Chapter 7: Rejected

With shaking legs, I walked up to Devon's door and finally summoned the courage to knock.

He opened the door, sizing me up, and inquired about my purpose.

I stuttered and stumbled, failing to articulate my thoughts. He leaned against the door, arms folded, quietly observing me without interruption.

Finally, I bit my lip and managed to say, "Devon, I actually... can..."

He furrowed his brow, then let out a soft chuckle. "Want to thank me?" My head felt heavy, and I could only manage a slow nod.

He reached for my shoulder, but I instinctively dodged, causing his hand to retract.

I felt a sudden surge of self-reproach.

"Aria," he whispered, "look at me."

I raised my eyes, and he continued, "I don't want to make this difficult for you. Come back to me when you've thought about it."

A rebellious streak in me prompted me to hold on a little longer. "Actually, I can do it."

Instead of continuing the conversation, he advised, "Don't go barefoot. Go back and put your shoes on so you don't catch a cold."

Ruffling my disheveled hair, he bent down and gently kissed my forehead before saying, "Good night."

With that, he closed the door behind him.

I stood frozen in the doorway for a few moments before returning to my room, feeling my face flush and burn. Burying my face in the pillow, I lamented losing my chance, being rejected instead of accepted.

The next morning, I woke up early and found Devon already awake, nestled on the couch, engrossed in his iPad.

When he noticed that I was awake, he sat up and inquired, "Why are you up so early? Isn't the whole point of a vacation to catch up on sleep?"

"It's difficult to sleep when you're wide awake," I replied, still feeling a bit awkward about yesterday's events, although it seemed to have left no impact on him.

Upon reflection, I realized he probably had encountered too many similar situations to be fazed, and I pondered how many other villas like this one he owned, each possibly housing a different woman.

"Go grab a bowl of noodles, and I'll take you out for lunch," he suggested.

I scratched my head in embarrassment and admitted, "I'm not much of a cook."

He glanced up at me, frozen for a moment, and then smiled. "I'm not asking you to cook. I'll handle it."

I was surprised to learn that "Devon," whom everyone admired, could actually cook. And the food turned out to be quite delicious.

Feeling a bit awkward about the silence at the table, I decided to casually ask, "Why haven't you seen Balley lately?"

He looked up at me and inquired, "Why do you call him Balley?" Confused, I responded, "Isn't his name Balley?"

He continued, "Didn't he mention that everyone else calls him Balley?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the idea of "Balley." "Don't you think calling him Balley sounds like a curse? I feel awkward, so I call him Balley."

He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized me for a moment, as if assessing whether I was being truthful. I pressed on, "What's the matter? Is there something wrong with calling him Balley?"

He said, "Well, it's fine. You can call him whatever you like."

Feeling uncertain, I awkwardly continued the conversation, "Balley is quite amusing. Drivers seem grumpy these days, and it's so dull sitting in the car."

"Understood," he replied.

Just then, my phone rang, a message from Vernon: Happy New Year.

I smiled and replied, "Happy New Year."