TWO SIDES
CHAPTER 3
— TWO SIDES —
Saturday morning was quiet. The house felt still. She stayed in her condo, watching the light shift across the walls. At 6:45 PM, she was idling at a red light in Poblacion, the neon signs blurring into streaks of color on the wet pavement. Her phone buzzed.
Jeffrey texted: Fifteen minutes. Think about what you want most for tonight.
She shifted the car into gear as the light turned green. She didn't reply. She just drove, the streets narrowing as she neared the restaurant.
Jeffrey had arrived at the restaurant at exactly 6:50 PM. A small, private table by the window had been reserved.
As the server leaned in to light the candle on the table, Jeffrey glanced outside, catching sight of Christine's car pulling up. The warm, flickering light caught his face, highlighting a quietly hopeful expression.
At 6:58 PM, Christine walked up to the venue. She could see Jeffrey already standing at the door waiting for her. As she approached, he stepped forward, a warm smile softening his sharp features. He was dressed in a simple, dark button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up just once—polished, effortless, and not trying too hard.
"Right on time," he greeted her.
He opened the door for her, gesturing inside with quiet ease. "Ready for that free dinner?"
Christine gave him a warm smile. "Ready, Mr. Reyes."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he guided her to their table and pulled out her chair.
"Jeffrey," he corrected gently.
He waited until she was comfortably settled before taking his seat across from her, the candlelight catching the dark intensity of his eyes. "Tonight, at least. 'Mr. Reyes feels like I'm about to pitch a project."
Christine chuckled at his request. "Fine. Jeffrey."
The way she said his name seemed to catch him slightly off guard.
He stilled for just a breath, a quiet smile touching his lips before he looked down at the menu. "Thank you," he said.
When he lifted his gaze back to her, it was noticeably warmer. "Now—let's see if this place lives up to the hype I've been building."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear over the ambient hum of the restaurant. "You look beautiful tonight, Christine."
Then, as if he hadn't just spoken the compliment, he leaned back and picked up his menu, a small, knowing smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Christine smiled, feeling genuinely flattered. She gave him a gentle gaze. "Thank you!
You look handsome too. It's the first time I've seen you not wearing a suit."
A quiet laugh escaped him, warm and entirely unguarded. "Took a risk. Didn't want you thinking I was pitching a merger."
He set the menu down, his eyes meeting hers across the candlelight. "Figured tonight, I'd just be Jeffrey."
Christine softly chuckled, looking at him. "I'm glad I made it on time."
He held her gaze, a quiet warmth settling deep in his features. "I'm glad you came at all."
He glanced down at the table for a fleeting moment, then back up, his voice softer. "Wasn't sure you would, you know. Half expected a text saying 'rain check.'"
Christine looked down with a soft chuckle, a mischievous spark in her eye. "I was actually thinking of sending you exactly that," she teased.
He let out a genuine, deep laugh, shaking his head as he reached for his water glass. "I knew it."
He leaned forward slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. "What changed your mind?"
"Oh, it's just a joke," Christine said, waving a hand dismissively. "You know, to lighten up the mood a bit."
A slow smile spread across his face, the candlelight catching the warmth in his eyes. "You're good at that. Keeping things light."
He picked up the menu again, but his attention stayed entirely fixed on her. "Lucky for me, I can take a joke or two."
Christine chuckled, clearing her throat to regain her composure. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, too. I always see you in your office frowning at everyone."
He laughed again, the sound genuine and rich as he set down his menu. "Occupational hazard. Can't have people thinking I'm soft."
He held her gaze for a moment, a softer, more vulnerable edge creeping into his voice. "Guess you're finding out the real me tonight."
He watched her take a sip of water, a comfortable silence settling between them.
After a moment, he spoke, his tone thoughtful. "You know, I've walked past your office hundreds of times. Never thought I'd end up here, across from you, like this."
He paused, glancing down at the table before meeting her eyes again. "Funny how things work out."
Christine froze for a second, unsure how to respond. She kept herself together, offering a light smile. "I guess the lumpia and sinigang did their tricks."
Jeffrey chuckled lowly, shaking his head with a knowing smile as he leaned forward, the flicker of candlelight playing across his features. "Is that what we're calling it now? Lumpia and sinigang?" He held her gaze a beat longer, his voice quieting to something more sincere. "Works for me."
"I think I prefer calling you Jeffrey for now," she said.
He tilted his head, a quiet warmth settling in his expression as he said her name slowly, tasting it for the first time out loud. "Christine." Then, softer, holding her gaze, "Suits you."
He picked up his menu, a small smile lingering. "Now—let's figure out what you're hungry for. Besides lumpia."
Christine took the menu, her eyes scanning the Italian dishes. "Uhm. Any recommendations?"
Jeffrey set his menu down, resting his chin on his hand as he considered her. "The truffle pasta's good. Not too heavy. But if you want something warm, the osso buco's their specialty—falls right off the bone." He paused. "Or we could share both. That way you get to try everything."
Christine felt a slight panic. *Shoot, I don't have any knowledge about Italian food.*
"I think we should just share," she said.
He caught the slight pause, the way her eyes flickered over the menu without really reading.
A quiet smile touched his lips before he gently set his menu down, resting his forearms on the table. "First time here?" he asked softly, without judgment.
Christine put the menu down on the table. "Yes. I really have no idea what their specialty is."
Jeffrey nodded once and gave the menu a quick scan before meeting her eyes. "Perfect. Then here's what we'll do: truffle pasta, osso buco, and the burrata to start.
If that's too much, we'll blame it on my terrible ordering." He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Trust me. You won't regret it."
"Yeah, I think that's perfect," she replied.
He caught the slight uncertainty in her nod and signaled the server, placing the order with easy confidence. Then, he turned back to her, voice lowering for just the two of them. "Burrata's like mozzarella's softer, creamier cousin. Comes with tomatoes and basil. You'll know in one bite if you like it." He said it plainly, not a drop of condescension—just warmth, sharing something he enjoyed.
Christine listened carefully, thinking, *So, it's just a soft cheese stick, I guess.* "Okay, let's see how I like it."
He caught the flicker of understanding in her eyes and leaned back. "You'll like it. It's one of those dishes that doesn't try too hard—lets the ingredients speak for themselves. Kind of like tonight, actually."
Christine took a breath, deciding to dive into the conversation. "So, Jeffrey, how old are you? How long have you been in the business?"
He exhaled a soft hum, a considering look crossing his face before meeting her gaze. "Four years now," he said plainly. "I stepped into the family firm at twenty, right after my second year of college... dropped out when the opportunity came to take on a leadership role."
His thumb traced the rim of his glass as a dry, self-aware smile touched his lips. "Worked out well enough, but I don't usually lead with that story in meetings."
"Are your parents also here in Makati?" She asked.
He shook his head slowly, a quiet warmth in his expression. "No, they're in Quezon City. Both are still running their own business."
He paused, a softer edge creeping into his voice. "Actually, I should call them more. My mom keeps saying I work too much."
He looked at her, his expression turning thoughtful.
Christine asked. "It's been a few days since our first meet-up at the coffee shop. And I don't understand why you asked me out."
"You want honesty? Alright, honest answer," Jeffrey said, his eyes steady.
He set his water glass down, wiping a bead of condensation with his thumb. "Because when I walked past your office every day, I saw someone who didn't need saving, impressing, or fixing. You're the first woman I've met who made me want to step into her world, not rescue her from mine."
Christine was speechless.
When the server arrived with the burrata, she took a bite. "Hmm, it's good. I love that oozing melted cheese inside."
A smile spread across his face, genuine and warm. "See? Told you. You were waiting for the right first bite."
She flushed, feeling her body heat up from his words, and played it off to avoid him noticing her blushing cheeks. "Yeah, it's actually my first time having this."
"Then I'm glad I got to be the one to introduce you to it," he said, taking a bite of his own.
He chewed thoughtfully before adding, softer, "First times are good to share."
"I'm actually glad you introduced this to me. Thank you," she said, trying to stay calm.
He set his fork down slowly, a gentle smile lingering on his lips. "You're welcome, Christine." A quiet pause, his voice lowering to something more sincere. "Here's to many more firsts."
Christine froze, almost choking on the burrata. *What does he mean by 'many more firsts'?* She adjusted her seat, trying to regain her cool. "Uhm. Any favorite food or cuisine?" she asked, changing the topic.
He caught the shift, the way she adjusted in her seat. A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he let her steer the conversation. "Honestly? Adobo. My grandmother's recipe. No restaurant has ever come close. But Italian's growing on me. Tonight's a good start."
"I love adobo, too. I bet my mom's adobo is as good as your grandma's," she challenged.
He laughed softly, a genuine warmth reaching his eyes. "Oh, that sounds like a challenge I'd like to settle. Maybe one night we should put that to the test. Potluck-style. Adobo showdown."
Christine chuckled at the idea, the sound light and unrestrained.
"There it is," he said, watching her, a brief pause, his gaze steady. "That laugh. Still my favorite sound in this city.
It's the first thing I noticed about you. Even before we ever spoke. Back when you were just the woman across the hall who made workdays a little brighter."
Christine felt her cheeks warm, her heart doing a tiny flip. "You must be stalking me in the office, then, are you?" she teased.
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Not stalking. Observing. There's a difference. One's a crime. The other's... appreciation."
The waiter arrived with the next dish, setting the osso buco down between them. Christine looked at the dish, and her heart sank. *How would I eat this? I hate parsley.*
She sliced a small part of the shank, avoiding the green garnish as best she could, but the flavor had already permeated the sauce. She took a bite, and her face slightly grimaced. "Well, I think this one is not for me." She politely said.
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Jeffrey caught the subtle grimace and the careful way she avoided the garnish. A quiet understanding crossed his face.
He signaled the server with a polite gesture, speaking in a low, courteous tone to swap the dish for a creamy mushroom risotto instead.
He turned back to her, a soft, unassuming smile in place. "Should've asked earlier. My bad."
"Sorry, I didn't know it had parsley in it," she apologized. "I can eat almost everything. Just not parsley, celery, and cilantro."
He let out a genuine, relaxed laugh. "Wait, let me get this straight. You're a high-powered entrepreneur who builds companies, but a sprinkle of herbs is your kryptonite? That is a very specific 'no-fly zone,' Christine. Are we also banning onions, or is there a chance for redemption there?"
Christine felt her cheeks warm as she finally relaxed. "Don't push your luck, Mr. Reyes. Onions are fine. It's just the ones that make everything taste like soap or lawn clippings that I have a problem with."
"Got it," he said, tapping his temple briefly. "Three simple rules. I think I can manage that."
The waiter returned shortly with her truffle pasta. Christine took a bite, her eyes lighting up slightly. "Wow. This is perfect," she said, gesturing toward the dish with her fork. "Yeah, I will definitely order this the next time I'm here."
A quiet, pleased hum escaped him. "Then I'll have to make sure this place stays on my list too. Maybe next time we can figure out what else you like."
Christine hesitated, her fork hovering over her plate. "Next time? Are you sure?"
He held her gaze, the candlelight flickering between them. His voice came quieter, carrying a sincerity that cut through the noise of the restaurant. "Christine... I've been walking past your office for months. I didn't ask you out just for one dinner. I'm hoping there's a next time. And a time after that. If you'll let me."
Christine smiled softly. "As long as you remember the no-parsley rule," she chuckled.
He nodded. "Noted. No parsley. Ever. I'll remember the things that matter."
He took a sip of his water, his expression turning a bit more earnest. "You know, earlier you got a little quiet when I brought up 'many more firsts'. I want to be clear—I'm not trying to rush you. I just meant that when I find someone who makes me actually enjoy a Saturday night, I'd like to keep doing it. I'm just looking forward to the next time we get to skip the business talk and eat pasta. Is that too much? I can dial it back if I'm coming on too strong."
"You're not coming on too strong," she replied, smiling back. "You're just... very direct."
"Direct is the only way I know how to be," he admitted. "Now, tell me. When you aren't running a marketing firm or dodging cilantro, what do you actually do to relax? Do you have a secret hobby I don't know about?"
Christine smiled, thinking for a moment. "Nothing special, really. I don't have any elaborate hobbies. I usually squeeze in a few hours of working out on Sundays to clear my head, and I catch up on movies in my free time." She paused, taking a sip of her water. Although if I get a few consecutive days off, I love visiting historical places and museums. But day-to-day, it's pretty simple."
Jeffrey rested his chin on his hand, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "Nothing special? I'd disagree."
He tilted his head, his dark eyes catching the candlelight. "Workouts and movies are a solid baseline. But history and museums... that show depth."
He picked up his fork, the warm glint in his eye never wavering. "I'll have to keep that in mind. The next time you manage to clear your schedule for a few days, maybe we'll skip the restaurants and find a museum instead."
Christine felt a genuine thrill at the idea. "I'd really like that," she said softly.
She took another bite of her pasta, the conversation settling into a comfortable, easy rhythm. After a few moments, she looked at him. "So, any plans after this?"
An easy smile spread across his features as he rested his chin on his hand, considering the question with a hint of playful anticipation. "I was hoping you'd ask."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something cozier, inviting. "There's a quiet spot by the river about five minutes from here. We could walk off the pasta—grab some dessert nearby if you're still hungry?" He paused, a gentle grin playing at his lips. "No parsley in sight, I promise."
"You mind if I bring you into my own little date... I mean, snacks after this?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face as he set his fork down. "Your own little date?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to something warmer, more curious. "I'd love that." A pause, his eyes holding hers. "Lead the way."
"Let's go?" she said.
— — —
He signaled the server for the check, a quiet smile playing at his lips as he glanced across the table at her. "Ready when you are." He paused, a flicker of playful curiosity in his eyes. "You've got me curious now. I don't usually let people take the wheel on a first date."
"Well, I think this is the second. Two dates in one night."
He left a few bills on the table and stood, pulling her chair out for her with an easy grace. "Technically, you're right. That makes this the second date." He met her eyes, a quieter, warmer edge in his voice as he added, "And you're already making it memorable." He gestured toward the door. "After you."
They walked in the streets of Poblacion to their destination.
"Are you okay walking for a few minutes?" she asked.
He walked beside her with an easy, unhurried stride, hands in his pockets as he glanced around the lively streets of Poblacion.
A comfortable smile settled across his face, his pace steady as he matched hers. "I'm good. Walked these streets plenty of times."
He looked over at her, the city lights catching his features. "Just never with company this good."
They walked side by side on the sidewalk, their shoulders occasionally brushing each other.
"Can you tell me more about yourself?" Christine asked.
Caught off guard by the question, he thought for a moment as they strolled past a streetlamp, its light casting a brief glow across his face. "What do you want to know? The resume version, or the real one?"
"I always prefer the real one." She answered.
He chuckled softly, glancing down at the pavement for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "Real version, then."
A brief pause, his voice steadying as they walked. "I stepped up at the family engineering firm because I was too stubborn to wait for someone else to pave the way." He looked ahead, a softer note entering his voice. "But I also run a small bakery in Quezon City on weekends.
It was my grandfather's. He passed two years ago. I keep it open for him." He glanced at her, a quiet vulnerability flickering beneath his smile. "Not a lot of people know that part."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
He shook his head gently, a soft smile touching his lips as they continued walking. "Don't be. It's not a sad story—it's just part of who I am." He glanced at her, the streetlight catching the warmth in his eyes. "I'm glad I told you."
"Do you have siblings? So, where are you staying around here?" she asked.
He nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the direction of Rockwell as they continued walking down the dimly lit street. "Just over in Rockwell. Small place—enough for one person who works too much." A brief, self-aware smile touched his lips before he glanced at her, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.
"How about you? You live nearby, or are you commuting from farther out?"
"Just there around Greenbelt. I rented a 1-bedroom unit a few months ago. Before, I drove every day from Alabang to here. So, I decided to rent a small unit to save time going to work."
He stopped walking for just a beat, a look of quiet admiration crossing his features before he caught up to her pace. "Smart move. Alabang to Makati every day... that takes patience, I don't think I have."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his tone thoughtful. "Greenbelt's a good area. You ever find yourself missing the space of a house, or is the convenience worth the trade-off?"
"I think it's both. But I still visit my mom and dad in Alabang a few times a month."
He nodded understandingly, a gentle smile touching his lips as they turned a corner, the sound of the river coming into view. "Family's important. Worth the drive."
He paused, glancing over at her with a quiet, considering look. "You're close with your parents, then?"
"Yup, I'm their only child, so I guess it says."
A quiet, knowing smile settled across his face. The streetlamp painted him in warm light as they walked, his voice gentler now. "Only child. That explains it."
A beat, his tone soft but sincere, glancing over at her. "You've got that quiet strength—as you learned early how to carry things on your own." He looked forward again, a small warmth in his voice. "I respect that."
"I guess when you are alone in the room sometimes and there is no one to talk to, you learn how to entertain yourself."
He chuckled. He was quiet for a moment, a thoughtful look passing through his eyes. When he spoke, his voice came softer, as if he were sharing something he hadn't said out loud in a while. "I get that. There's a certain kind of peace in learning how to be alone. But I think... It's better when someone else understands that quiet too."
"I guess so."
He let the quiet settle between them for a few steps, comfortable and unhurried.
When they reached the corner of a small park, she stopped and turned toward him, the warm glow of a nearby post lamp catching the sincerity in his eyes. "We're here."
A brief pause, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he offered her his hand, palm open. "Your little date. Lead the way."
"Never been here before? There's a weekend market right there." She said.
He looked toward the market, stalls still lit with string lights, small groups of people browsing late into the night. He let out a low, appreciative hum, turning back to her with a quiet smile on his lips, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. "Never knew this was here."
He glanced back at the market, then at her, his voice dropping into something warmer: "You've been keeping secrets."
Christine held his hand, pulling him toward the corner where different street food stalls were buzzing. "Come on! Let's get some street food."
He let her pull him through the crowd, a surprised laugh escaping him as they wove between stalls.
When she stopped, he was slightly breathless, but his eyes were bright, fixed on her with undisguised fondness. "You're full of surprises, Christine Javier."
He gestured at the sizzling grill beside them—isaw and BBQ skewers. "Alright. What's your go-to? I'm trusting your judgment here."
"Let's get this Ilocos empanada, they're delish!" She answered.
He followed her lead without hesitation, a soft chuckle escaping him as he took in the stall.
He watched her order, a quiet fondness settling in the way he looked at her as the steam rose between them. "Never tried one."
He accepted the warm empanada from her hand, their fingers brushing briefly. His voice dropped a little, a gentle warmth in the air. "Glad my first is with you."
She bit into her empanada, looking at him and signaling for him to try it. "What do you think?" she asked.
He took a careful bite, the crunch echoing softly between them. His eyes widened slightly as he chewed, a genuine smile crossing his face as he swallowed. "That's... really good."
He took another bite before looking at her, a quiet warmth in his voice, his words carrying a deeper weight than just the empanada. "First rate. You've got good taste, Christine."
Christine chuckled while holding his gaze. "Do you have any allergies? Preferences?"
He finished his empanada, wiping his fingers on a napkin as he chuckled softly, his gaze holding hers with an easy warmth. "None serious. Just—no pineapple on pizza. Deal breaker."
A playful glint flickered in his eyes as he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice just for her. "Other than that, I'm pretty easy to please."
A brief pause, his tone shifting to something softer, more curious. "What about you? Any deal breakers I should know about?"
"Just the parsley thing."
He let out a low, easy laugh, rocking back on his heels as they walked, the empanada wrapper crumpled in his hand. "Parsley. Right. Mental note—etched in stone."
He paused at a bin to toss the wrapper, then turned back to her, his voice carrying a softer weight as he met her gaze again, the market's string lights casting a gentle glow around them. "Good. Means I only have to get one thing right."
They continue to check the stalls.
"Ever have balut before?" she asked.
He stopped walking for a beat, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settled into an amused grin.
He tilted his head, meeting her gaze with a mix of curiosity and playfulness. "You're testing me, aren't you?" A soft laugh escaped him as he rubbed the back of his neck, his voice dropping into something more genuine. "Yeah. Once. In college. A friend dared me."
He paused, a small, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "Let's just say... I survived. You a balut person?"
"Not really, just occasionally." She answered
He let out a relieved breath, his shoulders easing as a playful grin spread across his face, grateful she didn't push for a repeat performance. "Good. I was worried you were about to challenge me to round two right here in the middle of the market."
A pause, his tone quieting as they drifted away from the bustle toward a quieter corner, a soft sincerity slipping through. "But I like that you asked. Means you're seeing if I can hang with the real stuff."
"Wanna try?" Christine looked at him, laughing.
He caught the laughter in her eyes, the playful dare hanging in the air. For a moment, he just looked at her, the market lights catching the warmth in his expression.
Then a slow, amused smile spread across his face, and he took a small step closer, his voice dropping to something half-challenge, half-sincerity. "Are you daring me, Christine?"
A pause, the string lights humming softly above them. "Because if you are—I'll take that dare. But you have to eat the second one with me."
Christine looked at him, her smile fading. "One balut each together?"
He held her gaze as her smile faded into something more serious. The noise of the market seemed to dim around them. He didn't look away, his voice dropping to something quieter, more earnest. "Together?"
A beat passed, the word settling between them like a quiet promise. A gentle smile touched his lips—not playful this time, but sincere. "I'd share anything with you, Christine."
"Ate, dalawang balut!" (Two balut please) she called out.
The vendor gave them two balut. Christine looked at him. "Come on, get your balut."
She started to teach him how to open it properly. "Now put a little bit of salt and vinegar in it."
Then she looked at him. "Ready? Bottoms up together?"
He watched her hands move, the practiced way she handled the balut, and a quiet smile flickered across his face—not at the egg, but at her.
He took the egg she offered, following her lead, cracking the shell with a deliberate gentleness. He sprinkled the salt, added the vinegar, and looked up at her, a flicker of playful courage in his eyes. "Together."
They ate in near-sync—he finished first, swallowing quickly, a mix of triumph and mild shock on his face before he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Okay. I did it. And I didn't even flinch."
He set the shell down, wiping his hands, then met her gaze, his voice softening into something warmer, more real. "You made that easier than I thought it'd be."
"I think you're a pro!" She teased
He chuckled softly, the market sounds fading into a background hum as he held her gaze for just a beat longer than necessary.
A quiet, earnest edge slipped beneath the playful surface. "Not a pro. Just well-motivated."
He glanced down briefly, then back up, his voice settling into something gentler. "Thanks for that. For sharing something real."
Christine looked at him with a happy and gentle smile. "You're welcome! Let's go right there, let's have some drinks!"
He followed her gaze toward the small, lamplit drinking spot tucked between stalls, the sound of laughter and clinking bottles drifting out. A surprised but pleased smile spread across his face as he turned to her, his eyes catching the market lights.
"Drinks and street food in one night? You're really showing me how it's done, aren't you?" He fell into step beside her, his voice dropping to something softer, more sincere as they approached the counter. "I like this. The real side of Makati. Your side."
"What flavor would you get? I get the mango," she offered.
He studied the bottles behind the counter for a moment, his gaze lingering before he turned back to her with an easy, genuine smile while leaning a hip against the counter. "San Mig Light. Basic, I know—but it's what my grandfather and I used to share after bakery shifts."
A brief pause, his voice lowering just slightly as he held her gaze, a quiet sincerity settling between them. "Plus, I have a feeling you'd let me taste your mango anyway." A playful glint flickered in his eyes as he added, softer. "So I win either way."
"Okay, just one San Mig Light," she agreed.
He let out a low chuckle, reaching for the bottle as it was handed over. He removed the cap with a quiet pop, glancing at her as she held her mango drink, the market glow softening his features. "Just one, huh?"
He took a slow sip, letting it settle before meeting her gaze, his voice carrying a playful warmth.
"Careful, Christine. You're already setting limits on our night out." A gentle smile tugged at his lips as he pushed one of the wooden stools toward her, inviting. "Come on. Sit with me."
"I'm just trying to make sure you arrive home safely. So, just one San Mig Light, and I'll let you share my mango juice. Deal?"
He laughed quietly, raising his bottle in a small, playful toast. "Fair enough. Safety first."
He took a sip, then set the bottle down, his gaze softening as he watched her across the small table between them. After a brief silence, he spoke, his voice carrying an unguarded warmth. "I like that you're thinking about me getting home safe."
A pause, the hum of the market filling the space between his next words. "Not a lot of people do that."
"I just don't want to be blamed if your car dives into the Pasig River for drinking too much beer." She chuckle.
He laughed out loud at that, the sound genuine and warm as he set his bottle down, shaking his head with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "That's a very specific fear. Should I be worried you've been planning my route home?"
He took a slow sip, lowering his voice as a playful smile lingered on his lips. "But noted—I'll behave. Your mango juice sounds like a safer bet anyway."
They sat in the corner of the park under the dimly lit acacia tree.
"You enjoying yourself?" She asked.
He leaned back on the bench, arms resting loosely on his knees as he looked up through the leaves, the city's hum distant and muffled here.
He took a slow breath before turning to her, voice unhurried, sincere. "More than I have in a long time."
A pause, his gaze catching hers softly in the low light. "Thanks for tonight, Christine. For sharing this side of the city with me."
"It's my pleasure, Mr. Reyes." She answered.
The corner of his mouth lifted at her teasing, a quiet warmth spreading through his chest as he held her gaze under the filtered light. "Mr. Reyes? We're back to formal now?"
He let the pause stretch just a moment, his voice dropping to something softer, more earnest. "After two dates and a balut, I think you can call me Jeffrey."
"How about Jeff? Then you can call me Chris." She said
A quiet, easy laugh escaped him as he tilted his head, considering the name with a soft smile. "Jeff and Chris."
He repeated it slowly, letting it settle, then met her gaze—the dim light catching a flicker of something warm and certain in his eyes, a gentle sincerity in his voice. "I like that."
"Okay, Jeff." She answered.
The sound of his nickname on her lips, spoken so easily under the acacia tree, caught him off guard.
A quiet, genuine smile spread across his face as he looked at the ground for a moment, then back up at her. "Damn." A breath of a laugh, almost to himself, his voice softer, carrying a weight he didn't intend to reveal so openly.
"That's gonna take some getting used to." He looked at her, the dim light softening the edges of his gaze.
Christine chuckled.
Her chuckle lingered in the air between them, soft and warm against the night hum. He let it settle, watching the way the dim light caught the curve of her smile, and felt something quiet click into place. "You know what I realized tonight?"
A brief pause as he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, voice low and unhurried. "I've spent two years building a career. But this—sitting here with you—might be the best thing I've built in a while." He met her gaze, the honesty plain in his eyes, no rush to fill the silence after.
"I'm glad you're enjoying this moment."
He held her gaze for a beat longer, the quiet of the park settling around them. When he spoke, his voice carried a softer weight, stripped of pretense. "Enjoying is an understatement."
A pause, a gentle honesty in his eyes. "I haven't felt this... present in a while. You've got a way of making things feel real, Christine."
"Why? Does something hold you back?" She asked
He was quiet for a moment, the night breeze rustling the acacia leaves above them. His gaze drifted to the distance before returning to her, softer now, more open. "Before tonight? Yeah. There were things." A pause, his voice lowering. "Nothing dramatic. Just... life. A closed chapter I thought I'd moved on from, but maybe I was keeping busy instead of actually moving forward."
He held her gaze, a quiet sincerity settling in his expression. "But tonight—sitting here with you—feels like I finally turned the page."
"Jeff, I would be honest. Maybe you really don't like me. Maybe you need someone to accompany you. To make you feel you're not alone." She said.
The words hit him like a quiet jolt. He stilled, the night air settling around them as he turned to face her fully, his expression unguarded, sincere. He held her gaze for a long moment before speaking, voice dropping low, stripped of all pretense.
"Christine... I'd be lying if I said I haven't felt lonely. These past few months—yeah, there were nights."
A soft breath, almost a pause, as he searched for the right words. "But I didn't walk across that hallway for weeks just to find company. I walked across it because every time I saw you focused on your work, or laughing at something on your phone, or just—being you—I wanted to know who that was."
He leaned in slightly, voice steady and warm, a quiet conviction threading through each word. "Tonight isn't me filling a gap. It's me choosing you."
Christine stopped, almost shocked by his words. She released a big sigh and turned back to him. "Sorry, Jeff, I don't know how to answer that. I have hesitations I could've just brushed off. I don't think I'm ready to be in a relationship."
He held her gaze for a long moment, the night air humming softly between them. Then a gentle, understanding smile touched his lips—not disappointed, but patient and warm. His voice softened as he spoke.
"Hey." A brief pause, his tone carrying no pressure, only reassurance. "You don't have to have an answer tonight. I didn't ask you out expecting you to have everything figured out."
He leaned back slightly, giving her room, his voice settling into something steady and sincere. "I'm not asking for a label, Christine. I'm just asking for more nights like this—if you'll let me." A pause, his eyes holding hers, gentle but present. "Take all the time you need."
"Thank you for your understanding. Yes, you're right, I'm not ready. But I want to know you more." She answered
The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a quiet warmth as he met her eyes. He nodded slowly, a gentle smile settling on his face, his voice carrying a soft understanding. "More than enough. I can work with that." He lifted his mango juice in a small toast, the dim light catching the earnestness in his eyes. "To know each other. At whatever pace you need."
"By the way, thank you for the dinner." She said. Changing the topic
He looked down at his nearly empty bottle, a soft, reflective smile crossing his face before he met her gaze again, holding it gently. "Thank you for letting me treat you."
A pause, his voice lowering into something quieter, more sincere. "Though I gotta say—the empanada and the mango juice? That part's on you. And it was the best part of the night."
He held her gaze, a quiet warmth settling between them. "So, thank you. For sharing your world with me a little."