Mr. Jones' spoiled wife

Celia's breath hitched at Anderson's words, her heart drumming against her ribs like a trapped bird. He made it sound so simple, so effortless—like love was something she could just reach out and take. But could she? After all the pain, after years of building up walls so high, even she sometimes felt trapped behind them.

Yet, as she looked up at him and saw the absolute conviction in his gaze, something inside her wavered. It was terrifying to trust again, but Anderson wasn't just asking for her heart—he was offering his own, completely and without hesitation.

She lowered her head slightly, feeling his arms still wrapped around her, grounding her. "You make it sound like it's easy," she whispered.

"It's not," he admitted. "But nothing worth having ever is."

Celia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "You're persistent."

Anderson chuckled, a warm, rich sound that vibrated against her. "Oh, darling, you have no idea."

A small smile ghosted across her lips before disappearing just as quickly. "I'm still scared," she admitted, the vulnerability slipping through her voice.

His grip on her tightened just slightly, reassuring. "That's okay. I'll be patient. As long as you don't push me away, I'll stay right here."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves from the open balcony doors and the rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat. Celia wasn't sure if she was ready for this, but for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel so alone.

She lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. "One step at a time?"

Anderson smiled, slow and satisfied. "As many as you need."

And for the first time in years, Celia felt a sliver of hope breaking through the darkness.

*****

The next morning, Celia woke to the golden rays of sunlight filtering through her curtains. A newfound sense of calm settled in her chest, different from the tension she usually carried. She stretched, letting her muscles wake up, before turning to glance at her phone. A message from Anderson lit up the screen.

Anderson: Good morning, beautiful. No pressure today, just a reminder that I'm here. Let me know if you'd like to grab coffee. Or if you just want me to sit beside you in silence. Your call.

Celia smiled at the simplicity of his words. He wasn't pushing, just offering. A part of her still hesitated, but another, deeper part was drawn to him. Maybe, just maybe, she could take that first step.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she finally typed a response.

Celia: Coffee sounds nice. Where should we meet?

Almost instantly, her phone buzzed.

Anderson: There's a small café by the park. Quiet, peaceful. I think you'd like it. 10 AM?

She hesitated only for a second before replying.

Celia: Sounds perfect. See you soon.

As she set her phone down, a nervous excitement curled in her stomach. It wasn't much, but it was something—a step toward healing, a step toward Anderson.

And maybe, just maybe, a step toward love.

*****

Celia arrived at the café a few minutes early, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag as she scanned the quaint space. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow over the wooden tables and soft cushions. The scent of fresh coffee and baked goods wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

Anderson was already there, seated near the window, his fingers idly drumming against his mug. When he looked up and spotted her, his smile was instant, warm, and reassuring.

"Hey," he greeted, standing as she approached. "You actually came."

She let out a nervous chuckle. "I did."

He pulled out the chair for her, waiting until she sat before taking his seat again. "I wasn't sure if you'd show."

Celia bit her lip, staring down at the menu. "I almost didn't."

"But you did." His voice was gentle, full of understanding. "And that's enough for today."

A server approached, and Celia quickly ordered a latte, grateful for the brief distraction. When the server left, she found Anderson watching her, his expression unreadable yet soft.

"What?" she asked, shifting in her seat.

"I just like seeing you here," he admitted. "Out in the world. Not running."

Celia swallowed hard. It was such a simple statement, yet it struck a chord deep within her. She had spent so much time running—from her past, her pain, herself. Sitting here, across from Anderson, felt like the first time she wasn't fleeing.

Maybe, just maybe, she was ready to stop.

*****

As their conversation flowed, Celia found herself relaxing. They talked about little things—favorite books, childhood memories, and embarrassing stories that had them both laughing. The warmth between them grew, quiet but steady, as if something fragile was beginning to mend within her.

At one point, Anderson reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. He didn't grip her hand, didn't push, just let the touch linger as if giving her the choice to pull away or hold on.

She hesitated, her heart pounding, but instead of pulling away, she let her fingers rest against his. The smallest step, but a step nonetheless.

Anderson's smile was soft, his thumb tracing the edge of her knuckles. "No rush, Celia," he murmured. "We're just getting started."

She let out a slow breath and nodded. Maybe she wasn't completely healed, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid of trying.