RED NOTES AND KISSES-Chapter 44: FRIDA -

Frida’s spoon clinked against the bowl, the sound faint but steady in the quiet kitchen.

Her appetite was nonexistent, yet she forced herself to eat, more out of respect for his efforts than hunger.

Every bite felt mechanical, her mind elsewhere, on him, his presence, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin.

He stood at the sink, his back to her, the muscles in his arms flexing as he washed the dishes.

His movements were deliberate, each one calm and precise.

The sunlight filtering through the window highlighted the contours of his body, making him appear almost surreal, like something out of her wildest dreams.

She swallowed hard, her gaze tracing the broad line of his shoulders, the way his damp shirt clung to his back.

A lump formed in her throat as she remembered the way he had lifted her so effortlessly, his arms strong yet gentle. How could someone exude so much strength and tenderness at the same time?

As if sensing her thoughts, he turned, catching her staring. His lips quirked into a soft smile, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Feeling better?" he asked, drying his hands on a dish towel.

Frida nodded, though her heart still raced. "Yeah... I think so."

He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving her time to adjust. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions.

"I’m glad," he said, his voice softer now, almost tender. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face. The simple act sent a shiver down her spine, her skin tingling where he touched her.

Her lips parted, a thousand words on the tip of her tongue, but none of them came out. She wanted to say something, anything, but the intensity of his gaze left her speechless.

"You should take it easy today," he murmured, his hand lingering by her cheek. "No more overdoing it, okay?"

Frida nodded again, her voice betraying her. "Okay."

His thumb grazed her cheekbone in a featherlight caress before he pulled away, leaving her yearning for his touch once more.

She bit her lip, her heart pounding as she watched him step back, the warmth of his presence fading slightly.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked, leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

Yes. You.

The thought startled her, her cheeks flushing. She quickly shook her head, her voice finally returning. "No, I’m good. Thanks for... all this."

He smiled, the gesture small but genuine. "Anytime."

Silence settled between them, comfortable yet charged. Frida toyed with her spoon, her mind racing.

She wanted to ask him why he was here, why he was being so kind after everything. But most of all, she wanted to know if he felt it too, this pull between them, this undeniable connection.

Finally, she worked up the courage to speak. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened, his gaze locking onto hers. For a moment, he didn’t answer, as if weighing his words carefully.

"Because I care," he said simply, his tone sincere.

Her heart skipped a beat, his words hitting her harder than she expected. She opened her mouth to respond, but he closed the distance between them before she could.

He placed a hand on the table beside her, leaning in close. His other hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek once more.

"You mean more to me than you know," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

Frida’s breath hitched, her pulse racing as his words sank in.

She searched his eyes, looking for any trace of doubt, but all she saw was raw honesty and something deeper, something she had longed for but never dared to hope for.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned in, closing the gap between them.

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But as the seconds passed, it deepened, their emotions pouring into the embrace.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her close as his lips moved against hers, slow and deliberate.

Frida’s fingers found their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to him.

The world around them faded, the only thing that mattered being the connection they shared in that moment. Every kiss, every touch, spoke volumes, expressing what words couldn’t.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he admitted, his voice low and husky.

Frida smiled, her cheeks flushed. "Me too."

Their eyes met, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Frida felt at peace. The pounding in her head was gone, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest.

In that moment, she knew, whatever happened next, they would face it together.

"Mmhm." Laurel’s voice cut through the haze like a splash of cold water.

Frida’s head snapped up, her cheeks burning as she realized she’d been caught lost in her thoughts, daydreaming, no less, about Laz, who was still at the sink, obliviously washing dishes.

Laurel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her smirk smug. "We’re going horse riding, remember?"

Frida’s mind scrambled for a coherent response, but before she could muster one, Laurel’s teasing smirk deepened. "Stop ogling certain people and get dressed. Now."

"I wasn’t- !" Frida’s protest came out in a rush, her voice defensive, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her completely.

"Uh-huh," Laurel interrupted with a knowing laugh, grabbing Frida’s hand and tugging her toward the stairs. "I know, I know. Come on, follow me."

Frida groaned inwardly, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. "I wasn’t ogling," she muttered under her breath, her tone half-hearted.

"Sure you weren’t," Laurel teased, shooting her a playful wink over her shoulder as they ascended the stairs.

Frida’s heart still raced, the memory of Laz’s touch and the intensity of her daydream lingering.

As she followed Laurel to get ready, she couldn’t help but steal one last glance at him.

His back was still turned, but his shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, and a faint smile played on his lips as he scrubbed the last of the dishes.

Did he hear? Did he know?

Frida shook her head, pushing the thought away. There was no time to dwell on it now. Horse riding with Laurel awaited, and she needed to get her mind, and her heart, under control.

If only it where that simple.