Jasmine let the silence stretch between them, her fingers drumming against the desk as she processed everything. Her heart hammered against her ribs—part excitement, part terror.
"You will, in time."
She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her voice.
"I'm not the one pulling the strings here. Be patient with me. There has been some progress, though."
A smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
"He finally asked for my number. I've been checking my phone every five minutes, waiting for him to call or send a message."
She painted the scene for Courtney—every detail, every glance, every word.
Static crackled through the line, fragmenting Courtney's response into digital noise.
"Why didn't you get his number?"
Courtney's voice came through clearer now, sharp with sisterly concern.
"That way you could follow up. What if he never calls? What if he doesn't come back to Pragatoscal Blueview Hotel?"
Even through the screen, Jasmine could picture Courtney flipping her glossy hair over her shoulder—that unconscious gesture she made whether she was at a gala or lounging at home. Courtney dressed to kill even for video calls.
Jasmine's knuckles whitened around her pen. Her other hand found her pendant, that familiar weight against her chest, and she leaned back in her office chair until the leather creaked.
"I'm positive he'll call."
But even as she said it, her voice wavered.
"If I'd asked for his number, I would have looked desperate. And I believe in our chemistry—I felt it, Court. This will prove he wants me too. That I'm not alone in this... whatever this is. Fantasy or reality."
Doubt slithered through her thoughts like smoke. Was she fooling herself? Had she nailed herself to a cross of her own making, sacrificing her pride for a love that might not even exist?
"I should have gotten his number." Her voice came out thin and squeaky, betraying her. She knew Courtney was right. The concern that had been a pebble in her shoe now felt like a boulder crushing her chest.
"Instead of fantasizing and lying to myself."
"Alright, alright. I hear you, babe." Courtney's tone softened.
"You're new to this game of cat and mouse."
'Cat and mouse?' Jasmine filed the phrase away, her mind already spinning.
"As far as I can tell, you're in love. Wow."
Courtney's grin was audible.
"I'll be cheering for you from the sidelines. Listen, I have to run. Love you."
Jasmine tried to read between the lines, searching for judgment or approval in her friend's tone.
"Love you more. Take care. I'll visit soon, I promise."
"Wait!"
The sudden shout made Jasmine jerk the earpiece away, her eardrum ringing.
"There's a fashion show in town. Come with me—you won't regret it. I know fashion isn't your thing, but it'll distract you from obsessing over Delvin. Which is exactly what you need right now."
Before Jasmine could form a response, Courtney had already pivoted.
"What does your father think about him? Does he even know?"
"I—I..." Jasmine's tongue felt thick, useless.
"Meet me at Fashion Dior Ponte. I'll send you the link."
The line went dead before Jasmine could protest.
Back at Grandma Beatrice's house, the meal had settled into a comfortable rhythm. The aroma of roasted herbs and warm bread still hung in the air, mixing with the vanilla notes of burning candles.
"Delvin, what kind of wine do you prefer?"
Grandma Beatrice asked, genuine curiosity lighting her eyes.
Delvin didn't dance around the truth.
"Honestly? I don't know much about wine. I've never tasted it before."
His admission hung in the air without shame. Everyone at the table understood—luxury was a ghost from another era, something their grandparents spoke of in hushed, reverent tones.
"Would you like to try some?"
Grandma Beatrice's invitation was warm, her smile encouraging.
'I thought you'd never ask,' Delvin thought, his pulse quickening. But his pride wrestled with his desire, whispering warnings.
'Don't seem too eager. You're revealing too much.'
"Absolutely. I'd love to."
The words escaped before his caution could stop them.
Grandma Beatrice's smile deepened. She rose with practiced grace, chose a bottle, and worked the cork free with a soft pop that seemed to punctuate the moment.
The wine glugged into four glasses, deep crimson catching the candlelight. She passed them around, each person receiving their glass like a sacred offering.
"George, would you like to say something?"
George cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Th-thank you, Delvin, for being an honest, h-hardworking friend."
His stutter made each word more earnest.
"We're gathered here to celebrate your achievement. M-may you prosper at ZamCorp Base One and bring glory to yourself and your friends."
He lifted his glass, hand trembling slightly.
"A toast to Delvin!"
"To Delvin!"
The chorus rang out, voices blending.
They sipped. Laughter bubbled up, filling the spaces between words.
Delvin took his second sip, letting the liquid roll across his tongue. The taste was subtle, complex—unlike anything he'd experienced.
Flavors he couldn't name danced across his palate, followed by a slight grittiness and a tart finish that made his mouth water.
Every eye turned to him. The weight of their attention pressed against his skin.
"How is it?"
Grandma Beatrice broke the expectant silence, voicing the question on everyone's mind.
Delvin took his time, savoring both the wine and the moment.
"It's incredible. Perfect, actually. I don't have the words to describe it properly."
Understanding passed between them—they'd all been where he was, tasting something precious for the first time.
"How much does a bottle like this cost?"
Grandma Beatrice's eyes sparkled with something between pride and melancholy.
"Six thousand coins. In twenty-first century terms, that's six thousand dollars. These are among the last bottles in existence—the prices climb every year. We bought these ten years ago. They've probably doubled in value by now."
She paused, her gaze distant.
"The vineyards are gone. The sources of wine production have dried up because most of the vines are dead. Maybe if the rains returned, some could sprout again from dormant roots. But for now..."
She gestured to the bottle.
"We have to cherish every moment. Life is short—just like it was for the grapevines."
Her words settled over the room like a blanket. Even after she stopped speaking, her voice seemed to echo off the walls. Everyone sat motionless, absorbing the weight of what she'd said.
"That's why these bottles are reserved for special occasions. Like tonight."
Delvin's brow furrowed. A knot of confusion tightened in his stomach.
'What's so special about me? Why does this moment matter so much? What aren't they telling me?'
"Grandma, why is this moment special?"
The question came out sharper than he intended, edged with suspicion.
He needed to understand. Something lurked beneath the surface of this dinner, something they weren't saying outright.
Grandma Beatrice's smile broadened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. The others leaned forward, breath held, waiting for her response.
"Young man, every moment is special—or rather, we must treat them as if they are. Tonight we're celebrating your achievement, yes. We know we should have welcomed you into this family sooner, and we apologize for that. But everything happens for a reason. Perhaps all the delays, all the waiting, led us to this exact moment."
Her words carried the weight of lived wisdom, each syllable deliberate.
Silence filled the house like water filling a glass. Then Grandma Beatrice rose, dividing the remaining wine equally among the four glasses.
The atmosphere remained buoyant despite the heavy conversation. Grandma Beatrice crossed to the stereo system, her movements still graceful despite her years, and soft music began to drift through the room—something jazzy and warm. Conversation resumed, now underscored by melody.
Grandma Beatrice settled back into her seat, unable to resist the gossip opportunity before her.
A new employee at ZamCorp Base One sitting at her table? Her friends would never let her hear the end of it if she didn't get the details.
"Have you started work yet?"
She'd been holding that question back all evening.
The wine had loosened something in Delvin. Warmth spread through his chest and limbs, a pleasant dizziness that made the edges of everything softer, kinder. His heart felt light, unburdened.
Happiness—pure and uncomplicated—flooded through him in a way he'd never experienced.
The sensation was intoxicating. He wanted to bottle this feeling, to keep it forever. The whole world felt within reach.
"Yes, we had an introduction yesterday. It went well. Monday is my first full working day."
He paused, weighing his next words. The wine made him bold.
"ZamCorp Base One lives up to its reputation. The place is massive—so many levels and departments. I'm assigned to the engineering department, but I've decided to start with the creators and innovators instead."
He registered their expressions shifting—surprise, concern.
"According to the rules, I'm not supposed to do that. But I have an idea that could revolutionize our defense system, give us a real advantage if we're ever attacked. I'm risking my entire career before it even starts."
His voice grew stronger, more certain.
"But I believe in my abilities. I just hope the creators and innovators will understand my vision instead of dismissing it."
A heavy pause followed his confession.
"Wow."
Grandma Beatrice's voice dropped, serious now.
"That's a big risk, Delvin. Are you sure you're ready for that kind of responsibility?"