't let myself linger in his space, in his orbit.

But I couldn't.

"For the last time, Angie, let it go," I snapped, tossing a pillow onto the couch.

Across from me, Angie sat cross-legged, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, her face carrying that familiar smirk that meant she was enjoying this far too much.

I should've known she wouldn't let this go. The moment I'd walked into the office after lunch, grinning like a damn fool, she'd been waiting. Pouncing. Questioning. Teasing.

And now, two hours into our weekly sleepover, she still wasn't done.

She leaned in, her tone saccharine-sweet. "So... do you have feelings for him?"

I swallowed. "It's just lunch," I muttered, reaching for a handful of popcorn that I didn't even want.

She arched a brow. "Mhm. And just lunch has got you staring off into space like some tragic heroine."

I shot her a glare, but she only grinned wider.

I had told her how I met him, how my trench coat had been ruined, and naturally, she had laughed herself breathless over that. But when he showed up at my office and I introduced them, her eyes had flicked between us, something sharp and knowing in her gaze.

"He sure has a nice face," she had said first.

Then, with that damnable smirk of hers stretching into a grin, she added, "Bet you've thought about sitting on it a couple of times."

I had nearly choked.

Angie had only cackled harder. No work had been accomplished after that.

"He's just a kid," I had told her. A weak excuse. One I couldn't even convince myself of.

Because the truth? The truth was far worse.

Deep down, I had imagined doing a lot more than that.

And that was the problem.

"What's wrong with me?" I whispered, my fingers threading through my curls, a nervous habit I had yet to break.

Angie sighed, shifting closer. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why would you even say that?"

I exhaled through my nose, my thoughts tangling into a mess I wasn't sure how to unravel. "I already have Derek. He's the kind of man women would kill for. And here I am, hanging out with someone younger—someone so different from me."