Page 50 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
It was the softness that Crispin had once believed belonged exclusively to him.
The intimacy of the way she placed a cup near his hand. The gentle touch on his arm when she passed by.
Those touches are mine.
He went twice.
Ordered things he didn't eat.
Then he sat at the back, watching her from across the room.
And stared down the competition.
She looked tired, hollow-eyed and thinner.
Was she eating enough?
She didn't so much as glance in his direction.
He needed to talk to her, but he couldn't do it in public. She deserved more than to be cornered in her workplace.
But how was he supposed to speak to her if she was ghosting him?
And then, two weeks after everything had crumbled, he caught her going home.
She was walking with her head low and her coat zipped to her chin. It was dusk, and her hair was damp from the drizzle. He crossed the road in a rush, calling her name. "Aria...wait!"
She turned.
The look she gave him stopped him mid-step.
There was a coldness to it which he had never seen before. Giving her time was a mistake.
She looked at him like he was something unpleasant that had attached itself to the bottom of her shoe.
"Can we talk?" he asked, his voice low, gentle.
She didn't answer immediately. He saw the flicker of discomfort flash across her face.
Then something shifted. She glanced over his shoulder.
Someone was approaching from behind-an elderly man, his beard long and white, a soft wool skullcap on his head. His steps were slow, steady.
Crispin watched as Aria offered him one of her special smiles, one which made the dimple in her left cheek pop. Her posture softened and she stepped closer to him, her tone respectful and low.
He caught fragments.
"...lost..."
"...asking for directions..."
"...it's not far..."
Then they laughed together, quiet and easy.
The man laid a hand on her arm. She placed hers gently over his.
Something about the exchange struck Crispin in the chest with a force he didn't expect.
