𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓪

With about twenty minutes to spare, Owen rushed us over to Kristina's.

He walked in, a big smile on his face as he loudly greeted the woman named Clarissa behind the counter, and then the other in the kitchen, María, who was Spanish.

He took a sponge cake from the case and some plastic forks. "I'll make two more later to pay for that," he explained to María who gave him a playful yet nasty look.

We took a seat towards the window, pleasantly warm sunlight resting on my skin. He took the lid and cut a slice, put a fork onto the plate, and then handed it to me.

I looked at him as he eagerly waited for me to try the cake, elbows rested on the table and large hands flat on the woody surface.

I cut into the cake with my fork and slowly raised it to my mouth.

"So," he started, satisfied with my wide eyes as the flavors hit my tongue. "Tell me your story."

I stopped, my fork freezing in mid-air. "Um-I... I don't-"

He interrupted, "you can trust me." He leaned in slightly, as if he was hard of hearing, waiting for me to continue.

I stared at him and swallowed. My skin felt hot. "I... Can't"

"Come on, Clara," he smiled encouragingly, and to my astonishment, he reached across and grabbed my hand. I jerked back so violently the table shook and one of our plates fell out into the aisle and shattered.

My face grew red as individuals at the surrounding tables looked at us.

"I-I-I am sorry," I stuttered widely, putting my hands underneath my thighs and then taking them back out again to hold my arms as if I was cold.

Clarissa came to clean up the mess. I apologized to her, to which she waved off repeatedly.

I looked across to Owen sheepishly, but he just stared at me with that intense gaze of his.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"You're fine."

I couldn't help but notice the way he eyed me - curious, intense, a frown plastered on his face. I don't know why, but that intense gaze scared me.