14 DAYS OF VALENTINE

Part 2: To meet with my beau...

Outside my window, the scene was captivating. A man stood in the neighboring compound, gripping the electric lawnmower as if it were an extension of himself. With each determined push, his muscles undulated powerfully, reminiscent of tumultuous waves in a stormy sea.

As he mowed the lawn with graceful ease, Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe" began to play in my mind.

The song's lively beat and infectious chorus seemed to echo the vibrant energy and allure of the man at work.

His well-defined muscles contrasted strikingly with his sun-kissed skin, conjuring images of a decadent chocolate cake laced with caramel—so tempting, it made me question whether my recent dream had been a premonition of his arrival.

Sweat beaded on his brow, tracing a glistening path down his neck, his chest taking on a honeyed glow.

The sight stirred a sense of elation within me, like uncovering a polished gem of warm, earthy tones.

His physique was the epitome of strength and perfection. I longed for the security of his embrace, to be enveloped in his powerful arms.

Mesmerized, I watched as he paused to hydrate, his biceps flexing as he lifted a water bottle to his lips.

My gaze fixated on his full, thin lips encircling the bottle, his Adam's apple moving with each swallow.

I found myself envying the water.

Suddenly, he stopped, and I caught my breath. Time slowed as his searching eyes met mine, locking us in a moment of intense connection.

The depth in his gaze reflected the curiosity and intrigue that swelled within me.

In that instant, I discovered it was indeed possible to forget how to breathe.

My gaze was locked onto his, and try as I might, I couldn't look away.

His intense stare seemed to pierce through me, making me feel vulnerable, as if he had the power to peer into the depths of my soul and uncover the secrets I'd long concealed.I was ensnared.

In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the friends I had momentarily forgotten, nor the embarrassment of being caught in a blatant stare.

My senses seemed to dissolve, leaving me rooted to the spot, utterly captivated by the sight before me. The rest of the world blurred into insignificance as I was consumed by the beauty of the moment, my eyes refusing to break away.

Fortunately, my friends were more present-minded and acted swiftly, pulling me down so we were all crouching. A semblance of sense returned to me. I harboured a faint hope that he hadn't seen us, but that hope was dashed in an instant by a heart-wrenching clatter in the room.

I should mention that we were peeking through the kitchen window. When my friends yanked me down, I inadvertently sent a cascade of utensils tumbling, now clamouring for attention.

I shut my eyes, unwilling to confront the disapproving looks from my friends. And of all things, it was a sufuria—a cooking pan—that had fallen. It didn't merely fall; it bounced, composing its own cacophonous melody as it rolled agonizingly across the floor, punctuating the silence.

A flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks as I hesitantly opened my eyes to survey the chaos in the kitchen and the glaring faces of my friends. I was certain that the commotion had alerted all the neighbours, including the man next door.

"Sorry," I managed to whisper, my hands instinctively covering my ears.

...

"Who is that guy? So hot!" Lizzy exclaimed, fanning herself theatrically before collapsing onto the couch with a dreamy sigh.