.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
—𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀
—𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲
It was 6:45 and Arabella was just leaving the library.
She spent the whole day editing her editorial, feeling beyond proud of it. Since arriving in California, she had felt like she was finally making progress—whether it was with her work, her family, her friends, her anxiety, and eve Drew.
Well she thought.
It had been awkward between the two of them for far too long, and all Arabella wanted was to pack her things and head to her father's place, away from the tension. To make matters even worse, she had dinner with Drew tonight.
At least it was at Nobu.
And he would pay.
Arabella finally reached Nobu, and the Uber pulled up right in front. She paused for a moment, collecting herself, before stepping out. She smoothed down her top and jeans, adjusting her heels with a quick flick of her foot.
It was moments like these when Arabella wanted to die. The anticipation, the build-up—walking into a place she knew would be filled with nothing but awkwardness. She could already feel the weight of it pressing down on her.
But Arabella sucked it up, taking a deep breath as she started walking toward the beautiful restaurant. She'd been to Nobu a few times with her family, and each time it struck her with how grand it was—everything about it screamed extravagance.
Yet tonight, it felt more like a stage for an uncomfortable performance she didn't want to be part of.
"Table for Drew Starkey?" Arabella asked the hostess at the stand. The hostess flashed a polite smile before nodding and leading the way through the sleek, dimly lit restaurant.
From afar, Arabella spotted Drew at the table. His eyes were fixated on something, distant and unfocused, as if he were lost in thought. He nervously bit his nails.
"And you tell me not to bite my nails," Arabella said with a quiet laugh, hoping to break the tension as she sat down across from him.
Drew immediately looked up, a small, guilty smile tugging at his lips. "Hey."
"Hi."
There was a long moment of silence, and both of them found anything to focus on except each other. It was horrid.
How Arabella wished she got hit by a bus on the way in.
"So," Drew finally spoke, breaking the excruciating silence, his voice almost too loud in the quiet atmosphere. "What do you want to order?"
Arabella hummed as she scanned the menu, her fingers tracing the options absentmindedly. She knew exactly what she was getting, but the silence felt unbearable, and she'd do anything to avoid it. "The artichoke salad looks good."
Drew hums in response. "Yeah, it does."
Arabella pursed her lips together, nodding slightly as she replied, "Yeah."
There it was again—the silence again.
Even with the soft hum of music and the low murmur of conversation in the background, it felt as though there was nothing.
"What are you going to order?" Arabella asked, it was her turn to break the silence.
"Probably the caviar." Drew replied.
Arabella nodded her head once again. "Nice."
Silence.
Again.
Arabella didn't know what she was expecting. Was she hoping for them to hold hands, dance, and braid each other's hair? Of course not. But this—this level of awkwardness—it wasn't what she had imagined. They have been awkward before, but now it felt different. Now, it felt downright wrong.
The waiter came by to take their orders. Arabella couldn't help but feel that even she could sense the tension between them.
Neither of them reached for their phones, knowing it would be rude. So it was just them, the silence, and their thoughts, filling the space between them in a way that felt even heavier than before.
Drew took a deep breath before speaking. "What the fuck are we doing?"
Arabella was taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. She furrowed her eyebrows, her confusion evident. "What?"
"I mean, what the fuck are we doing?" Drew repeated, a sarcastic laugh escaping his lips. He shook his head, the frustration clear in his voice. "We're 25 years old, and we still act like we're 18."
"Well, one of us sure does," Arabella mumbled under her breath, hoping Drew wouldn't hear. But at this point, she couldn't care less whether he did or not.
As expected, Drew heard. "Are we still on this?" he groaned, his tone exasperated.
"Yeah, we are still on this," Arabella snapped back, her frustration bubbling over. "I was sitting on some random girl's bra. At least have the decency to hide it."
Drew pursed his lips, his jaw tightening. "Why do you even care?" His voice grew louder, drawing a few curious glances from people around them. "You were the one who said we weren't going anywhere."
Arabella let out a humorless laugh. "If you thought we were going somewhere, why would you sleep with a random girl?" Her voice was louder than Drew's now.
"I didn't even sleep with her!" Drew exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration.
"And that makes it any better?" Arabella snapped, her voice rising with each word. At this point, they were both yelling, the anger taking over. They were aware of the stares from the people around them, but neither of them cared.
Just as Drew was about to respond, a man—presumably the manager—approached their table. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking. "Drew, son, I'm gonna have to ask you both to leave. You're being very distracting."
As if this night couldn't get any worse, this happened. The last thing she wanted was to be kicked out of a place like this, but here they were—caught in the middle of a fight, in full view of the entire restaurant.
"We weren't even that loud," Drew said, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. "Come on, Micky."
"Hey kid, don't blame this on me," the manager, who Arabella now knew was named Micky, said, his tone apologetic. "Complaints were getting thrown at me left and right. Sorry."
Drew threw his head back in frustration, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. Arabella shot him a dirty look, clearly annoyed by his dramatic reaction. She obviously didn't like getting kicked out of a restaurant, and Drew's theatrics were only making it worse.
"Sorry, hon," Micky said, turning to Arabella with a sad smile. He then extended his hand toward her. "Micky."
"Arabella." She replied, shaking his hand with a smile.
Drew, finally done with his temper tantrum, stood up from his seat. "Alright then, see you later, Micky," he muttered, sighing as he placed a hundred-dollar bill on the table.
Micky smiled at the two of them as they walked out, Arabella noticeably ahead of Drew. The whispers and stares from the other diners followed them, but Arabella couldn't care less.
They walked out the doors, the breeze hitting them softly, but Arabella didn't slow down. She kept walking toward God knows where, her steps quick, trying to get anywhere but closer to Drew.
She heard footsteps behind her, but she ignored them, focusing on the distance between them. "Ara—come on," Drew called out, his voice pleading as he tried to catch up. "Ara." he repeated.
Arabella drowned out Drew's words, focusing on the path ahead, but suddenly, he caught up to her. He grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to turn around.
"Arabella," Drew said, his voice exasperated with frustration. "Can you please just talk to me?"
Arabella said nothing, rolling her lips together as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She stood there, silent and guarded, her body language making it clear that she didn't want to engage.
Drew started, his voice softer now, as if trying to approach her calmly. "Look, I get it, you're mad—"
"I'm not."
Drew let out a sigh, running a hand through his buzzed hair. "Fine, you're not mad. But whatever you are, I don't like it."
"I don't really care if you like it or not."
Drew closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Look, I'm not risking our relationship on bad communication again. So you're going to have to listen to me, or this is going to turn out just like it did last time."
At this, Arabella stayed quiet, her jaw tightening. She always hated whenever that specific situation was mentioned. She looked down at the ground, unwilling to let him see how much it still affected her.
"Fine," Arabella spoke, her voice faltering slightly as she tried to keep it steady. "But we're not going to talk about it in the middle of the Nobu parking lot."
"Yeah, I mean, of course," Drew nodded vigorously. "Where do you want to talk about it?"
"I mean I was just thinking the house—"
Drew's eyes lit up and then he cut her off by gently placing his fingers over her lips, shushing her. "Wait, I have the perfect place."
.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
Arabella and Drew reached their surprise destination. Since she'd taken an Uber to dinner, she didn't have her car—meaning Drew was now the one driving her.
Which meant more awkward silence.
To say the car ride was awkward was an understatement. The only words spoken were when Drew glanced over at her and said, "Ara, put on your seatbelt." That was it.
When they reached the place, Arabella noticed it immediately.
"Santa Monica beach?" She asked.
Drew nodded his head lightly.
"Wow, I haven't been to this place since I was a kid," Arabella laughed quietly under her breath as she looked around. The place hadn't changed at all—it was exactly how she remembered it.
"Yeah, uh," Drew coughed slightly before speaking. "You wrote your first short story about this place." He gave her a small, almost awkward smile.
Arabella tilted her head to the side in confusion.
"Mrs. Anderson's 8th grade class?" Drew reminded her with a hopeful look on his face. "That day we got sent to the library?"
Arabella suddenly remembered it, and her breath got stuck in her throat. That was the day she had first discovered her love for writing, the moment it all clicked for her. She didn't know if it was the memory itself that made her breath hitch or if it was the fact that Drew remembered it.
"You remember that?" Arabella softly laughed.
Drew nodded, scratching the back of his buzzed head. "Uh, yeah, I actually..." He paused, his eyes flickering with hesitation, as if weighing whether or not to say what was on his mind. After a brief silence, he continued, "I actually have that short story."
"What?" Was all that Arabella said.
"I promise I'm not weird," Drew chuckled awkwardly, raising his hands in defense. "When Mrs. Anderson was handing the stories back, you forgot to take yours home. It was just sitting on your desk, so I grabbed it, thinking I'd give it to you later. But then I... well, I forgot too. And by the time I was going to, it felt too late, and I didn't want you to think I was weird or something. So, yeah, it's just hanging on my wall back in Charlotte."
Arabella felt her face getting redder by the moment, her heart racing a little. She bit her lip, trying to contain the smile that was threatening to spread across her face. "Drew—"
"I love you."
If Arabella couldn't get more taken aback, she was wrong. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes searching Drew's face for any sign of humor, any hint that this was some kind of joke. But there was nothing—he was dead serious.
"Ara, please, before you run away, just listen," Drew pleaded. Arabella stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. What else could she say in this moment? "I know it might seem like I'm love bombing you, but I'm not. God, I'll even do that stupid girly pinky promise you love to do. But I'm so serious when I tell you that I am so in love with you."
Before Arabella could get a word in, Drew continued.
"I've been in love with you ever since I laid eyes on you. I've been trying to make all these 7 years up to you and I know it's going to take so much time but I'm willing to do that. And for the bra, I'm so fucking sorry, so fucking sorry. I was out one night drunk and scared, scared because that night is when I realized that I never stopped loving you. I tried to take my mind off it by trying to sleep with another girl but it didn't work, because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Look, I still wear this damn necklace that you gave me when we were 18. I tried everything to make me stop thinking about you, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry—"
Drew couldn't get another word in because Arabella put her hands on his face and pulled him in into a kiss. Not a messy and rough one like they did at Drew's apartment a while ago. But a nice, soft, and passionate kiss.
Their lips moved against each other perfectly as if God himself crafted their lips so that they could fit like a puzzle piece.
Arabella pulled away first and gave him a soft smile, "I love you, Drew. I loved you ever since you skipped your lunch period to sit with me in the library."
Drews eyes widened and he smiled sheepishly. "You knew about that?"
Arabella bit her lip, containing her smile and nodded her head.
"Well while we are the topic, there was one more thing that I was hiding from you." Drew said, his hands around Arabella waist.
Arabella gave him a confused look and then a look that meant 'go on'.
"There were no mice in the pantry."
©𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞
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