I walked out of Mrs. Pat’s house, my mind still reeling from what had just happened. The night was quiet, with only the distant hum of cars breaking the silence. As I drove home, I kept replaying the kiss in my head, questioning how things had escalated so quickly.
The next day at the office, I avoided her. It was easy at first; I kept my head down, drowned in emails and meetings, but every now and then, I caught her glance across the room. There was no trace of last night’s tension, only a cool, professional demeanor that left me even more confused. Was it all in my head? Had she moved on as if nothing had happened?
Later that week, I received a text from an unknown number: *”We need to talk. Mrs. Pat.”* My heart raced as I stared at the message. I didn’t know what to expect, but I couldn’t ignore it.
We agreed to meet at a quiet café downtown. As I walked in, there she was, sitting by the window, her face calm but her eyes carrying that same unreadable expression from the other night. I sat down, nervous, unsure of what to say.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” she began, her voice steady but low. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, and I don’t want it to complicate things between us.”
I nodded, relieved and anxious at the same time, but before I could respond, she leaned in and whispered, “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My breath caught in my throat, and before I could gather my thoughts, the café door opened, and a familiar figure walked in.
It was my boss.
Our eyes met across the room, and he froze, spotting his wife sitting with me. Suspicion flashed across his face as he slowly approached the table.
My heart pounded as Mrs. Pat straightened in her chair, her calm composure cracking just slightly.
As he reached us, his voice was low and heavy, “What’s going on here?”
I glanced at Mrs. Pat, searching for an answer, but none came. The tension between us was thick, the words unspoken hanging in the air.
The next move was anyone’s guess.
