HIS POV
The drive after the stop at the restaurant was quieter than I expected. My friends filled the silence from the car ahead with laughter and noise, yet inside my own, all I heard was the steady hum of the engine and my own thoughts, circling like vultures.
Why had I cared?
The waiter's smile should have meant nothing. Just another careless boy behind a counter, trained to flatter customers for tips. But the moment his gaze lingered on Amara, something sharp twisted in me. I'd seen it, the way his words leaned too heavy on her. And though she brushed it off, I couldn't.
Jealous. That was what Damian had mouthed to Luke when they thought I wasn't paying attention.
But I wasn't jealous. Not in the simple sense. I wasn't...I can't be...
I tightened my grip on the wheel. I wasn't supposed to be paying this much attention to her at all. She was just Emily's friend, someone I'd crossed paths with because of class and coincidence. Yet she'd found a way into my head, unsettling a balance I'd carefully built for years.
The memory replayed itself...her saying no to my question in the car, soft but steady. No boyfriend. No one.
And I should've left it at that. But the fact lingered like a secret I wasn't meant to know.
The gravel crunched beneath the tires as we pulled into the driveway of the lodge. Luke's car stopped first, and Damian was out before the engine had even gone quiet, stretching as though he'd escaped prison.
I parked beside them, forcing my mind back into order. Whatever storm was stirring inside me, I couldn't let it show. Not here. Not now.
The place was beautiful in its own way, tall trees ringed the cabin-like house, and the air was clearer, sharper, free from the weight of the city. Emily immediately rushed toward the porch with her phone out, already documenting the weekend. Luke began pulling out bags, muttering about being everyone's servant.
I carried mine with quiet efficiency. Amara came around the car just as I did, her hand brushing the strap of her bag. For half a second, our eyes met. Nothing was said, but the smallest jolt went through me annoying in its persistence.
Inside, the cabin was spacious, though a little worn. Wooden floors, tall windows, and rooms branching off from a narrow hallway. Naturally, everyone scrambled to claim a space.
"Shotgun this one!" Damian shouted, tossing his bag onto a bed like he'd planted a flag.
"Not fair!" Emily protested, already pushing past him toward another.
I didn't care much which room I got, but when I stepped into the hall, I noticed something the room across from mine was empty, Amara's bag resting just inside the doorway. Opposite.
Of all the places she could've chosen.
I ignored the way my pulse reacted and set my own bag down, the sound too loud in the small room.
Later, we gathered in the kitchen, debating dinner. The others suggested ordering takeout, but the signal here was weak, and no one felt like driving back into town.
"We'll starve at this rate," Luke groaned.
Amara spoke up quietly. "We don't have to. There's food here...we could cook something simple."
"Cook?" Damian blinked, as though she'd suggested rocket science.
"Yes," she said, almost shy but steady. "If someone helps, I can manage."
"Manage?" Emily raised a brow. "Don't let her fool you. She's good. Like, really good."
Something shifted in the air. I leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching as Amara rolled up her sleeves and began checking the cupboards. She moved with practiced ease, pulling out ingredients, setting them neatly on the counter.
Her hands were sure, her attention precise. She chopped vegetables swiftly, heated oil, stirred with a rhythm that spoke of habit and comfort.
I hadn't expected this. She wasn't just "managing"...she was in control, transforming a bare kitchen into something alive. The smell filled the space, warm and grounding, drawing even Damian into a grudging silence.
"Wow," Luke muttered, leaning over the pot. "Marry me."
Amara laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sit down before you burn yourself."
But my eyes lingered longer than I meant them to. It wasn't just the food. It was the way she looked...focused, quietly confident, unaware of the way she pulled the room toward her without trying.
And I hated how much I noticed.
Dinner was good. Better than good. Even Damian admitted it through a mouthful of food, which was the highest praise possible from him. Emily beamed proudly, as though Amara's cooking was her personal achievement.
I ate quietly, listening to the laughter and chatter around me. But the thought returned, stubborn and unshaken.
Why her?
Why did her presence shift something in me I couldn't quite name?
Why did I notice the way her hair fell forward when she leaned over the stove, or the small crease in her brow when she tasted the food?
It shouldn't matter. None of it should matter.
And yet, it did.
When the plates were cleared and everyone drifted toward the living room with games and chatter, I lingered a moment longer in the kitchen. My eyes rested on the counter where she had worked, still smelling faintly of spices.
The truth pressed against me like a weight I wasn't ready to acknowledge:
I was noticing her. More than I should.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't sure what that meant...or what it might do to the walls I'd built so carefully around myself.