Viola's POV
The food arrives, something fancy with a name I can't pronounce, and while I fumbled with my cutlery, Garrett watches me with a rueful curl of his lip.
I'm sure he was used to women who knew which fork was for which
course.
I barely remembered not to wipe my mouth with my sleeve.
We talk. Or well I talk. I told him about my mind-numbingly boring day.
How I'd tried to watch documentaries but couldn't concentrate, how I rearranged my furniture twice and still hated it.
I'm nervous, so I babbled uncontrollably without stopping.
I left out the part where I tried on half my wardrobe and gave myself a small panic attack before dinner.
To my surprise, Garrett listened.
Really listened. He even smiles!
It made my chest feel warm.
By the time we were done eating, I didn't want to say goodbye.
"Do you want to walk for a bit?" Garrett asks as we leave the restaurant.
"Sure."
The night air was crisp, but not cold.
The city lights gave everything a gentle glow, and the sidewalks were just busy enough to feel alive.
We stand for a moment side by side, not speaking at first.
The silence felt comfortable but I still can't shake my trepidation.
As if sensing it, Garrett turns to face me.
"You'll do well," he says quietly.
I turn to him, blinking a little.
"At the audition?"
"Yes."
I hesitate. "And if I don't?" I say, my voice a small whisper.
He looks at me, eyes cool and steady. "Then we try something else. But I have a feeling you won't need a Plan B." he says firmly, not epitome of doubt in his being
I don't know what to say to that. So I say nothing.
Facing forward, we begin a gentle walk.
***
It feels so peaceful out here under the dark sky.
The sidewalks of the city glisten faintly beneath the amber glow of streetlamps, highlighting the buzz of cars whizzing by.
Garrett moves beside me with an easy confidence, his hands in the pockets of his tailored coat, his stride graceful and composed like he owns the street, and maybe he does.
I sneak a glance at him when I think he won't notice.
Big mistake.
His profile is maddeningly perfect. His black hair has been mused up by the wind, his jawline under the moonlight looking as sharp as jade, almost sharp enough to slice diamonds.
There's a slight tilt to his mouth, like he's perpetually amused by some private joke, and I find myself wishing I were in on it.
He glances down at me suddenly, his piercing blue eyes locking with mine, and I immediately snap my gaze away like I wasn't just mentally writing poetry about his face.
"I think this is the first time I've seen you so quiet," he says, his tone smooth, casual. I shrug, willing the burning in my face to reduce.
"I'm just... soaking in the night. It's beautiful," I say, smiling like I'm not a walking, talking bundle of nerves.
He gives a quiet hum of acknowledgment, eyes scanning the city with calm detachment.
Then, as if sensing my unease, he slows his pace to match mine perfectly.
We pass by a little bookstore with fairy lights in the window, and I catch my reflection in the glass, blonde hair slightly tousled by the breeze, cheeks flushed a cherry pink.
I look like a girl on her first date.
And maybe I am.
Except it's not real.
Right?
As if trying to disprove that thought, Garrett gestures toward a vendor selling roasted chestnuts on the corner. "Hungry?"
I blink. "Um, I, no, I'm okay." I say hurriedly, proudly pattiing my dress covered stomach, "Still full, thank you."
He nods, but instead of buying anything, he holds out his hand for mine.
I freeze.
"If we're going to sell the illusion, might as well hold hands. That's what couples do, isn't it?" he says, completely unfazed.
My heart does a somersault.
"Oh! Y-yes, I see!" I squeak out before I reach out with shaking fingers and let him lace our hands together.
His palm is warm and firm around mine, and I'm spiraling. We resume our walk like nothing happened, him leading and me following dumbly as I stare at our conjoined hands.
Every time his thumb brushes against my knuckles, I swear my brain short circuits.
This is too much.
He walks us back to his ride and finally let's go of my sweaty finger.
( I hate how much I'm disappointed by it.)
When we reach the vehicle, he opens the car door for me before I even touch the handle, and I practically croak out a flustered, "Thanks." Before rushing into the car in a flurry of skirts and embarrassment.
As we drive through the night, I steal another glance at him. His face is unreadable again, like he's slipped behind a wall of glass.
But when the car comes to a stop at my scraggy neighborhood and we step out, he follows me right to my door.
When we reach my apartment building, he follows me to the door.
"You didn't have to walk me all the way here," I say, suddenly shy. The words taste like nervousness.
"I wanted to." He's looking down at me with those ocean-blue eyes of his, and my knees threaten to give out.
I fumble with my keys face heating up further.
"Thank you... for tonight," I say awkwardly. "The dinner. The walk. The, uh, everything." I finish with a mumble.
Garrett leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "The pleasure was mine."
He says it so smoothly, so simply, but there's something unreadable in his face. Then he straightens, nods once, and steps back. "Sleep well, Viola."
"Goodnight, Garrett."
I stand in the doorway as he walks back to his car, my heart pounding like I just ran a mara
thon.
When he opens the car door and glances over his shoulder, catching me still staring, I dive into my apartment and slam the door shut.