Chapter 2 Pretty Faced Boy

• Cece’s POV
• "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice firmer than I felt. I hated that I was following a man I’d just met, but something about him made me stay.
• "Across the street. There’s a pizza place that’s tolerable," he said, glancing at me with a grin that could disarm anyone. "I’ll treat you to a slice and lend you my ear. You look like you could use both."
• I blinked. "Do I really look that desperate?"
• "Not desperate," he said smoothly, holding the hospital door open for me. "Just a woman carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Let me lighten it for an hour."
• I hesitated, then let him lead the way. "An hour," I muttered. "You’re awfully persistent for someone I just met."
• "Persistent is just another word for charming," he shot back, his British accent rolling off his tongue like honey.
• We crossed the street in silence, though I could feel his eyes on me every so often. The warmth of his gaze unsettled me, as if he could see past the mask I wore for everyone else.
• The pizza place was quiet, the faint hum of conversations and the smell of cheese and tomato sauce filling the air. He held the door open for me again, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. "After you."
• "You’ve got the chivalry act down," I said, stepping inside.
• "It’s not an act," he replied, following me in. "I’m just naturally this good."
• I shook my head, a reluctant smile forming. "Good. Right."
• He scanned the room. "Corner booth," he said, gesturing. "Best spot for people-watching and privacy."
• "Impressive," I said, sliding into the booth. "You’ve clearly spent way too much time in places like this."
• "Food is the universal cure for just about everything," he said, sitting across from me. "Heartbreak, exhaustion, existential dread—you name it."
• The waitress arrived with menus, but I barely looked. "Chicken pie pizza and a Coke," I said, handing mine back.
• "Barbeque beef and a Sprite," he added.
• When the waitress left, he leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "So, are you going to tell me what’s got you so upset, or are we going to pretend this is just a casual dinner?"
• I picked at the corner of a napkin, my defenses rising. "Do you always pry into strangers’ lives?"
• "Only the intriguing ones."
• The words caught me off guard, and I glanced up to find him watching me, his brown eyes warm and inviting. For a moment, I felt like I could actually talk to him.
• "My mom," I said finally. "She’s dying."
• His expression softened, and he sat back, giving me space. "I’m sorry. That’s… not something anyone should have to go through."
• "Yeah, well," I said, my voice trembling. "Life doesn’t exactly wait for you to be ready, does it?"
• The pizza arrived, and for a few moments, we focused on eating. It was easier than talking.
• "What about you?" I asked eventually, desperate to steer the conversation away from my pain. "What were you doing at the hospital?"
• "Board meeting," he said casually.
• "Board meeting?" I raised an eyebrow. "You’re a doctor?"
• "Not quite," he said, laughing softly. "I’m a stakeholder. Occasionally, they drag me in to make decisions I pretend to care about."
• I snorted. "Wow, you really know how to sell yourself."
• Talking to him felt so natural, I had never connected with a person like that before. It felt like we knew each other and were friends before today.
• "I’m a man of many talents," he replied, his voice playful. "But enough about me. What can I do to make you smile?"
• "You’re already feeding me. That’s a start."
• He tilted his head, studying me. "And for the main course?"
• I hesitated, the weight of the day pressing down on me again. "Unless you’ve got a cure for cancer in your back pocket, I don’t think you can help."
• His smile faded, and he leaned forward again. "I lost my grandfather to cancer earlier this year. He was my biggest cheerleader. Losing him felt like losing my anchor."
• I stared at him, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his voice. "How did you get through it?"
• "Not easily," he admitted. "But I learned to focus on the moments we had, not the ones we missed. Sometimes, letting go is the kindest thing you can do for someone you love."
• The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. I ducked my head, embarrassed.
• "Hey," he said gently, passing me a napkin. "It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time."
• I took the napkin, wiping my eyes. "You don’t even know me. Why are you being so nice?"
• He smiled again, that devastatingly charming grin. "Because I can tell you’re worth it."
• For the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed—soft and shaky, but real.
• "Thank you," I said quietly.
• "Anytime," he replied, and for a moment, I believed him.
• Lunch went so well. I have always been uptight because of my profession. People tend to judge without knowing my story. I have gone past the stage of being ashamed, I have accepted that judgment will always come from people but this man didn’t and it felt good for a change.
• Maybe because he had no idea who I was. It felt good to talk to someone who could relate and understand my pain. He sure did lighten my mood like he promised earlier and filled my belly. A win-win situation for me.
• He was also my spec but I had no idea if he was taken or not. Surely, A man that successful and good-looking could not possibly be single. It broke my heart a little.
• I suddenly felt ashamed of myself. My mom was dying and I was wondering about the relationship status of this kind-hearted stranger. I should focus on enjoying the rest of my limited with him before heading back to the doll house.