Across The Hallway

CHAPTER 8

— PEEKING THE PEAK —

His breath catches for a split second at the sudden contact. He looks down at their joined hands, then back up at her, a quiet wonder in his eyes. "Okay."

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, then leads her forward, matching her pace, his thumb tracing a slow, absent-minded circle on her skin as they walk. "This way," he murmurs, guiding her down a cobblestone path lined with small, warm lanterns.

The restaurant is tucked away from the main road, intimate and quiet. They are led to a candlelit table by the window overlooking the darkening lake.

He pulls out her chair before settling across from her. Across the table, the candlelight flickers in his eyes. He quietly savors the sight of her, framed by the window and the last traces of twilight.

"I've pictured this. Many times. But the reality is better."

Christine smiles at him, holding his gaze. "Let's order?"

He reaches for the menu, but his eyes linger on her a moment longer before he looks down. "Yeah. Let's."

He flips it open, then glances up with a small, playful smile. "But I'm ordering for us. Trust me on this."

"Okay... Just make sure no parsley!" She chuckles.

He lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as he sets the menu aside. "Noted. No parsley."

He signals the server and orders in quick, confident Tagalog, punctuated by a clear "walang parsley, please," which earns him a knowing smile from the waiter.

When the server leaves, he leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. "You know, that's the kind of detail I want to remember. The things you don't like, the things that make you laugh, the way you take your coffee." A quiet beat. "I'm building a whole list."

Christine gazes at him. "Thank you for making a list just for me."

The words hang between them as the steam from their bowls of rice rises, mingling with the cool evening air.

He watches her, letting the quiet settle, then speaks, his voice low, as if sharing a secret. "You're not just 'part' of it, Christine. You're becoming the whole list."

A brief, genuine smile touches his lips just as the waiter sets down their bulalo. He picks up his spoon, an invitation. "Now, let's see if this lives up to the view."

The meal unfolds with an easy rhythm, punctuated by shared spoonfuls and quiet laughter as he dramatically winces at the soup's heat.

They talk about everything—her first business mishap, his most ridiculous client meeting.

As the plates are starting to clear, he rests his arms on the table, his voice soft. "You know, I've had a lot of dinners in a lot of places. Business dinners, client dinners, family dinners. This is the first one I don't want to end."

He glances out at the now-dark lake, stars beginning to scatter across the sky. "But if it has to... I'd take the drive back to hear you talk a little longer."

"Just eat the bulalo while the broth is hot," she teases.

A surprised laugh escapes him as he picks up his spoon, shaking his head affectionately. "Right. Bossing me around already. I like it."

He dips his spoon into the steaming broth and blows on it carefully before taking a sip. "Okay, okay," he says, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation.

"You were right. This is incredible. Thanks for the reminder. I forget to enjoy things sometimes."

Just then, the waiter arrives with a plate of sisig.

"Oh, by the way, I ordered sisig too," she says.

His eyebrows lift in pleasant surprise, a broader smile spreading across his face. "You ordered sisig?" He looks at the sizzling plate, then back at her, genuinely delighted. "Christine Javier. Full of surprises."

He picks up a fork, already reaching for a piece. "You know, this might be the best date I've ever been on." He says it lightly, but his eyes hold hers a beat longer, letting the truth settle in the space between them.

Christine mixes the sisig and puts some on his plate. He watches her as she does it, his fork momentarily forgotten. When she's done, he looks at her, the candlelight catching the softness in his expression. "You know what I love most about this? You're not trying to impress me. You're just... being you. And that's the woman I want to keep having dinner with."

"I mean, why should I impress? I don't need that. I let people judge me for what I really am, not for what I want them to see."

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Something shifts in his expression, a deeper layer of recognition surfacing. He sets his fork down slowly, giving her words the weight they deserve. "That's rare. Most people spend their whole lives trying to be who they think others want them to be. And here you are, just... being." He lets a faint, earnest smile come through. "That's why I can't look away, Christine. You're real."

"Hey! I'm real, I'm not a ghost," she jokes, chuckling.

A laugh catches him off guard, rich and warm as he shakes his head. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. But I'm glad you can joke about it. Means you're comfortable."

A beat of quiet settles between them. He reaches for a piece of sisig, not breaking her gaze. "Stay real with me, Christine. That's all I'll ever ask."

"Okay, Jeff! I will"

He gives a small, satisfied nod, then picks up his fork and takes a bite of the sisig. He sighs in appreciation. "Okay. This is good. Almost as good as the company." He winks, then returns his attention to the food.

Suddenly, Jeffrey's phone buzzes—a text message from his mom: "Hey son, Amanda and I talked. She is going through a really rough patch, anak. You know her heart. Can you check up on her?"

He glances at his phone, reads the message, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He sets the phone face-down on the table, his eyes closing briefly before he looks at Christine with a carefully neutral expression. "Sorry. Work thing."

He says it smoothly, but there's a shadow of a pause. He reaches for his glass of water, taking a slow sip, then offers her a warm look. "Where were we?"

Christine notices the shift in his face. "You okay?"

He holds her gaze for a beat, the question catching him off guard. He sets his glass down, his fingers drumming once against the table before he answers, his voice measured. "Yeah. Just... family thing. Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

He pushes his phone further to the side, deliberately keeping his back to it. "Tonight's yours. And I plan on keeping it that way."

She looks at him, a little concerned. "I can drive us back to Makati... maybe you're tired."

He looks at her, and for a second, the professional mask slips, revealing a flicker of vulnerability. He considers the offer, then shakes his head slowly. "No. I'm not tired. And I don't want this night to end early because of a message. I want to stay right here. With you. But if you want to go, we'll go."

"I'm okay staying for a while. But if you want to go home, let's go back together."

The tension in his shoulders eases at her words. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, his hand finally bridging the gap to rest lightly over hers on the table. "Then we stay. Thank you. For not making me choose between tonight and that."

"Stay in here? Until when?" she asked

He lets the question hang, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on her knuckles. He glances out the window at the stars scattered above the dark lake, then back at her, his voice soft and sure. "Until the stars start to fade. Until they kick us out. Or until you tell me you've had enough of me."

Christine chuckles.

Her laughter does something to him. His eyes soften, the last of the tension melting from his frame as he watches her. "There it is. That's my favorite sound of the night. I'd stay through a hundred awkward family texts to hear it again."

"Okay... that's enough. Finish your food," she said

A boyish grin spreads across his face as he obediently picks up his fork. "Yes, ma'am." He takes a bite, chewing with exaggerated thoughtfulness, then points the fork at her. "You know, I think I like this side of you. The one who tells me what to do." He winks, then digs back into the sisig, the easy warmth returning.

Christine sits there, chin in her hand, watching him eat. He catches her watching midway through a bite and pauses, a slight flush creeping up his neck.

He finishes chewing, wiping his mouth with a napkin before meeting her gaze with a softer expression. "Now who's making a memory?" He sets his fork down, leaning back, letting her look her fill. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

Her face grins. "I'm just making you finish the food."

A slow, warm smile spreads across his face as he picks his fork back up. His eyes stay on her, amused and completely at ease. "Then I guess I'd better not waste it." He takes a final bite, then wipes his hands and leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "But after this, I'm taking you for a walk by the lake. If you're up for it."

"I'm actually planning it as well," she answered

A quiet, genuine smile crosses his face. He sets his napkin aside, the finality in the gesture feeling almost ceremonial. "Then we're on the same page. Let's go find that view."

"We can't see the sunset anymore, it's pitch dark. But we can walk and talk," she answered

He takes her hand gently, his fingers lacing with hers as they step out into the cool night air.

Scattered lanterns dimly light the path, the sound of distant crickets filling the space around them. "A walk and a talk sound perfect. Some things are better without a view anyway. Like this."

Christine glances at him. "This is the peace I want. Walking in silence... with... with you."

He walks a few steps in silence, letting the words settle. When he speaks, his voice is low, careful, like he's handling something fragile. "I've been chasing peace my whole life. In blueprints, in deals, in quiet evenings alone. Turns out I was looking for the wrong things. It was you. It's always been you."

They continue to walk in peace, Christine feeling the warmth in the cool air. He matches her pace, their footsteps falling into a natural rhythm against the cobblestones. He stays quiet, but his thumb moves gently across her hand, tracing small, unhurried patterns.

After a long stretch, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think I've ever felt this still before. Thank you. For this."

They stop at a viewing deck. Christine turns to him, fully face-to-face. She places both hands on his cheeks and looks into his eyes in silence. She can feel the proximity to him—the sound of the crickets and the cool breeze feel like an embrace, as if she is in a fantasy.

She slowly moves until her forehead is resting against his. She moves a little closer until their noses are touching and their lips are centimeters away, where she can feel his warm breath.

Suddenly, it feels like she is back to reality. She slowly removes her hands from his cheeks and looks away. "Sorry."

The world narrows to the space between them. For a heartbeat, he lets himself feel every sensation—her hands on his skin, her breath against his lips. When she pulls away and looks down, a quiet ache settles in his chest.

He doesn't close the distance she left open. After a moment, his voice comes, low and gentle: "Hey." He waits for her to meet his eyes. "You don't ever have to apologize for that."

Christine feels her vision narrowing again, focusing on him only. She closes her eyes and gives him a gentle kiss. The kiss is soft and brief, but it carries a world of meaning.

When she pulls back, he doesn't move, his eyes still closed for a long, suspended moment. When he finally opens them, they are darker, softer, holding her gaze with quiet wonder.

He lifts a hand slowly, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering near her jaw. "That was worth waiting for."

Christine stays standing in front of him. She can feel his heartbeat without even touching his chest. She gazes at him again and smiles. "My first kiss."

His expression shifts, a deeper understanding dawning. He looks at her with a reverence he can't quite put into words. "Then I'm honored. To be your first. To be the one you chose."

He lifts his other hand, cupping her face gently between both palms, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones with a featherlight touch. "Thank you for trusting me with that, Christine."

He holds her face for a long, quiet moment, his forehead resting against hers once more. His eyes search hers in the dim starlight, his voice a low murmur. "I'm not going to rush you. I'm not going to push. But I want you to know—tonight, right here, with you... This is the first time in a long time I've felt like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

He slowly lowers his hands, letting them find hers instead, fingers intertwining. "Let's make the walk back last a little longer."

Christine can feel his words—sincere and warm. She looks back at him and gives him another kiss. This time, it is longer and more passionate.

He melts into the kiss, his hands finding her waist, pulling her gently closer. It is unhurried, deep—a conversation without words.

When they finally break apart, his forehead rests against hers, his breath coming a little quicker. "That one," he whispers, his voice thick, "That one I'll remember forever."

He pulls back just enough to look at her, a vulnerable, open smile on his face. "I think I'm falling for you, Christine."

"Me too, Jeffrey." She gives him an embrace, resting her cheeks on his chest. They stay like that for a long time, no words spoken.

He wraps his arms around her, holding her close, his chin resting gently on the top of her head.

He breathes in the scent of her, the cool night air, the lingering warmth of the moment. They stand there, two figures against the starlit lake, the world shrinking to the rhythm of their shared heartbeat.

After a long, perfect silence, he murmurs into her hair, his voice low and full of quiet wonder. "Let's go home."

"Let's go!" she answered

He steps back just enough to take her hand, threading his fingers through hers. He gives a gentle tug, guiding her back toward the path, a quiet, content smile on his face.

"Together."

"Together."

He squeezes her hand gently, a simple reassurance as they walk back to the car, the night air cool and fresh around them. "I like the sound of that."