EPISODE 10: The Gift
He took my hand in his and we both stepped into the living room together, his fingers threading through mine as if he couldn't stand to let go. The warmth of his palm made my stomach flutter, and the quiet confidence in the way he guided me inside made my chest tighten in the most delicious way.
I was already anticipating something.
I didn't know what my gift was, but the suspense alone felt like my heart was wrapped in tiny sparklers. My mind kept jumping between possibilities, each one more dramatic than the last. Jewelry? A note? Something personal? Something romantic? I had no idea, and Charles didn't help one bit—he loved watching me become restless with curiosity.
"Have a seat, sweetheart," he said, ushering me gently toward the couch like some elegant gentleman from a romantic movie.
"Thank you," I said with a soft smile, sinking into the plush cushion, trying not to look like my nerves were dancing a marathon.
He sat across from me, leaning forward a little. "So… what would you like to eat?"
I blinked. "I don't know what you have. Anything delicious is fine by me."
He nodded, then started listing things like he was reciting from a five-star restaurant menu.
"Alright. I've got pasta, seasoned noodles with homemade sauce, spicy boneless chicken and fries, dumplings, jollo—" He caught himself, corrected smoothly, "—pepper rice, and fried rice. So… I'm not sure which one you want."
I just stared at him, eyes wide.
The more he listed, the more it felt like I'd stepped into a private chef's kitchen instead of someone's home.
"Hold on." I raised my hand slightly. "You made all of that?"
He gave a little shrug, the kind men do when they're proud but pretending not to be. "Yeah. All for you. Whichever one you want—even if it's not on the list—I'll make it right now."
My heart melted into a puddle.
"Don't stress yourself. I'll go for the pasta… and the spicy boneless chicken." I smiled, because honestly, everything sounded sinful.
He nodded. "Right away. Now—orange juice, apple juice, strawberry, or a milkshake?"
My jaw dropped.
"Charles. Wait. Are we in a restaurant? Or did I walk into some hidden luxury lounge?"
He chuckled, leaning closer. "Beth, my love… anything you want that's within my power? I'll give it to you. I'm your host today, so let me take care of you."
My chest tightened at the way he said it—calm, steady, like he meant every word.
"Okay, Mr. Charles," I said teasingly, "apple juice is fine. Can I help you serve anything?"
"Nope," he said immediately. "You're my guest. Just relax. I'll be right back."
I watched him disappear into the kitchen and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
This man had been cooking all morning?
For me?
I looked around the living room again, noticing how everything seemed prepared with intention—candles lit in corners, soft music humming in the background, a hint of vanilla drifting through the air. He really did like to cook… and plan… and spoil.
"The table's ready, baby."
His voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I stood, following him.
My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
The plate of pasta looked like something off a cooking show, garnished beautifully, the chicken golden and crisp, with herbs sprinkled like confetti. The whole setting felt like magic.
"Oh my God, Charles," I said, barely containing my excitement. "I love you."
He grinned. "I love you too, beautiful."
I took my seat and didn't even bother pretending to be delicate—I dove in, savoring every bite like it was my last meal on earth.
I could feel his gaze on me, warm, amused, affectionate.
"I hope you like it," he said softly.
"Like? Charles, I love it," I said through a mouthful, not even ashamed.
"Enjoy, sweetheart," he said, and took a bite of his own food.
I sipped my apple juice, letting the cool sweetness wash over me. Everything just felt… right. Warm. Safe. Perfect.
When we finished, I instinctively started gathering the plates. Before he could protest, I had already carried them into the kitchen and rinsed them.
"You didn't have to do that," he said when I came back.
"It's nothing," I replied, settling beside him on the couch.
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear.
A soft shiver ran through me.
Butterflies? No. This felt more like a flock.
His eyes searched mine. "You know I love you… right?"
My breath caught.
It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but the way he said it this time—low, tender, certain—hit something deep inside me.
"I know," I whispered. "And I love you too."
He dragged his fingertips lightly across my bottom lip. My body reacted instantly—my breath hitching, my pulse jumping.
"Charles…" I whispered, not even sure what I wanted to say, just needing him closer.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" he said, voice soft and intoxicating.
"I—"
"I'll be right back," he cut in gently, kissing my forehead before standing and slipping into his room.
I froze for a moment.
I'd never been inside his room.
I didn't know if I would today.
Part of me wanted to peek out of curiosity, but I stayed put, fingers fiddling in my lap, heart racing like it wanted to sprint out of my chest.
A minute later, he returned with something wrapped in gift paper.
"My love," he said, coming closer, "here's your gift. I hope it's not too small."
I took it carefully, my heartbeat thudding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. I unwrapped the paper slowly, teasingly, savoring the suspense.
Then I froze.
A frame.
A beautiful portrait of… me.
"Wow," I breathed out, my mouth hanging open. "Where did you even get this picture?"
I didn't remember giving him anything.
Had he gone through some extreme search operation for this?
He smirked. "Let's just say I did my research. I hope you like it."
Then he reached behind him. "And here's another one."
My eyes bulged. "Another gift?"
He handed me a small box. My fingers trembled slightly as I opened it. Inside was a necklace—simple, elegant, breathtaking.
"Oh my God," I whispered. "I love you, Charles."
I threw my arms around him, hugging him tight.
"I love you too, beautiful," he murmured against my hair. "I hope the gift isn't too much."
"It's perfect," I said honestly. "I never expected anything like this. You completely caught me off guard."
"Enough thank you's," he said, voice lower now. "I'm only doing my part."
Before I could say another word, he leaned in and kissed me.
Not the playful kiss.
Not the teasing kind.
But a slow, deep, consuming kiss that stole my breath.
"Babe…" I whispered against his mouth.
"Yes, love?" he murmured, his lips trailing down to my neck, sending a shiver cascading down my spine.
"You're… you're really good at this," I managed to say as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding to my waist.
He kissed me like his life depended on it—slow, intentional, passionate.
I melted into him, letting the moment swallow me whole.
The soft music playing in the background made everything feel cinematic, surreal, almost too perfect.
My fingers curled in his shirt.
His breath warmed my neck.
And for a moment, the world felt distant, fading until it was just him and me and the whisper of our shared heartbeat.
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