Page 6 of Fumbled Into Love

There’s no way my heart isn’t pulverized by the end of this.

“Oh, dear,” Jack mutters, rubbing between his brows.

This is going to end so, so poorly.

CHAPTER 2

“Well, good luck, babe!”

Good Luck, Babe! – Chappell Roan

Nathalie

My phone dings, one chime after another, disrupting my 'Yes, Chef' playlist echoing throughout the kitchen. I set down the knife, wiping my hands against my linen apron, adding to the plethora of stains marking the fabric as the aroma of garlic and onion overwhelms the small kitchen of my apartment.

Deon: Hi Nathalie. This is Deon.Deon Adams.

This is weird, but I was hoping we could talk.

I need to ask you something.

Are you free? Or are you at work?

Sorry that I’m sending so many messages. Please let me know if a time works for you to meet.

That last text sounded like an email. Sorry.

Uh…What? I blink down at the messages. Not once in over two years of knowing Deon Adams has he spoken to me outside of group events.

I deglaze the pan with white wine as questions rapidly flood my mind. I’m in a small state of shock as the wine cooks down. Why would he need to talk tome?

We’re not friends, not really.

We’re in the same friend group. His friends are my friends, but the string connecting Deon and me is thin. Other than thoroughly embarrassing myself in front of him multiple times, our interactions have been few and far between.

There was the time I accused him of lying about his profession.

And when I had to admit the guy I lost my virginity to called himself ‘BenDover.’

If those instances weren’t horrifying enough, I drunkenly asked him if he would marry me and declared I wouldn’t oppose the union.

Rather than spiral into the infinite possibilities of why Deon wants to talk, I tap the call button in the corner of the screen and put it on speaker. I’m pouring tomato sauce into the saucepan when a deep voice filters through the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Deon.”

I stir the sauce and drop a chicken cutlet into the oil. It splashes slightly and I hiss from the heat of the grease.

“Nathalie!” His voice cracks at the end of my name. “Hello. Hi.Hey.”

Well, this is weird.

“You wanted to talk?” I ask hesitantly.

“Yeah! Yes.” He pauses and silence grows more uncomfortable by the second.

“Deon? Are you there?”

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