That night, Grace couldn’t sleep.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the chess games in her head. Every move. Every defeat. And most importantly—his words.
“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”
Her face turned red just thinking about it. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow, groaning softly. Why did he always say things like that? Why couldn’t he just act normal?
Her heart still skipped when she remembered how close he had leaned during the game, watching her every move. She clenched the pillow tighter. It was unfair. Absolutely unfair.
Finally, she sat up, hair messy and lips pressed together.
“I’m not cute,” she whispered to herself, pouting like a child. “He’s blind.”
But even as she said that, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
The next morning, she walked into Samuel’s room with the breakfast tray.
