Page 34 of Deep In Love
It’s even my favorite kind. Not the store-brand version I buy to save money, even though they’re half as good as the original.
Mateo exits the bathroom, steam pouring into the room as he dries his hair with a towel.
I’m momentarily stunned by how attractive he looks backdropped against steam, but quickly remember why my heart is racing in my chest.
“You’re my Willy Wonka?”
“What?” A confused smile brightens his features, as if I said something endearing and didn’t ask the question that’s rocking my world. He glances down at the blue wrapper in my palm. “Oh, good. You found the chocolate. I tried to get Darwin the Bobblehead to hold it, but it wouldn’t stay up.”
He shuffles his clothes in the closet, pulls out a sage-green button-down, removes the t-shirt he’s wearing, and then buttons the shirt, all while I sit on the bed and stare at him, dumbfounded.
“You’ve been leaving these every day?” I hate the way my voice quivers.
A chocolate every day for two years means something, doesn’t it? This is more than a kind gesture on a bad day. Leaving one daily is a conscious choice, one that requires effort. But why?
It’s shocking how a single piece of candy can uncover layers upon layers of suppressed emotions. Guilt swirls in my chest alongside something far more unsettling: yearning.
I’ve always been afraid to be noticed or perceived, but as I stare down at the wrapper, I’m painfully aware Mateo has seen me all along.
Memories flood my brain, a tsunami of small moments I overlooked. Iced coffee at joint meetings with our advisors. Chocolate every day. Knowing things about me I’ve never told him. What kind of person am I for treating him as a rival all this time?
A pretty shitty one.
My breathing quickens as I stand at the precipice of a life-altering discovery: Mateo’s never been the cocky asshole. I have.
I need Amy to pull me out of the spiral I’m descending into and bring me back to the real world. I need her kind yet wise words about how to move forward, because right now, simply looking at Mateo rots my insides with guilt.
His smile is tender, and something in my chest cracks.
“Every day since I first saw you eat one.” He laughs, and the sound dances along my skin. “You scarfed it down in one bite and did this little pitter-patter.” He pushes up on his tiptoes, hopping back and forth to mock the movement. “I decided I wanted to see that every day.”
I frown at the accuracy of the reenactment.
“You’re scowling because you know that’s exactly what you do every time,” he says, and this—the back-and-forth—is what’s comfortable, not the quiet moments in bed or the way his fingers dance along my scars.
Those intimate moments leave me vulnerable.
And right now, I feel like a snail without a shell. Entirely exposed.
I hum, switching between observing Mateo and my favorite treat, like together, they hold the key to solving climate change. Right now, uncovering that may be easier than unraveling my muddled feelings.
“You never said anything,” I whisper.
“I thought you knew.”
Silence hangs heavily between us, but I’m unable to form a response. I struggle to meet his gaze, and when I do, there’s surprise in those verdant irises. A surge of understanding flickers over his features, and his lips pop open like he wants to say something.
Instead, he changes the conversation.
“Jett wants to film the sample collection prep for the ROV. I’ll be in the lab, if you need me,” he says.
He’s halfway out the door when I call out, “Thank you, Mateo.”
He peers over his shoulder, surveying me, before saying, “You’re welcome, bruja.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me with my thoughts and a piece of chocolate.
Monitors mounted to the wall bathe the space in artificial light, and gauges and buttons flash and shift as the crew members on the main deck release the ROV into the choppy waves. The glacial descent beneath the surface begins, and the camera technician, Lucas, confirms the video is functional. As it moves down the water column, Mateo explains to Vivian how many soil and water samples to take.
