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Chapter 3: Spilled Tea

Amelia's POV:

Mom was cutting up dessert when I returned downstairs, much against my desire.

Dad and Damien weren't in sight, and I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or distressed.

"Where are they?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"Oh hey, sweetie, they're in the office discussing some work related things. I'll send them dessert and tea up there."

I nodded, this time - relieved. "I'll sit on the porch." I murmured, my lungs unopposing to the thought of more fresh air.

I ran upstairs, retrieved a random novel and headed to my desired destination. I loved sitting on the front porch, our neighborhood was relatively quiet and ambient, something which I deeply loved, it gave me time to think clearly, or even sometimes - the complete opposite - to clear my head of all thoughts. Right now, I was desperate for the latter.

Upon opening the door, I found a steaming cup of hibiscus tea waiting for me there. I smiled, knowing that it was mom's doing.

Tea always helps me relax, and right now I desperately needed to release the tension that was steadfastly building up in my body for some unknown reason.

I was midway through reading my book, with a gone cold half cup of tea on the steps next to me when the front door was opened.

I looked up, instinctively, expecting mom to be calling me back inside, but to my utter surprise, it was Damien.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, not waiting for a reply on my part - again - before sitting down beside me. It was insane - the amount of heat he radiated, I felt his warmth the closer he sat near me.

"You already sat." I whispered, softly closing my book, and shifting my gaze to meet his.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked quietly, getting into a ready to leave stance, even though a part of me knew that he wasn't leaving, even if I asked him to, it was all a faux act.

It made me shy and embarrassed, but I shook my head no because something about him made me crave the proximity, and I was desperate to know where my attraction towards him stemmed from.

He smiled, the crinkles near his eyes pronounced as he spoke, "what are you doing?"

I motioned to the novel in my hand, amusedly.

It was foreign, the idle conversation, but at the same time, it made sense. We weren't long time friends, nor were we ever acquainted together, we were far from so, but perhaps a part of me wanted to skip past the small talk and delve deeper into who he was.

"I was trying to make small talk." He mumbled, lightly plucking the book out of my hands and shifting through the pages with skimming eyes.

"You don't talk much do you?" He asked, the book - now - idly placed on his lap, as his attention was fixated on me. His eyes, those endless pools, were reading straight into my soul, and somehow I felt him decrypting my cipher, a cipher that I - personally - wasn't able to figure. I wanted to asked him what else he concluded about me, but I was too shy to.

My face flushed per instinct, and I found myself subconsciously fumbling with my hands that were previously preoccupied with holding the book, "Not really, no." My voice was faint and even though endless waves of words and thoughts barricade my mind, I couldn't physically pronounce them.

Something about him, the way he sat there looking at me with clear intent made me feel slightly lighter, as if he was coaxing me to let go and speak.