RED NOTES AND KISSES-Chapter 40: FRIDA -

The dining room was an extravagant display of elegance, a long mahogany table adorned with crystal centerpieces and fine china that gleamed under the warm glow of the chandelier.

An array of dishes, their tantalizing aromas filling the air, was already set, making Frida’s stomach growl.

Laurel’s arm was linked with hers, pulling her toward the table with practiced ease.

"We should go shopping soon," Laurel chimed, her tone light but brimming with excitement.

Frida suppressed a groan, already imagining the torture awaiting her.

She could see Laurel’s plans clearly: transforming her into a polished Barbie doll or perhaps a Margot Robbie lookalike.

"My hairstylist does wonders," Laurel added, gesturing pointedly at Frida’s messy bun.

Frida offered a tight-lipped smile. "I’m sure."

Laurel wasn’t deterred, batting her long, perfectly curled extensions. "So Friday then? It’s a date?"

Frida hesitated but eventually nodded, knowing there was no use fighting it. Laurel always got what she wanted.

As they stepped into the dining room, the sight of Leo and Danny locked in a passionate kiss at the far end of the room stopped them in their tracks.

The pair quickly broke apart, coughing awkwardly as they scrambled to compose themselves.

"We were just-" Leo started, his face turning crimson. Danny didn’t bother explaining he sat down and drank a glass of water instead.

"Kissing?" Frida interrupted with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she leaned against the doorway.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Leo muttered, rolling his eyes before taking a seat.

Frida bit her lip to stifle a laugh, feeling victorious for catching him off guard.

But just as she moved toward her seat, someone brushed past her.

The faintest contact sent a jolt through her, and the scent he left behind, clean, with a hint of spice, made her head spin.

She didn’t need to look back to know who it was.

Determined not to react, Frida forced herself to walk to her chair.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled it out. That’s when she noticed it, a small red note stuck to the back of the seat.

Her breath caught as her fingers closed around it.

The audacity to send her a red note right now!

"It looks as good as it tastes. You sure you don’t want some?" the note read in bold, scrawled handwriting.

She did want some.

Her stomach flipped. She sat down, moving deliberately casual as she peeled the note off the chair and folded it into her palm.

Discreetly, she slipped it into her pocket, her mind racing with questions.

Frida sat across from Laz, trying her best not to stare. But it was impossible, not when he looked like that.

He’d changed into a clean black long-sleeved shirt, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and chest perfectly.

His damp hair glistened under the warm light, evidence of a recent shower.

He smelled faintly of cedarwood and something subtly spicy, a scent that seemed to envelop her every time he shifted.

The dinner was lively, the table buzzing with laughter as the mothers, Evelyn and Laurel, chatted animatedly, their sons chiming in occasionally.

"Aww, it’s been so long since we’ve had Laz and Frida together at the dinner table," Laurel said with a nostalgic smile, scooping another generous ladle of sauce onto her plate.

Frida forced a tight-lipped smile and nodded, though her appetite was non-existent.

She spent most of the meal staring at her plate, picking at the perfectly arranged food with her fork.

No one else seemed to notice, or at least acknowledge, that she and Laz hadn’t exchanged a word in three years.

The unspoken tension between them felt like a storm cloud hovering over the table, visible only to her.

And now, they had to pretend. Pretend to be friends, pretend to tolerate each other’s presence, for the sake of their mothers.

Her palms were clammy, her heart racing every time his deep voice rumbled across the table.

Please leave soon, she thought desperately. But Laz showed no signs of leaving, his calm demeanor an unshakable contrast to her inner turmoil.

When the silence between them stretched too long, Evelyn cleared her throat and gestured to the masterpiece of a meal Laz had prepared.

The table was adorned with a spread worthy of a Michelin-starred chef.

At the center was a golden-brown roasted chicken, its skin glistening with a perfect herb and garlic butter glaze.

Surrounding it were vibrant sides: roasted baby potatoes seasoned with rosemary and sea salt, caramelized carrots with a hint of honey, and sautéed green beans topped with slivered almonds.

A large bowl of creamy truffle mashed potatoes sat nearby, its aroma wafting temptingly through the room.

The crowning jewel, however, was the homemade red wine reduction sauce Laz had poured delicately over each plate.

The flavors melded harmoniously, each bite a testament to Laz’s surprising culinary skill.

Even the bread rolls, freshly baked and still warm, were perfection, their fluffy centers practically melting in the mouth.

Evelyn took a bite, her face lighting up. "This is divine, Laz! You’ve really outdone yourself."

Laurel beamed with pride. "Didn’t I tell you he’s got magic hands? He can whip up anything."

Frida’s fork hovered mid-air. Magic hands. She glanced at his long fingers, the memory of him swirling frosting earlier flashing unbidden in her mind.

Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away.

Laz caught her flustered expression and smirked. "What’s wrong, Frida? Not hungry?"

Her body burned under the intensity of his gaze.

This was the first time he looked at her, really looked at her and her breath caught in her throat.

The look in his stormy grey eyes made her hot, a flush creeping up her neck.

Did he want her to reply?

But just as quickly, he returned his gaze to his meal, his expression unreadable. She blinked like a lost puppy, struggling to steady herself as her heart pounded.

She bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to react.

This is definitely going to be the longest week of my life.