Page 65 of Falling for My Ex Next Door

I observe her reaction, searching for understanding in her eyes. She listened intently; her gaze softening with a hint of compassion.

“I wanted to tell you,” I continued, desperation creeping into my voice. “But I was overwhelmed, and the thought of what the future held scared me. I thought leaving without an explanation would be easier for both of us.”

The admission hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken truths. I reach out tentatively, my hand hovering between us, longing for the connection we once shared.

“I’m sorry, Clara,” I say, the words a whisper against the backdrop of the bustling city. “I should have been honest with you from the start.”

“It’s difficult, Jacob,” she starts, her voice soft yet firm. “I’m trying to build something here, all on my own. I’ve had to be strong, dependable and I can’t just let that go.”

I nod, understanding her need for security and stability.

“I know,” I replied, my voice steady. “Like I said last night, I’m not asking for immediate answers. I’m here, Clara. Here to support you, in any way you need me to. Your dreams matter to me.”

She looked at me with a steady gaze, but remained silent.

“Do you have plans after lunch?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“No, I rarely have plans after lunch. I work until closing.” She responded.

I could see how much she was stretching to clear the debts on time.

“But I have to make some purchases at the farmer’s market this afternoon,” she added.

“Perfect, I’ll help you out.”

“Ah-” She winced.

“Do not reject my help, Clara.” I immediately added.

“Okay,” she said.

As we finish our lunch with lighter conversation, the air feels lighter, too, filled with laughter and a renewed connection. Perhaps just as friends, but with a potential for something more.

***

The chatter in the farmer’s market floated above our conversation. The bustling market was not someplace I’d naturally be found but I was pleased Clara had let me accompany her.

She stopped in front of a vendor that sold coffee beans.

“How much for this?” She asked, holding up a bag of freshly ground coffee beans. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air, overwhelming the rest of the available spices.

“That’s a pound. It’s twenty dollars.” The man who sold the product responded.

“Can it go for fifteen?” She tried to bargain.

“I’m afraid it can’t.” The man replied.

“Alright, I’ll take it.” She finally said, and when she had paid, I relieved her of it.

“Thanks,” she wore a lovely smile.

I hoped her smile would grow wider the more we spent time together.

We continued to meander through the market. I must say, one thing I had the advantage of accessing raw in the space was the scent of exotic spices lingering in the air.

“Cinnamon sticks!” She exclaimed, swerving left and stopping in front of the stock of a woman vendor.

“For a new latte recipe, I recently came up with.” She added, buying a few.

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