Page 26 of The First Child
I accept the taste, but as I lean forward, our faces end up mere inches apart. Her pupils dilate slightly, and through the empathic connection, I feel her awareness spike with the same attraction that makes my spiritual discipline increasingly unreliable.
“It’s good,” I manage, though most of my attention is focused on the way her lips part slightly as she watches my reaction.
“Just good?”
“Exceptional.” The word emerges rougher than intended, carrying undertones that have nothing to do with culinary assessment.
Her eyes darken. “Sylas?”
“Yes?”
“Are we still talking about food?”
The question hangs between us like a bridge I’ve been afraid to cross, weighted with implications that could change everything about our carefully maintained equilibrium. Because she’s right… We're not talking about food anymore. We’re talking about the attraction that sparks every time we’re in close proximity, the emotional intimacy that’s developed alongside our shared responsibility for Aniska, the possibility that this partnership might become something more permanent than either of us originally anticipated.
“No,” I admit. “We’renot.”
She sets down the spoon with deliberate care, never breaking eye contact. “What are we talking about?”
“About the fact that I think about you constantly. About how your presence has become necessary to my sense of equilibrium. About the way you look at me sometimes that makes me forget every principle of spiritual discipline I’ve spent decades learning to maintain.”
The honesty strips away pretense, leaving only raw truth that reverberates through our empathic connection like a struck bell. She draws in a sharp breath, and I feel her emotional response as clearly as my own—surprise and desire and something that might be relief.
“I hoped I wasn’t imagining things,” she whispers.
“You weren’t.”
“So, what do we do about it?”
The question forces me to confront possibilities I’ve avoided since that first night when she calmed Aniska’s traumatic projections. Because acknowledging attraction is one thing—acting on it while responsible for a child who depends on our stability is something else entirely.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The situation is…complex.”
“Most worthwhile things are.” She steps closer, and suddenly we share the same breath, the same space, the same gravity that seems to pull us together despite every rational objection. “But maybe we’re overthinking it.”
“How so?”
“Maybe instead of analyzing every implication and possible outcome, we just… see what happens. Take it one day at a time and trust that we’ll figure it out as we go.”
The suggestion terrifies me almost as much as it appeals to me. I’ve spent my entire adult life planning, preparing, maintaining careful control over emotional responses that could compromise my spiritual effectiveness. The idea of simply allowing attraction to develop without predeterminedparameters challenges everything I understand about responsible behavior.
“That’s remarkably unstructured.”
“That’s remarkably human.” Her hand rises to trace the bioluminescent patterns along my jaw, and the contact sends cascades of sensation through my consciousness. “Sometimes the best things happen when you stop planning and start trusting.”
“Hada…”
“I’m not asking for promises or commitments or declarations that might complicate things.” Her thumb traces the curve of my cheek, and I find myself leaning into the contact despite every theoretical objection. “I’m just asking if you want to find out what this could become.”
Do I want that? The question seems absurd given how completely she’s infiltrated my thoughts and disrupted my carefully maintained equilibrium. Of course I want to explore whatever this connection might become. The desire has built for weeks, growing stronger with every shared meal and collaborative decision and moment of domestic intimacy.
But wanting something and being wise enough to pursue it aren’t always the same thing.
“The risks…”
“Are outweighed by the potential benefits.” She leans closer, until her forehead rests against mine and I feel her breath against my skin. “We work well together, Sylas. In every way that matters. Why shouldn’t we explore that compatibility more fully?”
“Because if we pursue this and it proves incompatible with our responsibilities to Aniska?—”
