Reflecting Hearts - Ch. 8.1 - Scattered Cards

I looked up at her. Was she still flustered by our kiss or her work? Her cheeks were bright red. She leaned onto her hand with her elbow resting on the table and erased something from a card. Her brows furrowed again as she bit the end of the pencil.

"Abbie, maybe I can help you? I need to understand what you're working on, though. Would you explain it?"

Despite knowing that crossing that line was against everything I stood for, I wasn't sure I could keep this professional or platonic. I tried to regain my self-control. God, get it together, Zeke. Focus on your goals. Benji. Bigger house. Better neighborhood. Financial security.

She hesitated momentarily, caught in her skepticism of me. Her eyes met mine, uncertain, but then she nodded. "I guess I'd appreciate your input."

As she explained her project, I listened intently, trying to let go of any remaining distractions. I had heard rumblings about this revolutionary online realm, but never realized she was the creator. With her enthusiastic voice and animated gestures, she had me hooked on every word. Her project was already making waves amongst the art community, and it would surely crash the symposium with gusto. I could see the panel selecting it as the winner. I nodded thoughtfully, interjecting questions occasionally, trying to contribute to the conversation. Even though I tried to stay focused, my thoughts drifted back to that damn mouth. I could still feel the softness of her lips against mine, the warmth of her breath, and how our bodies pressed together.

I ignored my feelings as she discussed her ideas further. She had passion as she explained her project, a picture that, no matter how skilled the photographer or high-def camera, could take. As the conversation flowed, I forgot everything else. Talking with her was as effortless as breathing. She was more remarkable than anyone I had ever met. Usually, I was self-assured, but I stumbled over my words, wanting to impress her. It was ridiculous. But she was not just a game; she was real, and I knew she deserved more than just my reckless actions. I didn't get it–why was she affecting me like that?

We were both focused on our work after writing most of her speech. The way her shoulders stood tall with determination, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, and the neckline of her dress and how it clung to her chest caused me to get caught staring at her. I had a habit of envisioning shots before my eyes, framing them mentally, and she had me working that overtime.

She tilted her head. "Why did you kiss me?"

With a sudden jolt, I shook off those thoughts and refocused. "Another accident." I shrugged.

"You're full of those, aren't you?"

Dismissive, I tried to brush off the conversation. "Just a momentary lapse of judgment. You know how it is; sometimes things happen."

As her nervous smile vanished, I steered the conversation back towards her work. "Anyway, let's not dwell on that." I pointed at the computer sitting on the table. "What are you going to name it?"

I adjusted her books on the table. It was better to maintain a distance between us, even if impossible.

She hesitated, confused. She took a deep breath, her eyes regaining focus. "Hmm… I was thinking Spectra," she began, revealing how the name signified a spectrum or range of possibilities when two seemingly different worlds came together. It was a fitting name. I breathed a sigh of relief internally as our focus returned to her work. Just like in a game of chess, there was a constant part of me strategizing and planning my moves in life. I felt a sense of powerlessness, as if I were merely a pawn to my survival instincts, much like a lost explorer in the woods. I struggled to put into words the intensity of my feelings for her or identify the exact qualities that had attracted me and held my attention, but her project could never surpass mine.

When she finished, I took a minute to process. "I'm impressed. Your presentation was excellent, the name is perfect, and your work has the potential to shift perspectives."

A blush crept onto her cheeks as she received the praise, and it reminded me once more of how fucking beautiful she was. God, I was in a losing battle with myself. I suppressed the urge to lean closer and kiss her again. Instead, I offered a smile. "Thank you for sharing this with me. It's special."

We both turned our attention toward our previous banter about the constellations and their mythical tales. "So, speaking of stars..." I flipped the pages of a book I wasn't interested in before closing it. "I'm curious about the dreams that haunt your sleepless nights. The ones that you're too scared to admit out loud. I've got some pretty big doozies."

Her eyes held a playful glint as she broke into a wide smile. "Oh, come on! You have to go first after saying that! I know little about you, but you know a lot about me. What's a dream that haunts the mysterious Ezekiel Mercer?"

I leaned back nonchalantly, but my lips betrayed me, revealing a grin. "Believe it or not, beyond the motorcycle and charm, there's a guy with a secret passion for restoring vintage muscle cars."

Her eyebrows raised, skepticism on her face. "Really?"

I nodded, propping myself up on my elbow. "Bringing life back to an old piece of machinery is amazing. It's a challenge that defies time."

With a nervous but intrigued giggle, she leaned in closer, her elbow simultaneously resting on the table. "I can picture you covered in grease underneath a Mustang someday."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you've got quite the imagination, don't you? It's okay if that one keeps you up at night." I winked.

She shoved my hands playfully. "Oh, stop that!" As her laughter filled the quiet library, a hushed voice from afar silenced our conversation. We exchanged amused glances, both of us trying to stifle our laughter.

"What about you? I told you mine—your turn. Tell me yours."

She glanced up at the ceiling, contemplating. "While not as thrilling as owning a car, I've always desired to own an art studio and gallery for uninterrupted creativity."

"Like they have here on campus?" I readjusted in my chair, creaking the wood below me.

"Yeah, I guess it would prove I had accomplished enough to afford a place that sustained itself."

I stretched across the table, my fingers brushing hers. "I get it. It would be like a little universe you made and where you make all the rules."

She nodded, moving her hand away from mine nervously. "Exactly. And who knows, maybe one day, I'll have an exhibit featuring the entire cosmos."

With a chuckle, I brought my hands together and placed them on the table. "I'd be first in line to see that. You'll save me a front-row seat, right?"

With a gentle laugh, her voice softened to a whisper. "You know, there's something incredible about someone that can strip away and reveal the raw, unfiltered version of yourself."

"I suppose being a troublemaker has its perks. Being able to see past people's false personas is a necessary skill for survival, as it protects us from being misled by their pretenses."

She leaned in closer, our faces only a few inches apart. "And what about dancing with danger? Is that part of your charm, too?"

As our gazes connected, there was an unmistakable charge in the atmosphere that seemed to pull us closer. "Oh, you know it. Life's too short to play it safe. Sometimes, you have to embrace the edge. Besides, that's where all the fun happens."

Her lengthy hair was down again, and I loved it like that. I brushed a piece that had fallen into her face behind her ear. She looked at something behind me, and her mood shifted dramatically. Her eyes were wide with bewilderment.