The knock on my door sends a frisson of nervous anticipation through me. I take a steadying breath before pulling it open to find Sonny standing there.

His smile is warm, but I can't help noticing the shadows under his eyes.

There is a trace of awkwardness between us after the, let's call it a 'bump in the road', that we resolved only last night.

I subconsciously put my hands behind my back and look down.

'Hey,' I manage to mumble out.

'Hey, you!' he responds brightly, stepping in with familiarity and ease like he's been here dozens of times and not just that one time.

Even with the risk of getting caught by the paparazzi, we decided to meet at my place, because all things considered, it's still seemed like the safest place. He said he took some extra precautions to throw them off his trail for what it's worth.

If it was so easy, then why could he have not just done that to begin with?

'Take a seat,' I tell him as he's taking off his shoes and I busy myself in my tiny kitchen dishing over take-out from my favorite Thai place. I feel bad to be repaying him with such a cheap meal after that gourmet course he treated me to in Mayfair, but there are just not that many fine dining options available for delivery.

Maybe I should have cooked?

But what if he hated it?

'Let me help,' his voice startles me, making my heart jump. He snuck up so quietly that I hadn't even noticed him standing directly behind me.

This man...Is he going to pay for my hospital bills if I get a heart attack at this rate?

I guess he can afford to.

I will my fingers to be steady and not make a mess on the buttermilk quartz countertops. It's hard to think straight with him standing so close to me.

I can do this.

He rolls up the sleeves of his grey hoodie and starts to take apart the packaging methodically with his long, elegant fingers. I watch him surreptitiously from the corner of my eye. His face appears neutral, but the slump of his shoulders is speaking volumes. Yesterday's loss is probably weighing heavily on him. With a twinge, I realize, how much I want to lighten that burden, if only for a little while.

We move over all the dishes to the dining table in one go. The dining area resides in its own cozy nook of the living room, tucked snugly beside the semi-open kitchen. Two sleek chairs with charcoal leather seats and brass legs surround a circular mid-century modern walnut table. A bunch of week-old white peonies in a ceramic vase are the only piece of décor on top of the table.

I go back to the kitchen and bring over cutlery, plates, and drinks.

'Let's maybe drink just water today, eh?' Sonny smiles teasingly, looking back and forth at the beer cans and me, as we take our seats.

My face heats up recalling how embarrassingly drunk I got last time we were here together. The cool April air drifting in from the partially open window offers little respite.

I pout at him, but I can't really argue.

Sonny's eyes dance with humor at my reaction. I smile too and just like that the tension and awkwardness disappear.

It feels so good, just to be looking at him like this, being in the same space and sharing a simple meal. Because that's what is important isn't it? Just spending time together like this.

When the inevitable day to say goodbye comes, I hope we don't turn away from each other in shame, filled with regrets. I hope we can face each other with warmth, looking back on these fond memories. Seasons change. The spring blooms that brighten my commute now will soon wilt, but their beauty is no less real for being temporary. I'm still grateful for that they have existed. Just as I'm grateful for every moment I get to spend with Sonny.

I suppress a sigh as I look down.

Spooning over some vegetable green curry over my rice, careful not to spill on my white t-shirt or beige lounge pants, I try to stir my thoughts to a different direction. Why do I feel compelled to always eat vegetables before proteins, as if it's some sort of sacred rule? Well, if it helps me get my five colors a day, it's a good quirk to have.

'This is good,' Sonny says, between bites of shrimp Pad Thai. 'My nutritionist won't be very happy though.'

'Give me their username, I'll block the account. They will be so freaked out, that they won't have a chance to nag at you.' I jest with a straight face.

'It's good to have such a powerful friend,' he chuckles at my joke, his laughter warming me from the inside out. 'How's the new role after promotion going?' he continues.

He remembers?

Why do I feel so touched? Isn't that the bare minimum? That the person you're 'dating' remembers a major life event?

'It's just more work, and more headaches.' I frown.

'Tell me more,' he says invitingly.

His face looks genuinely curious and before I can stop myself, suddenly I find myself venting full on. Words spill out of my mouth like water out of a faucet fully turned to its fullest flow. All the post-performance review petty team drama I had to deal with the last couple of weeks, the nitpicky little things the policy team keeps blocking my project on, the passive aggressive remarks from the engineering manager of a partner team, I share it all. I don't know how much of it even makes sense to him, but he listens with full attention, asking perceptive questions here and there.

'Bella, you think too much. You bother too much about what other people are thinking or saying. Just do what you want to do. You are smart enough to make the right decision,' he concludes at the end.

'You're right. I do get too bogged down sometimes in what other people think, but...'

I trail off with a sigh, running a hand through my hair. How to explain the tangle of anxieties and insecurities that so often paralyze me? Sonny watches me patiently, those warm brown eyes filled with kindness.

'It's hard for me not to get caught up worrying about perceptions. I can't help but constantly second-guess myself, wondering if I'm doing enough, being enough,' I ramble on. 'Also, thinking too much, it's just who I am. Didn't Descartes say, "I think, therefore I am"?' I end lamely with the quote, being an annoying know-it-all as usual.

'I can't keep up with you, smarty-pants,' he laughs. 'But I didn't mean to criticize. I just don't want you to worry so much. You're already doing well, and I know you will continue to no matter what you decide to do.'

Will I?

His vote of confidence in my ability makes me almost tear up a little. I don't know why it means so much coming from him. Like he really sees me.

Also, how did he get a read on my personality so well in such a short time?

'I've been wanting to say something for a while, what's with the "smarty-pants". I'm not a kid, you know?' I change tack jokingly, not wanting to make things weird with me crying, but I can feel my cheeks blushing.

'Hey don't lie. You love it when I call you that, don't deny,' he guffaws.

I huff out a breathier laugh than intended.

His smile softens into something infinitely fonder. A quiet electricity hums between us, the air thickening as our banter melts into silence.

'How are you feeling about the team? I saw the results didn't go well yesterday,' I broach delicately after a few moments have passed. I want to give him a chance to vent like I did. Equal exchange, it's only fair.

'You're becoming a football fan now?' he ribs, arching one brow, lips quirking up in a lopsided grin.

I say nothing, and quietly chew on my crispy chicken cashew. I don't even dare to make eye contact. This dread at the pit of stomach, it's what I deserve for being a liar. He's already starting to know me so well, that it's only a matter of time before he catches on. And when he does, then what?

'It's all shit,' he continues an exasperated sigh, thankfully releasing me from my reverie. 'Every day we go through practice, but then the game comes, and nothing works. If I didn't have Ben and Frase on the team I would lose my bloody mind. They are my best friends here, those two, Ben Davies and Fraser Foster.'

I had seen in interviews that he's close to those players but it's nice to know he has his own support system to help him. They're like his Steph and Matt.

'It's good you have good people to help you in hard times.'

Would I ever get a chance to introduce him to Steph and Matt?

'They're good lads, the two of them,' he continues fondly. 'Keep me grounded, you know? Of course, my family is there to do that as well.'

I chance a small smile, 'Yes, we wouldn't want the fame to go to your head now, would we?' I can't resist piling on just a bit more of the playful teasing. 'What? I've seen those modeling photos. International man of fashion and football. Son Heung Min. All bronzed and oiled up, hair perfectly tousled. Giving the camera smoldering looks.' I imitate a pose with pursed lips and sucked-in cheeks, eyes focused on some distant horizon.

Sonny just throws his head back with one of those liquid, uninhibited laughs that makes my heart leap, the shadows leaving his expression as he shakes his head in playful disbelief.

Mission accomplished.

'You don't know how awkward it is on those sets,' he says defensively, still grinning.

'Yes, I'm sure it's torture,' I make an expression of mock sympathy. 'How dare they pay you millions to spend a few hours in front of the camera.'

'You're so mean,' he almost chokes on his curry laughing.

'Tsk tsk, I'm just an appreciative fan. Simply appreciating the full breadth of your...skills and talents. Please keep posting those photos by the way. The likes and comments are paying my bills.'

He snorts, rolls his eyes good naturedly. After a few contemplative moments, he reaches across the table to give my free hand an affectionate squeeze. 'This was definitely needed.'

I don't miss the small reprise of that weary shadow briefly clouding his warm brown eyes. Without thinking, I flip my palm to thread our fingers together, rubbing my thumb soothingly over his knuckles. Sonny's lips uptick gratefully as the tension visibly seeps from his shoulders.

'Well, yes everyone needs some appreciation for their modeling prowess once in a while,' I tease lightly, purposefully steering away the conversation from anything too serious.

His eyes squint with mirth, his head tipped slightly to his left. He looks back at me, his gaze more intent, and a smile still playing on his lips. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, raising tingles along my arm. 'I wasn't talking about that,' not letting me go with an easy out.

I nearly falter at the molten undertone in his response but manage to keep my expression casual as I wiggle my fingers out a notch.

I don't want to go where this is going right now.

For a loaded moment, Sonny holds my gaze steadily, seeming to gauge my reaction. His eyes are nearly black in the low light, burning into mine with an intensity that causes a discordant fluttering low in my belly. I tamp down the powerful urge to fidget beneath that blazing perusal, and instead focus on the distant traffic sounds that I can barely hear.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he seems to accept my deflection, his lips quirking wryly.

What was that?

He definitely made a face there.

Is he mad at me?

Because I didn't want to go down that line of conversation?

Well, nothing I can do about it. We've just yesterday recovered from a disastrous argument. I don't want to get in the feels and risk getting upset in front of him again.

I swallow down and clear my thoughts, before looking back up.

'I have a big presentation tomorrow. Unfortunately, we need to call it an early night,' I give an apologetic smile, as I slide my hand out gently.

It's true, I do have to present my new feature plan in front of senior leadership tomorrow. But I probably didn't need to end this date at 10 for that – an hour tomorrow morning would be more than enough for preparation.

But I'm scared right now. I don't want to fight again. Ending tonight on a good note just seems like the better option.

'I see,' he responds brightly, without missing a beat, and gets up from his chair to start clearing the empty plates.

'Don't worry, I can take care of it later,' I get up guiltily, already regretting the half-truth.

'You don't worry. I do this all the time.'

Sure, you do. Mr. millionaire footballer.

'And there's no need to be so formal between you and me, right?' he continues sunnily.

'Well, if you insist.' I rejoinder with an exaggerated mock-sigh.

Soon the table is clean, the leftovers are stored, and the trash is sorted.

Sonny puts on his shoes in the hallway as I linger between him and the front door, once again my arms behind my back and my head inclined downwards. He rises up, the task completed and looks at me. A hesitant expression flits across his face as he opens his mouth, then seems to think better of whatever he was going to say.

He looks so handsome, no matter what he wears, it's not fair.

I look at his face and my breath catches for a moment as I remember with visceral clarity what those lips felt like pressed against mine only a few weeks ago.

Will he kiss me again?

I hope he does. I've longed for this, haven't I?

He drifts in closer with that innate lethal grace that he uses to such effortless effect on the pitch. My heart kicks up its frantic cadence as Sonny's woodsy, vanilla smell envelops me in its warm, enticing aura, but soon my overthinking brain starts to panic without alcohol to take off the edge.

Before I can finish processing my tangled emotions, Sonny closes that final sliver of distance between us.

I am scared of the million ways things may go wrong, but I still want this. I definitely do.

The first brush of his mouth is inescapably soft, his pillowy lips molding sweetly, reverently to mine. I suck in a sharp breath through my nose at the sweet, dizzying familiarity of it all.

But then Sonny raises his arms to hold me, his hands resting on my shoulders, and he tilts his head as if to deepen the kiss.

A tremor of panic pierces through me, slicing through the budding desire.

I can't do this, not yet.

I abruptly tear my lips away, offering a small smile.

Sonny freezes, concern instantly flooding those soulful eyes, his hands still on my shoulders.

Then his hands slowly start to slip away as his eyes fill with confusion.

Oh shit. What have I done. I've made him sad.

I need to fix it and fast.

I quickly gather his hands on my own and give it a small squeeze.

Seeing his eyebrows furrow in further confusion, I realize it's not enough. So, I rise onto my tiptoes and give him a quick peck.

'Goodnight,' I smile brightly, hoping against all odds that the gesture can brush away his concerns.

To Sonny's endless credit, he simply nods, and his mouth curves upwards in an answering smile.

'Goodnight Bella.'

Sonny backs away toward the entry and with one final heart-stopping smile, he opens the door and walks out.

The shuddering breath I didn't realize I was holding escapes my lungs in a tumultuous rush. Instead of feeling relieved, I'm left only with a disconcerting hollowness spreading through my chest.

He's the most patient, kind-hearted man, to walk this earth and I'm the world's biggest idiot.

Pressing trembling fingers to my still-tingling lips, I exhale deeply and close my eyes.

I'm like a moth drawn to a flame, spiraling ever nearer. But there is no path to escape - only the precipice of surrender or the withering pyre of regret.