The Writer's Love Affair

Episode 7: The Visitor

Episode 7: The Visitor

"Good evening, Miss Quinn." His voice was cold, demeanor stiff and hard to read.

The ability to speak abandoned her.

He was standing in the empty hallway watching her intently. It was like he was being extra observant of the reaction she would give to him spontaneously showing up here.

Her eyes took in all of him in detail, looking like a model in a black suit with a navy blue dress shirt on the inside which stood out like his eyes.

The goody bag in his hand was held awkwardly as he realized she really was sick.

Suddenly she was conscious of the fact that she was wearing sweatpants, un-showered with untamed hair while he was looking like he just came off the runway.

"So you are sick," he acknowledged out loud. "I'm here to check the credibility of the contents in your emails."

"You came here to check if I was lying?" She sputtered in disbelief.

And here she was thinking she had trust issues.

"Can I come in?" He asked boldly, and she couldn't do anything but nod even though the woman really didn't want him to. It was like having the enemy invade her territory—with her permission.

Christopher remained elusive as he entered her apartment. She could practically see his eyes taking in every detail of her place as he walked inside; almost like a robot inputting data. As if he was suddenly aware of her confused and very unsettled expression, his hand outstretched towards her.

She looked down at the brown paper bag in his hand.

"It's soup," he revealed and her brows raised curiously.

"I thought you said you came to check if I was sick or not. What if I had been lying?" She turned away from him as the sensation to sneeze overcame her, and as her face scrunched up awaiting it...nothing came.

Her eyes rolled at the disappointing build up.

He thought it was directed at him.

"I didn't want to come empty-handed regardless." Was his only dry response.

She nodded before accepting his gift. "Well, thanks. I was just about to make some of this before you came so I guess you saved me the trouble."

Politeness always won her over even though all she wanted to do in the moment was grab him by the collar and scream in his face.

Ask him why the hell he would show up at her door with soup, making her heart waver towards him again.

This was a trait she possibly hated the most about a person—indecisiveness.

It seemed Christopher Wells was an expert when it came to it and that riled her up in ways she couldn't vocalize.

"You're welcome," he murmured before indicating to their surroundings. "You have a nice place. It seems a bit too big for the residence of one individual however."

"I don't live alone," she journeyed over to the kitchen, unaware of his eyes boring holes in the back of her head.

"You don't?" His voice sounded strained and her eyes found him instantly.

The look on his face gave nothing away as he watched her place the container of soup in the microwave for three minutes.

As it started she leaned against the counter, placing her hand beneath her chin. Her eyes took him in, intentionally not answering his question, just staring.