"I've learned that people will forget what you said. People will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." Maya Angelou

Veronica

The soft jazz music, the clinking of glasses, and the murmur of hushed conversations—it all faded into the background as I focused on the man sitting across from me. Saint. He was a study in contrasts, the sharp angles of his suit softened by the gentle candlelight, the intensity in his eyes tempered by a flicker of vulnerability. We were tucked away in a private alcove at the bistro, shielded from prying eyes by a sheer curtain. It was intimate, secluded, and undeniably… charged.

He'd surprised me by showing up at Evergreen. He wasn't on duty today, and there were no events scheduled, so his presence was a welcome shock. It was a side of him I hadn't seen before, a softer, more vulnerable side that intrigued me. And the way he looked at me while I read to the residents... it was as if he was seeing me truly, deeply, for the first time.

"I wanted to see you," he'd said, his voice low and husky. And then, that unexpected compliment, "Seeing you with them… it's really something."

It wasn't just *what* he said, but *how* he said it. There was a sincerity in his tone, a vulnerability in his eyes, that made my heart flutter. It was a side of Saint I hadn't witnessed before, and it was… captivating.

Now, here we were, the silence between us not awkward but comfortable. A comfortable silence filled with unspoken words and shared glances. I traced the rim of my wine glass, the cool crystal, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through my cheeks. He watched me, his gaze intense, and I wondered what he was thinking.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," I said, breaking the silence. "Since…"

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"The ball," he finished, his expression unreadable.

"Yes," I said, nodding slowly. "Things have been…" quiet."

"Too quiet," he said, his voice low and intense. He reached for his own glass, swirling the amber liquid within. "I needed… a break from the noise."

I met his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest. There was an intensity in his eyes, a hunger that both excited and intimidated me. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne, a subtle, musky scent that was both familiar and intoxicating.

"I've been thinking about you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Me too," I admitted, my cheeks flushing. It was the truth. Despite the distance I'd tried to create, he'd been constantly on my mind. His presence was a distraction, a delicious, unsettling distraction that I couldn't seem to shake.

He reached across the small table, his hand covering mine. His touch was warm, firm, sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Veronica," he said, his voice husky with emotion, "I…"

He hesitated, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. The simple touch sent shivers down my spine. I held my breath, waiting for him to continue. What was he about to say? What was he feeling? Was he about to voice the feelings that I had been desperately trying to suppress?

The air crackled with anticipation, the unspoken words hanging between us like a promise. This moment, here in this quiet alcove, felt… pivotal. The world outside, with its noise and its demands, seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us, connected by a shared breath, a shared heartbeat. He leaned closer, his eyes searching mine, and just as he was about to speak, his phone buzzed softly against the table. The spell was broken. He cursed under his breath, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. Releasing my hand, he pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. "It's… work," he said, his voice tight. The moment was gone, the fragile thread of intimacy severed. He gave me a rueful smile. "Duty calls."

Disappointment washed over me, a wave of coldness replacing the warmth of his touch. I knew I wasn't the only client he had, that his life was filled with obligations and demands. But for this brief moment, in this secluded alcove, I had allowed myself to believe… what? That this was just about us? That was foolish. But even so, I enjoyed this moment with him, no matter how brief. I nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course," I said, my voice sounding more distant than I intended.

He quickly responded to the message, his attention now focused on his phone. The conversation shifted to more mundane topics, the charged atmosphere replaced by polite, almost impersonal chatter. The rest of the meal passed in a blur, the earlier intimacy replaced by a polite, almost awkward distance. As we left the bistro, the warmth of the afternoon sun felt less inviting, the anticipation I'd felt earlier replaced by a sense of… something. Disappointment? Resignation? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that the moment had passed, leaving me wondering what might have been.