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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Dedicated to @2506xo for the new cover! And she has been helping me a lot, she is indeed a good friend.

Over the past days that have become weeks, I've grown accustomed to Donald showing up out of nowhere and changing my daily plans.

If I'm to say I never wonder why he is adamant, it would be irony at its best.

"Refill?" Donald asked me as he topped up his wine glass, I declined.

We were having a late night at Donald's house. I was okay with looking at his collection of books on the high shelves in his living room and he was okay with staring at me, smiling from ear to ear.

I was slowly pacing around the shelves wondering whether he read all these and it is very hard to not notice his facial expression from where he sat cross-legged.

I breathed deeply and turned to him "Take a picture, it'll last longer," I said.

Donald laughed but didn't look away, I shook my head and sipped my drink. "Do you read all these?" I inquired.

"If I do?" Donald stood up, walking in slow strides to me.

"I would be surprised and subtly chastise myself," I chuckled. "I've never found reading pleasurable."

"I don't." Donald stopped in front of me.

"Ha!" I couldn't help my laugh. "Why is it here then?"

"My interior designer thought it funny to put such."

"That's highly unprofessional," my face scrunched up.

"A cousin."

"Oh!" I mouthed.

"She said it'll make my home lively and my—lady friend will love it." Donald tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and rubbed my cheek.

I could do nothing but take a sip from my drink. He laughed at me and stepped away. "I'll prepare dinner?" He asked and turned to the kitchen.

"I'll follow behind."

A thing I realized in my many days of entertaining Donald's playful shenanigans is that his mastery of culinary skills is second to none. With such exquisite taste, he put every other's to shame.

I took a seat on the barstool at his kitchen island. Donald sipped his drink and dropped the wine glass across from mine.

"Need any help?" I asked.

"I can work it," he shrugged.

I smiled, sat straight up, and crossed my leg, twirling my drink in hand.

Donald tied a white apron around his torso and started preparing the kitchen. "So—" he started...

"So—?"

"Tell me something about yourself," Donald's back faced me as he worked.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Make conversation?!" He said that like it should be obvious and not asked.

I sighed, "I don't speak about myself with people."

"Ouch!" Donald swung around fast. "And I would have thought myself beyond being referred to as 'people' given such time has passed, I refuse to rot away in the friend zone." He declared.

"Hmm," I chuckled and thought about it... "I don't know, I've never considered the interesting things about myself."

"I can mention many interesting things about you," he said to me. "But no, it doesn't have to be 'interesting'," Donald turned and continued what he was doing. "Anything you don't think someone noticed about you at first glance. Anything unrelated."