Page 24 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

As I launch into the story of my first apartment makeover in college, I feel my nerves start to settle. Abram listens intently, asking thoughtful questions. Before I know it, we're laughing like old friends.

"…and that's how I ended up with a living room full of rubber ducks," I finish, grinning.

Abram throws his head back, laughing. "I would have paid good money to see that."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the rest of the restaurant fades away. There's something in his gaze—hunger, maybe? Or is it just my imagination?

The waiter appears, breaking the spell. As Abram orders wine, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

This feels so natural, so right. But a small voice in my head whispers a warning: Don't get in too deep, too fast.

I push the thought away as Abram turns back to me, his smile making my stomach flutter.

"Now," he says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Tell me more about what you did with those rubber ducks…"

***

A week later, Abram texts me out of the blue: “Are you free this afternoon? I have a surprise for you.”

Despite my reservations, curiosity gets the better of me. “What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

I huff a laugh. “Alright, I’ll bite. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at 2.”

“I can meet you there.” The last thing I need is for Abram to know where I live. Not yet anyway.

“As you wish.” His reply comes a beat too late.

I wonder if I’ve offended him. Unable to think whether I did, I suggest otherwise. “Actually, I’ll be at the gallery. If it’s on the way, you can pick me up.”

He never responds. I get worried, unable to focus on work the whole morning, wondering if he’d show. I convince myself he’s upset with me but when he pulls up outside my building at 1:45 pm sharp and calls me to come outside, he’s all smiles.

It confuses the hell out of me. Radio silence, and now this. But perhaps he was busy and simply forgot to text back, or he thought he already did. Not wanting to make a scene, I give him a wave and smile instead as I walk over to him.

“Hop in,” he says, leaning over to open the passenger door. “The surprise awaits.”

“This better not be some grand gesture,” I warn, feeling relieved we’re okay as I slide into the leather seat. His cologne envelops me, sandalwood and spice. I fight not to breathe it in too deeply.

Abram slips on a pair of sunglasses, lips twitching. “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson.”

The drive passes quickly, Abram keeping the destination a secret despite my probing questions. Finally, he pulls up outside a sprawling building I don’t recognize. “We’re here.”

“Where’s here?” I peer out the window at a banner fluttering in the wind. “Oh—there’s an art exhibition on!”

“I hoped you’d like it.” Abram grins at my excitement. “Shall we go in?”

“Yes, please.” I try to tamp down my enthusiasm, but it’s difficult.

We wander through the galleries, discussing the pieces. Abram has an eye for color and composition I wouldn’t have expected. He points out subtle details I miss, drawing connections between the artworks that make me think in a new light.

More than once, I catch him watching me from the corner of his eye. A flush rises in my cheeks at the heat in his gaze. It’s too soon, I remind myself. But the flutter in my chest refuses to be quelled.

***

The walk through the park is pleasant, the air crisp and the path dappled with early evening sunlight beaming through overarching trees. Abram reaches for my hand as we stroll, his fingers entwining with mine. I don’t pull away.

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