FUTILE DEVICES  🍑  ───  IV.
IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE?

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The morning sunlight spilled into Clementine's room in soft, golden waves, painting the stone walls in hues of honey and amber. It filtered through the gauzy white curtains that danced with the faintest stir of a breeze, the movement so subtle it felt like the room itself was exhaling. The air was warm already, thick with the mingling scents of lavender and rosemary wafting in from the fields below, grounding her in the heady beauty of another summer day.

Clementine lay motionless in her bed, her body heavy against the cool linen sheets, her limbs reluctant to surrender to the day. The world beyond her window felt too vivid, too alive, and she wasn't sure she was ready to face it yet. Her mind was anything but still, swirling with memories that clung to her like dew on grass. She closed her eyes briefly, her heart stirring with the familiar but overwhelming sensation that had taken hold of her since last night.

Drew.

The name echoed in her thoughts, carrying with it the weight of every moment they had shared. The terrace, the lingering silence between them, the way he'd looked at her, as if peeling back every carefully guarded layer she had built around herself. She raised a hand to her lips, her fingertips brushing against them lightly, as if testing the memory of his closeness. She could still feel the warmth of his skin, the way his words had wrapped around her, quiet yet impossibly consuming.

Her chest rose and fell with a deep, uneven breath, and she sank further into the mattress. But the stillness only amplified the rush of images—his eyes catching the moonlight, his voice so low it felt like a secret meant only for her, his nearness unraveling her sense of control. The intensity of it all was dizzying, intoxicating in a way that frightened her.

Beyond the walls of her room, the day was waking up. The soft chime of bells rang faintly from the village, mingling with the hum of cicadas that pulsed in rhythmic harmony. She could hear the rustle of olive leaves, their silvery-green edges shimmering under the sun's early light. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out, its song high and clear, a reminder of the life outside her thoughts.

The room itself was steeped in quiet beauty, every detail seeming to hold its breath. The pale wooden beams of the ceiling stretched above her like outstretched arms, their weathered texture speaking of countless summers gone by. The terracotta floor tiles were cool beneath her feet as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the faint scent of lavender rising from a bouquet drying on the writing desk near the window. A glass pitcher of water sat there, droplets clinging to the sides as if reluctant to evaporate, mirroring the tension clinging to her thoughts.

Outside, the landscape stretched endlessly, golden fields dotted with olive trees, their twisted trunks standing as silent witnesses to time. The distant hills were cloaked in a hazy blue, blending seamlessly with the sky. The lake shimmered far off, catching fragments of sunlight like scattered jewels. It was breathtaking, as always, but today its beauty only deepened her restlessness.

Clementine leaned against the basin in the corner of her room, the cool stone pressing into her palms as she splashed her face with water. The chill jolted her, a fleeting reprieve from the heat curling through her. She gripped the edges of the basin, staring into her own reflection in the small, tarnished mirror above it.

Her hair was tousled, her skin flushed—not just from the warmth of the morning but from the turmoil of her thoughts. Her brown eyes searched her own expression, looking for clarity and finding none.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? About how he had looked at her, how he had stepped closer, his voice dropping as though the world beyond them had ceased to exist? The way his thumb had brushed her lips the night before, an intimate gesture so simple yet electrifying, haunted her. It hadn't been the touch itself but everything unspoken in it—an undercurrent of desire she hadn't dared to acknowledge in the moment but now couldn't escape.

What would it feel like to give in to that pull? To close the space between them, to let him show her what he seemed to be holding back? She bit her lip at the thought, her chest tightening with a longing that felt as terrifying as it was impossible to ignore.

Clementine shook her head, trying to steady herself, but the heat in her cheeks and the thrum of her pulse betrayed her. She turned her gaze back to the window, hoping the scenery would soothe her, but the sight of the lake only made her ache more. That was where everything had started shifting between them. The memory of his voice, his proximity, and the way he had looked at her as if there was no one else in the world—all of it stirred something deep within her, something she could no longer push aside.

Her thoughts drifted to the terrace last night. How close they had been, how his voice had wrapped around her like a spell. How he'd lingered after everyone else had gone, speaking to her as if she were the only one who mattered. The intimacy of it left her breathless even now.

And that final moment, the kiss she'd left on his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth—what had he thought of it? Had he lain awake too, turning over the same possibilities in his mind? Did he feel the same pull, the same ache that seemed to have taken root in her chest and refused to let go?

She exhaled slowly, pressing her hand to her chest as if to calm the storm inside her. Drew wasn't just a passing distraction. He wasn't someone she could easily forget. She didn't know what to do with this realization, but she knew one thing with certainty: something had shifted between them, and there was no going back to the way things had been. She crossed the room, her bare feet padding softly across the terracotta tiles. She opened the window wide, letting the morning air rush in, carrying with it the scents of lavender, earth, and the faint saltiness of the lake. It filled her lungs, grounding her for a moment before the whirlwind of her thoughts pulled her under again.

She had to face him today. She couldn't avoid it, nor did she truly want to. But how would she look at him now, knowing how much she wanted more? How much she wanted him? Her heart raced at the thought, the kind of longing that felt as thrilling as it was inevitable. The day stretched ahead of her, wide and full of possibilities, and for the first time, she was afraid of what they might bring.

With a sigh, Clementine turned from the window and began to ready herself for the day, her movements slow and deliberate. But no matter how she tried to distract herself, his presence lingered, filling every quiet moment with the weight of what could be.

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Clementine descended the stone staircase, the morning light trailing her like a quiet companion. The air was warm, thick with the mingling scents of rosemary and freshly baked bread wafting up from the garden. She paused for a moment in the shaded archway, taking in the scene before her.

The long wooden table in the garden was set for breakfast, dappled with golden light filtering through the sprawling branches of the olive trees. A simple white tablecloth fluttered gently in the breeze, its surface scattered with baskets of ripe figs, slices of prosciutto, and a platter of sun-warmed peaches. A pitcher of fresh orange juice glinted in the sunlight, beads of condensation slipping down its glass surface.

Mathis, her father, sat at one end of the table, already engrossed in the pages of a leather-bound book, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Sarah, her mother, was at the other end, pouring herself a second cup of coffee. Her hair was tied back loosely, and her movements carried the effortless grace Clementine had always admired. And then, there was Drew.

He was leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one hand resting casually on the table while the other brought a cup of coffee to his lips. His buzzcut caught the morning light, the sharp lines of his profile softened by the golden glow. He wore a loose linen shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his quiet presence seemed to fill the space as naturally as the sunlight.

Clementine hesitated, her breath catching in her chest as she watched him. The memory of last night—his voice, his touch, his nearness—flooded back in vivid detail, making her cheeks flush. She pressed a hand to her cheek, as if the gesture might steady her, before stepping into the garden.

"Good morning," she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to draw their attention.

Mathis looked up from his book, a warm smile breaking through his usual reserved demeanor. "Ah, Clementine. Good morning, my dear. Come, sit. The coffee is still hot."

Drew's gaze lifted to meet hers, and the quiet intensity in his blue eyes sent a jolt through her. He didn't say anything, but the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. She forced herself to look away, slipping into the seat across from him and reaching for the coffee pot.

The conversation at the table was light, drifting from the weather to Sarah's plans for the garden. Clementine contributed where she could, but her focus kept slipping to Drew. The way his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of the tablecloth. The way his eyes flicked to hers when he thought no one would notice. The way his voice, low and steady, sent a quiet shiver through her every time he spoke.

It wasn't until Mathis cleared his throat that Clementine's attention snapped back to her father. He was watching her with a knowing glint in his eye, his book now closed and set aside.

"There's going to be a little fair in the city tonight," Mathis announced, his tone casual but carrying the weight of a suggestion. "Nothing too extravagant, just a few stalls, some music. I thought it might be nice for you to take Drew and show him around."

Clementine blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the remark. "Oh," she said, her voice stumbling slightly. "I—I suppose we could do that."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Mathis teased, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Sarah smiled gently, setting her coffee cup down with a soft clink. "It could be fun, Clementine. You've always loved the fair."

Clementine's gaze flicked to Drew, half-expecting him to protest, but he didn't. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'm up for it if you are," he said simply, his voice light but his gaze lingering on hers.

Her heart gave an uneven thud, and she quickly looked down at her plate, busying herself with a piece of bread to avoid his gaze. "Alright," she said, her tone quieter than she intended. "We'll go."

"Excellent," Mathis said, picking up his book again as if the matter had already been settled. "It's always nice to see the city come alive at night."

The conversation shifted again, but Clementine's thoughts were elsewhere, swirling with a mix of anticipation and nerves. She couldn't ignore the way Drew had looked at her, or the faint tension that lingered between them like an unspoken promise.

As the sun climbed higher, casting playful shadows across the table, Clementine stole another glance at Drew. He caught her eye this time, his expression unreadable but undeniably magnetic. And just like that, the rest of the day seemed impossibly far away.

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The evening descended softly, cloaking the garden in a delicate amber glow. The cicadas sang their steady rhythm as Clementine stood in front of her mirror, her fingers smoothing the cherry-patterned fabric of her dress. It was light and playful, a whisper of summer stitched into its flowing lines. The plunging neckline was tied delicately with a burgundy ribbon, just enough to be demure yet enticing, and the hem skimmed her thighs in a way that felt bold but not overdone. She had pinned her hair into a loose updo, wisps escaping to frame her face, and fastened a red bow at the nape of her neck—a subtle nod to the carefree spirit she hoped to embody tonight.

When she stepped into the garden, Drew was waiting. He had changed too, wearing a fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and linen trousers that clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath his casual demeanor. He was leaning against the old stone wall, his hands in his pockets, but when his eyes found her, he stilled.

The transformation in his expression was subtle but undeniable—a flicker of something raw and consuming passing through his gaze before he caught himself. His lips parted as though he might say something, but no words came.

Clementine felt her pulse quicken under his scrutiny, the heat of his gaze almost tangible as it lingered on the delicate curve of her collarbone, the sway of her dress, and the slight flush that crept up her neck. She bit her bottom lip, suddenly unsure if the dress had been too much.

"You look..." Drew began, his voice low, almost reverent. He stepped closer, his hand brushing the edge of his jaw as though he needed to steady himself. "You look like summer itself. Like something I'd dream about and never think I'd see."

The air between them thickened, and Clementine felt the weight of his words settle deep in her chest. There was no mistaking the way he looked at her, like she was something fragile and untouchable but also something he desperately wanted to hold.

"Thank you," she managed, her voice softer than she intended. She smoothed the skirt of her dress again, more for something to do than out of necessity, her heart pounding so loudly she thought he might hear it.

Drew tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes locked on hers. "Mathis was right about the fair. You'll steal every glance in the city tonight." He said it lightly, almost teasingly, but there was a shadow of sincerity in his tone that made her breath hitch.

Before she could respond, Sarah's voice called out from the house, reminding them not to linger. Clementine tore her gaze from Drew's and turned toward the gravel path that led away from the villa. Drew followed, the sound of their footsteps mixing with the distant hum of the cicadas.

As they walked toward the city, the tension that had lingered earlier began to settle into something softer, more unspoken. The path wound through olive groves and rows of cypress trees, the last traces of sunlight dappling the ground at their feet. Clementine felt the cool breeze against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of lavender and earth.

They walked in silence for a time, the quiet between them filled with everything neither dared to say. But then Drew broke it, his voice low and measured, as though he'd been turning the words over in his mind before speaking.

"You know," he began, "there's something about this place. It makes you feel... untethered. Like you're free to be whoever you are, or maybe even someone you didn't know you could be."

Clementine glanced at him, her pulse quickening at the quiet vulnerability in his tone. She caught the way his profile was softened by the fading light, how the corners of his mouth lifted just slightly, as if he were lost in thought.

"I know what you mean," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It's like time slows down here. Like it doesn't matter what happens anywhere else, just this."

Drew looked at her then, his eyes searching hers in a way that made her feel like he could see straight through to the heart of her. "Exactly," he said. "Just this."

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been, and Clementine felt her breath catch. She didn't know what to say, didn't trust herself to speak without giving away too much.

Instead, she let the moment stretch, savoring the quiet intimacy that had settled between them. The city lights began to glow faintly in the distance, flickering like tiny stars against the darkening sky. Clementine felt her heart swell with something she couldn't quite name, a heady mix of anticipation, fear, and longing that threatened to consume her.

They reached the edge of the city just as the first strains of music floated toward them, the fair coming to life in a burst of sound and color. Clementine stole one last glance at Drew before they stepped into the crowd, her chest tightening at the thought that nothing had ever felt quite so dangerous—or so right.

"There you two are!" Chloe's voice rang out, bright and cheerful. She and Enea approached, each holding a drink in hand. "We thought we'd lost you."

Drew stepped back further, his hand falling to his side. "Just taking in the sights," he said easily, his tone light and unaffected.

As they rejoined Chloe and Enea, the lively energy of the fair surrounded them, but all she could think about was him. The way he looked at her, the way his words seemed to unravel her completely, and the way her heart ached with the knowledge that she was already falling.
The square felt alive, humming with the pulse of music and conversation. Clementine, Drew, Chloe, and Enea had claimed a small table at a bar tucked beneath the arc of an old stone building, its ivy-covered façade glowing softly under string lights. The night air was cooler now, carrying with it the faint scent of basil from a nearby potted plant, mingling with the sweetness of wine.

Clementine held a glass of white wine in her hand, its condensation slicking her fingers. She swirled it absentmindedly, the golden liquid catching the glow of the lights above. Across from her, Enea leaned back in his chair, his reddish hair catching faint copper tones under the lanterns, his green eyes sharp and animated as he regaled Chloe with a story about his family's olive grove.

"And my nonna," he said, gesturing with his glass, "she would never let anyone else touch the olives when it was time for harvest. 'Solo le mie mani, capisci?'" He shook his head, a fond smile curving his lips. "She said if anyone else picked them, they wouldn't taste right."

Chloe laughed, tilting her head as her auburn hair spilled over her shoulder. "I don't know if that's superstition or love, but it sounds wonderful," she said, her British accent softening the edges of her words.

"Both," Enea replied, lifting his glass in mock solemnity. "Nonna is all love, and all superstition. È così."

Drew sat beside Clementine, nursing a Negroni that glinted red in the candlelight. He was quiet, his posture relaxed but watchful as his gaze flicked between them. Clementine caught the way his fingers drummed softly against the table, the rhythmic motion in stark contrast to the stillness of his face.

"Your grandmother sounds fierce," Drew said, his voice low but laced with curiosity.

"She is," Enea replied with a grin. "If you cross her, she'll curse you forever. Clementine knows—nonna adores her."

Clementine laughed, feeling the warmth of the wine bloom in her chest. "That's because I let her teach me how to make her ricotta pie. She thinks I'm the only one who appreciates her baking."

"She's not wrong," Enea quipped, raising a brow.

Chloe leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "And you, Drew? Any fierce grandmothers in your life?"

Drew hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he shook his head. "No, not really," he said simply. "But I like the idea of it. Someone who holds the family together, who knows every little secret."

There was a wistfulness in his tone that made Clementine glance at him, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in his expression. She wanted to ask him more, to dig beneath the surface, but before she could, the sound of a new song floated through the square, louder and more insistent.

It was lively and rhythmic, the kind of music that seemed to pull people out of their chairs and onto their feet. A group nearby began to clap in time with the beat, and Drew's attention shifted toward the growing crowd in the center of the square.

Without a word, he set his drink down and stood, the scrape of his chair drawing their attention.

"Where are you going?" Clementine asked, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice.

"To dance," Drew said simply, his lips quirking into a small, almost boyish grin.

Enea whistled softly, raising his glass in salute. "Vai, Drew! Show us how it's done."

Clementine watched as Drew moved toward the throng of dancers, his movements unhurried but confident. He stepped into the crowd, and the sway of his body quickly found the rhythm of the music.

Chloe let out a low whistle. "Well, well. He's full of surprises."

Enea chuckled, leaning toward Clementine. "Your father's researcher is not what I expected."

Clementine's stomach tightened, her gaze fixed on Drew as he moved. He seemed freer here, as if the weight he carried in quieter moments had been momentarily set aside. She felt an ache rise in her chest, a pull she couldn't name, as though the music had reached into her and found something fragile.

Chloe nudged her shoulder gently. "You should go out there," she teased, her black eyes gleaming mischievously. "He's clearly waiting for someone to join him."

Clementine shook her head, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck. "I don't think so."

But her gaze lingered on him all the same, the way his shoulders moved with the music, the way his hands slipped into the air as though they had a language of their own. He turned then, his eyes finding hers across the distance, and for a moment, it was as though the world had fallen away. The crowd, the music, the chatter around her—all of it faded into the background.
His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching, and then he smiled—a soft, crooked thing that felt like a secret meant only for her. Clementine's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass as warmth unfurled in her chest, both thrilling and terrifying.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, he turned back to the crowd, his attention swept up by the energy of the dance. Clementine sank back in her chair, her pulse racing, her thoughts a tangled mess of longing and confusion.

But as the music swelled and Drew moved further into the crowd, she couldn't help but wonder how long she could keep pretending.

Chloe tapped her nails lightly against her glass, her auburn hair shimmering under the string lights as she leaned closer to Clementine. Her black eyes sparkled mischievously, her lips curving into a sly smile.

"So," Chloe began, her voice casual but tinged with something more calculated, "your Drew seems to be having fun out there."

Clementine turned her head slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching as she forced a smile. "He's not mine," she said, too quickly, her words cutting into the quiet hum of conversation between them.

Chloe tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment, before her smile returned, sharper now. "So, if I were to go dance with him..." She trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air like a dare.

Clementine felt the breath catch in her chest, her throat tightening as if her body had betrayed her. The image of Chloe stepping into Drew's space, laughing, brushing against him, flashed unbidden in her mind. It was irrational—Chloe wasn't doing anything wrong—but the sharpness of the thought still struck her, hot and stinging.

She took a sip of her wine to steady herself, pretending to mull over the suggestion as if it didn't matter. Her hand trembled slightly against the glass, though she prayed no one would notice.

"Go ahead," Clementine said finally, her voice light, almost airy. "I'm sure he'd enjoy the company."

Chloe grinned, radiant and triumphant. "I knew you'd understand. Merci, ma belle," she said, standing and smoothing her dress. "Wish me luck."

Clementine nodded, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "Good luck," she murmured, though the words tasted bitter as they left her lips.

Chloe sauntered toward the crowd, her movements confident and fluid as if she had already claimed the moment for herself. Clementine's gaze followed her for a beat, unwilling and unable to look away, before dropping to her nearly empty glass.

Enea's voice broke through Clementine's tumultuous thoughts, his Italian accent thick as he leaned closer across the table. "Interessante," he repeated, drawing out the word like he was savoring it. His green eyes narrowed slightly, appraising her.

Clementine shot him a sharp look, her defenses springing up. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone attempting nonchalance but cracking just enough to betray her.

He smirked, his lips quirking up in a way that seemed far too knowing. "Only that you don't seem too happy about her 'shooting her shot,' as she said."

Clementine bristled, her fingers tightening around her glass. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, though the words came out too fast, too defensive.

Enea tilted his head, a strand of reddish hair falling across his forehead as he studied her. "Oh, Clementine," he said softly, with a kind of playful pity. "You can fool Chloe. Maybe even yourself. But not me."

She let out a small, dry laugh, trying to deflect. "Don't be ridiculous, Enea."

But his gaze stayed steady, unyielding. "Ridiculous?" he repeated, his voice dropping slightly, serious now. "Clem, I see it. You think I don't notice how you watch him? How your mood changes when he's around? Or how you didn't even blink when she asked?"

Clementine opened her mouth to argue but found no words, no quick retort to throw him off. Her shoulders slumped slightly, her resolve cracking under his gaze.

"It's not like that," she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction.

Enea leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his drink, his smirk softening into something more understanding. "Va bene," he said, letting the moment settle between them. "If that's what you want to believe."

Clementine avoided his gaze, instead focusing on Drew in the crowd. Chloe had already reached him, her figure bright and animated as she tapped him on the shoulder. Drew turned, his expression surprised but warm as Chloe leaned in to say something. The music was loud, the crowd a blur of movement, but Clementine felt every detail with aching clarity.
Chloe laughed at something Drew said, tilting her head back, her auburn hair catching the colorful lights overhead. Drew grinned in response, his usual calm demeanor breaking into something more open, freer. He didn't touch her, though, Clementine noted. Not yet.

And yet the knot in her stomach tightened as she watched them, her chest constricting with something sharp and unfamiliar. She hated herself for it—for the jealousy she couldn't quite shove down, for the way her skin felt too tight as if she was carrying a secret too heavy to bear.

Enea's voice pulled her back. "You should tell him, you know," he said, his tone softer now, less teasing.

Clementine shook her head, her gaze still fixed on Drew. "Tell him what?" she asked, though she knew the answer before the words even left her mouth.

Enea gave a small shrug, as if the answer were obvious. "What you're feeling. Before someone else gets there first."

Clementine pressed her lips together, unwilling to entertain the thought. But as she watched Chloe laugh and lean a little closer to Drew, her heart thudded heavily in her chest.
She looked away quickly, her cheeks burning. It was ridiculous, this irrational pang of jealousy that she had no right to feel. Drew wasn't hers; she had told herself that repeatedly. But why was she feeling like that,

And yet, just when she was in the middle of her thoughts, the sultry, unmistakable rhythm of Lambada began to weave its way through the crowd, a seductive pulse that brought everyone's movements closer, slower, more deliberate. Clementine's heart thudded in her chest, her pulse in sync with the song's beat, as if it were pulling her into its orbit. The lights from the fair twinkled like scattered fireflies above the throng of swaying bodies, and the air was thick with the smell of sugared almonds and the salt of sweat.

Clementine couldn't look away. Drew moved with ease, his hand firm on Chloe's waist as he led her into a fluid step. Chloe tilted her head back, hair catching the glow of the fair lights, her smile easy and confident. Drew said something close to her ear, and Chloe laughed again, their bodies swaying in perfect sync to the music.

Clementine's throat tightened. She felt pinned in place, as if the melody itself had wrapped around her and forced her to watch. Her chest ached with something she didn't want to name, something she couldn't name. She folded her arms tightly across herself, nails digging into the soft fabric of her dress.

It wasn't that Chloe was beautiful—though she was, radiant and charming in a way that drew people in so easily. It wasn't even that she was good at this—dancing, laughing, captivating. It was Drew, and the way he moved with her, his focus entirely on Chloe as though nothing else mattered.

For a moment, Clementine's mind betrayed her, letting her imagine herself in Chloe's place. Drew's hands on her waist, the weight of his gaze settled on her alone. Would he lean in closer, his breath warm against her ear as he murmured something meant just for her? Would his touch linger, his thumb brushing softly against her skin?

The thought sent a flush rushing to her cheeks, and she hated herself for it. This wasn't her. She wasn't the jealous type, wasn't the kind of person to envy her friend for something so trivial. But watching them now, Chloe's hand briefly sliding up Drew's arm as she twirled under his, Clementine felt it—the raw, sharp pang of desire and longing tangled with an ache she didn't want to examine too closely.

Enea's voice cut through her haze, soft and low beside her. "Ti fa male, vero?" It hurts, doesn't it?

She blinked, startled, and turned to him. His green eyes studied her, steady but kind, the corners of his mouth curved in a faint, knowing smile.

"Don't start," she murmured, her voice sharper than she intended.

Enea shrugged, stepping closer. "Non devi fingere con me," he said gently. You don't have to pretend with me.

Clementine pressed her lips together, her gaze flickering back to the scene before her. Drew spun Chloe again, his movements confident and controlled, and Clementine felt the ache deepen. The music swelled, the melody pulling them closer, and she imagined Drew's hands tightening, guiding, as he leaned down, lips brushing against Chloe's ear.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away. She was being ridiculous, she knew that. Drew wasn't hers. He wasn't anyone's, really. He was just... Drew. Aloof, magnetic, and maddeningly impossible to ignore.

And yet, in this moment, Clementine couldn't help but wish. Wishing she was braver, that she'd been the one to ask him to dance first. Wishing she could drown out the sound of Chloe's laughter and the steady rhythm of Drew's steps. Wishing she could be the one to make him look at her like that—like the only person in the world.

The music continued, and the night pressed on, but for Clementine, the air had grown heavier. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, biting her lip as the ache in her chest refused to fade.

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The walk back to the house was heavy with silence, interrupted only by the crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant hum of crickets. Clementine stumbled slightly, the cool night air doing little to steady her tipsy state. The wine she'd sipped at dinner, followed by the cocktails at the fair, had settled into a warm, disorienting haze behind her eyes. But it wasn't the alcohol making her unsteady—it was Drew.

He walked beside her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his linen trousers, calm and collected as ever. That infuriating composure of his, like nothing that had happened tonight mattered. Like Chloe's hands on him, her laughter mingling with his, hadn't meant a thing.

Clementine swallowed the knot in her throat, her thoughts loud in the quiet. Her chest burned with the memory of them on the dance floor, the way Drew had smiled, carefree and at ease, while she sat on the sidelines pretending not to care.

"Do you always have to be so perfect at everything?" she blurted, her words tumbling out before she could stop them.

Drew stopped walking, his head turning sharply toward her. "What?"

She didn't look at him, staring stubbornly ahead as her pace quickened. "You know what I mean," she muttered. "The dancing, the charm, the—" She gestured vaguely, the wine making her bold, her words slightly slurred. "—the way everyone just... gravitates to you. It's exhausting."

He caught up to her easily, his long strides matching hers as he walked slightly ahead, forcing her to slow down. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked, his tone mild but laced with something sharp.

Clementine stopped abruptly, turning to face him. The movement made her head spin slightly, but she ignored it. "I don't know what I think of you," she snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "You're impossible, Drew. One moment you're here, and the next, you're... I don't know where."

Drew's expression softened, the corner of his mouth quirking as if he found her outburst amusing. "You're drunk," he said simply.

"I'm not drunk," she shot back, though the words were slightly wobbly.

"You're not yourself, either," he countered, stepping closer. "What's this really about, Clementine?"

His voice was calm, too calm, and it only made her angrier. She glared at him, hating the way he seemed to see right through her. Hating the way her chest tightened under the weight of his gaze.

"You don't get it, do you?" she whispered, her voice faltering.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely confused. "Get what?"

Her breath hitched, and for one wild second, she thought about saying it. Saying everything. That watching him with Chloe had made her stomach twist with jealousy. That every glance, every word, every fleeting touch between them tonight had been like a dagger to her heart. That she wanted him, maddeningly, desperately, in ways that scared her to admit even to herself.

But instead, she shook her head, turning away. "Forget it," she said, her voice breaking.

"Clementine," Drew called after her, his voice low, almost pleading.

She didn't stop, her feet carrying her forward as quickly as they could. But the alcohol made her clumsy, and she stumbled again, barely catching herself before she fell.

Drew was there in an instant, his hand gripping her arm to steady her. "Careful," he said softly, his breath warm against her temple.

She froze, her heart pounding as his hand lingered on her arm. She looked up at him, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly still. His face was close, too close, his blue eyes catching the faint glow of the moonlight.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Something flickered in his gaze, something unspoken but heavy with meaning. His hand moved to her waist, steadying her as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You don't know how much I care," he said, his tone impossibly soft, impossibly intimate.

Her breath caught, her lips parting as she stared up at him. The air between them felt charged, electric, like a single spark could set it ablaze.

But then he straightened, pulling back just enough to take her hand. "Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you inside."

She let him guide her, too stunned to resist. The house loomed ahead, its windows glowing softly in the dark, and Drew opened the door for her, leading her through the quiet hallways to her room.

When they reached her door, he stopped, turning to face her. His hand lingered on the doorknob, his eyes searching hers. "Get some rest," he said, his voice quiet.

But as he turned to go, she reached out, catching his arm. "Drew," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked back at her, and for a moment, the vulnerability in her expression seemed to catch him off guard.

She hesitated, then leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. Her lips lingered for just a second longer than they should have, and when she pulled back, her heart was racing.

Drew's gaze held hers, his expression unreadable, but his voice was soft when he spoke. "Goodnight, Clementine."

He turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions she couldn't untangle.

She was whipped for Drew Starkey.

━━━━━ author's note !
fourth chapter on !!! and remember how i said chapter two was the longest one of this book? i lied cause...this one is. 🤠

the tension is coming through...just be ready for the next chapter, it's a warning lol

let me know what you think and DON'T BE A GHOST READER !!! interact pls 🌟

thanks for the attention 💗

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･