Page 7

CHAPTER 7

VANESSA

T he scent of sizzling meat and fresh herbs dances through the air as I lead Jack through the bustling food festival. Street lamps cast a warm glow over the vendor stalls, and my stomach growls at the sight of steaming dumplings.

"So this is how humans congregate for sustenance," Jack says, studying a food truck's menu with intense concentration.

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. "You make it sound like a science experiment. Haven't you been to a food festival before?"

"I find group eating customs fascinating." He tilts his head. "What's the protocol here? Do we sample everything?"

"That's the fun part." My fingers brush against his arm. "No rules. We just try whatever looks good."

A nearby vendor calls out, "Fresh tamales! Best in Twin Oaks!"

"Those smell incredible," I say, already moving toward the stall. "Want to start there?"

Jack follows, his movements precise as always. "I trust your judgment on local cuisine customs."

We order two tamales, and I watch his face as he takes his first bite. His eyes widen slightly.

"This combination of flavors is... unexpected. Pleasant."

"Just wait until you try the Korean fusion tacos." I point to another stall. "They do this amazing bulgogi-"

"You seem different tonight," he interrupts, studying my face with that intense focus I'm starting to find endearing rather than unnerving.

"Different how?"

"More relaxed. Your shoulders aren't as tense. Your smile reaches your eyes more frequently."

I pause, realizing he's right. The knot of anxiety that usually sits in my chest during dates has loosened. "Maybe I'm just hungry."

"No," he says. "I've observed you eating before. This is different."

"You know, most guys don't analyze my body language quite so thoroughly."

"Most guys are idiots." He says it with such matter-of-fact conviction that I burst out laughing.

"Can't argue with that." I grab his hand, surprising myself with the boldness. "Come on, those tacos aren't going to eat themselves."

The Korean fusion tacos are just as amazing as I remembered, but I'm finding it hard to focus on the food. Jack's gaze hasn't left me since we sat down at one of the rickety festival tables. He watches me like I'm some rare specimen, cataloging every movement.

"You have a very precise way of eating," he says, leaning forward. "You separate the components, sample each individually before combining them."

Heat creeps up my neck. "Are you seriously analyzing my eating habits?"

"Should I not?" His brow furrows. "I find your methods fascinating."

"Most people just... eat." I take another bite, suddenly self-conscious. "You're kind of intense, you know that?"

"Is that unfavorable?"

"No, it's..." I wipe my mouth with a napkin, buying time to find the right words. "Different. Most guys are either trying too hard to impress me or barely paying attention at all."

"And which would you prefer?"

"Neither." I meet his eyes, surprised by my own honesty. "This is... better. Weird, but better."

He leans even closer, and my breath catches. "Define weird."

"The way you look at me like you're memorizing everything. How you ask questions nobody else would think to ask. It should freak me out, but..."

"But?"

"But somehow it doesn't." The admission makes my chest tight. "Maybe I'm the weird one."

"You're not weird, Vanessa." The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine. "You're extraordinary."

The festival buzzes around us, but in this moment, it feels like we're in our own bubble. His intensity should send me running, but instead, I find myself drawn in, like a moth to a flame.

The night air grows cooler, and I rub my arms, wishing I'd brought a jacket. Jack notices immediately - of course he does, he notices everything.

"Are you cold?" He steps closer, his warmth radiating against my side.

"A little. But I'm fine, really."

"The temperature has dropped 8.3 degrees since sunset." He reaches for another napkin, and his fingers brush against mine.

Everything stops.

My skin tingles where he touched me, electricity shooting up my arm and spreading through my entire body. My heart pounds so loud I'm sure he can hear it. Heat floods my cheeks, and my breath catches in my chest. I've never reacted this strongly to such a simple touch before.

"Your pulse increased," he observes, those green eyes fixed on my wrist.

"How can you possibly-" I start, then shake my head. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

He's still so close, and I'm hyper-aware of every point where our bodies almost touch. The sleeve of his jacket brushes my arm as he shifts, and another shiver runs through me - this time not from the cold.

"Fascinating," he murmurs, and I swear he moves his hand closer to mine on purpose, testing my reaction. "Your skin is flushed, and your pupils are dilated."

"Do you always narrate people's physiological responses?" I try to sound annoyed, but my voice comes out breathy.

"Only when they're particularly interesting." His fingers graze my knuckles again, and my whole body feels like it's humming. "Like now."

I should pull away. I should make a joke, break this tension before it overwhelms me. Instead, I stay perfectly still, caught in whatever this is, my skin burning where he touches me.

The tension crackles between us, and Jack's fingers are still ghosting over my knuckles. His lips part slightly, and I catch myself staring at them. The festival noise fades away, and all I can hear is my own thundering heartbeat. He leans in, ever so slightly, and my body screams at me to close the distance.

Instead, my anxiety kicks in like a bucket of ice water.

"Hey, um, I saw this amazing churro stand earlier." My voice comes out higher than usual as I take a step back. "They have this chocolate dipping sauce that's to die for. Want to try it?"

Jack straightens, his head tilting in that peculiar way of his. "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I just..." I run a hand through my hair, messing up my careful styling. "Churros. They're... really good churros."

"I see." He doesn't sound convinced. "Lead the way."

As we walk to the dessert stand, I mentally berate myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was right there, perfectly positioned, probably wondering why I'm acting like a scared teenager at her first dance.

"Two churros, please," I tell the vendor, my voice still shaky. "With chocolate sauce."

"Your breathing is irregular," Jack observes. "Are you certain you're-"

"I'm fine!" I grab the churros, nearly dropping them. "Just... really excited about dessert."

He takes his churro, studying it with his usual intensity, while I try to calm my racing thoughts. Way to go, Vanessa. You had a perfect moment and you ruined it with pastries. Becca's going to laugh herself sick when she hears about this.

"The cinnamon-sugar ratio is quite precise," Jack says, and I almost want to cry at how normal he's acting while I'm having an internal meltdown.

"Yeah," I manage. "They're great."

The chocolate sauce drips onto my fingers, and I focus on that instead of the missed opportunity still hanging in the air between us.