No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

The situation was undeniably awkward, but Ernest seemed totally unfazed.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

"Mr. Wagner, one moment," Ernest said, his demeanor as relaxed as ever as he helped me to the couch.

Instead of leaving immediately, he leisurely fetched a cloth to clean my hands. "Take your time eating. The chicken soup is hot. Don't rush."

Dustin lingered at the doorway, embodying the epitome of awkwardness, not quite fitting in but also not finding it easy to leave. It made me feel uneasy.

"Okay, I can manage on my own," I hinted, hoping Ernest would catch on that he should go see what Dustin wanted.

Before leaving, Ernest opened all the food containers and unwrapped the utensils, laying them out before me.

Ernest's actions were a silent battle cry. Poor Dustin was forced to witness the drama of someone doting on his girlfriend, leaving him to grapple with his feelings for me.

"Mr. Wagner, you want to speak with me?" Ernest approached the door, addressing Dustin.

Whatever Dustin and Ernest discussed remained a mystery to me.

Ernest came back after three minutes, and his expression was as unreadable as always. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked while eating the soup, "What did Dustin want?" "Nothing important," Ernest replied dismissively before adding, "He's trying to scout me."

That took me by surprise. "To go where? The Wagner Group?"

But Dustin was only a director. Typically, headhunting was a task for HR or the big bosses, right? Could it be that he was preparing to take over from Conrad? If so, what was the meaning behind his words earlier? Was he probing me or preparing me for something?

"He didn't say where and just asked if I was interested," Ernest said, taking a seat.

I absentmindedly stirred the soup. "What did you say?"

"I'm not considering it," Ernest said, his response direct and unequivocal.

I couldn't help but laugh at his straightforwardness. "What?" he looked at me.

"I'm laughing at how straightforward you are. It's cute," I complimented Ernest. Ernest's ears turned a shade of pink. "You don't compliment a man like that." "How should I, then?" I asked, amused. "Is it wrong to call you cute?"

Ernest cleared his throat. "It's fine for you, not for others."

I paused, understanding his implication.

As he passed me a cornbread, our fingers briefly touched. "Ernest, you're possessive, huh?"

He caught my drift. "Yeah, but only with you."

He had a way with romantic words.

I took a bite of the cornbread. It was moist and slightly sweet, delicious, but it couldn't match the taste of my mom's. They said no two rivers were the same, and with my mom gone, I'd never taste her cornbread again.

"Is it good?" Ernest asked.

I nodded, trying not to let my mood rub off on him.

After finishing the meal and chatting with the tragedy of my parents' passing.

felt recovered f

"Ernest, let's go home," I suggested.

He looked at me, concerned. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine. Plus, I don't like staying here," I said childishly.

"Okay, we'll leave after we eat," he agreed, indulging me.

I smiled again, and he reminded me, "Don't laugh while eating. You might choke."

"Oh, so we shouldn't talk either?" I teased.

"In principle," his answer reminded me of his military background.