Adrian watched the gentle curve of her smile in the lantern's glow, sensing without words the thoughts she dared not speak aloud. He noted how her eyes brightened as she described Leah's friendship - how this bond was built on trust and presence, not on fleeting nights out - and he felt a quiet warmth at being trusted with this confidence. When she mentioned there was no boy waiting for her at home, and had never been interested in mere boys but in something more real, Adrian's expression softened. He recognized the deliberate choice of words, the distance she placed between herself and anything shallow. It was a mark of her sincerity - and it stirred something protective in him.
"I understand," he said, voice low and kind. "Real friendship, true companionship, is rare. You and Leah have something worth cherishing." He paused, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his attention fixed entirely on her. "And anyone who comes after would need to appreciate that depth, just as you do."
He offered a small, knowing smile. "You deserve more than boyish games or empty promises, someone who matches your sincerity with their own. And until that someone arrives, you have a friend in this place." He gestured broadly to the dark water and the sky beyond, as if to include himself in the sanctuary.
Silence settled around them again, comfortable and unhurried. Adrian took a slow sip of tea, then placed his mug on the table with deliberate care.
"I'm glad you're here," he said finally, his tone both appreciative and earnest. "It's been… nice, just sitting together and talking. Thank you for sharing this evening."
He offered that as more than polite courtesy - it was a promise of respect and understanding, gently bridging the years between them. And in the quiet patter of night-time insects, that promise felt as solid as the porch beneath their feet.
Adrian rose from the swing, brushing off the creak of the chains as he stood. He glanced at Michelle, seated quietly with her mug now empty.
"Goodnight, Michelle," he said, voice low but warm. "Thank you for a wonderful evening. Rest well."
He offered a small, respectful nod, then stepped away from the porch railing. The moonlight glinted off the lake as he made his way back inside, pausing only to close the screen door gently behind him. The hallway was hushed and dim as Adrian walked toward the master suite. He set his slippers neatly by the bed and peeled off his shirt, folding it on the dresser. Jeans slipped onto the floor, and he slid under the cool covers.
Lying on his side, he closed his eyes for a moment, the events of the night replaying in his mind. Michelle's gentle attentiveness in the kitchen, her candid smile as she spoke of Leah, the way her gaze had lingered on him - reminders of a warmth he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.
He admitted to himself, in that still darkness, that she was a gorgeous woman - kind, sincere, and breath-taking in her simplicity. He felt a pang of longing, an echo of desire he hadn't acknowledged since Claire's death. But reality settled around him with the softness of the sheets. Michelle was Leah's friend, someone he was honour-bound to respect. Even the fleeting thought of her here, beside him, was impossible. He pressed his palm against his chest, steadying the echo of his own heartbeat. "Not possible," he whispered into the quiet room.
With that, Adrian turned away from the memory and let sleep claim him, the promise of morning and obligations gently pulling him away from a moment of longing he could only keep in the privacy of his own heart.
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