Chapter 3: Mall Gossip and a ‘Baby’

This—my face stayed calm but inside I was shocked.

My pulse raced. I stared at Derek, searching for any hint of his old reserve. Had something shifted between us?

—This move is way out of bounds!

I tried to act casual, but my mind was spinning. Had I crossed some line, or had he?

“You said it was for me, why take it back?”

Derek’s casual tone made me wonder if I’d grabbed the wrong fork, and made me seriously wonder if I was overreacting.

He shrugged, as if sharing food was no big deal. I blinked, processing the new reality.

It’s just feeding my friend a piece of meat, why should my heart be racing—pathetic!

I chided myself, telling my brain to quit acting like this was a rom-com. Still, I couldn’t help the way my hands shook as I reached for my own food.

To cover my nervousness, I tried to say something, but my brain short-circuited and blurted out: “Look at you, saying no but your body is honest...”

The words spilled out before I could stop them. “Your mouth says no, but your fork says yes,” would’ve been smarter—too late now.

“Cough cough cough!”

Seeing Derek suddenly cough hard, his handsome face visibly red, I realized I’d just said something outrageous. A nearby diner glanced over, and somewhere behind us a fork clattered.

But words once spoken can’t be taken back.

I tried to laugh it off, but the awkwardness hung between us like a fog. Sometimes, I wished I could just rewind a few seconds and edit myself.

So for the rest of the meal, I channeled my embarrassment into eating, burying myself in food.

I demolished a plate of mashed potatoes, focusing on the flavors rather than the disaster that was my mouth. Derek stayed quiet, occasionally shooting me a side-eye.

As expected, I overate.

I’d always been bad at pacing myself at buffets—my plate stacked high, my stomach protesting. My waistband dug in, a hiccup snuck out, and my chair gave an ominous creak as I leaned back, groaning, wishing I’d worn sweatpants instead of jeans.

Strangely, Derek, who usually eats only until he’s eighty percent full, also overate. But he handled it much better—probably just needed a walk to digest.

He finished his meal with the grace of a marathon runner, barely breaking a sweat. I envied his self-control, but secretly enjoyed seeing him let loose, just a little.

I was so stuffed I could barely move, so I sat in my chair, pitifully watching Derek get ready to leave.

He stood, stretching his arms above his head. I slumped, silently begging for someone to roll me out the door.

“Get up,” Derek sighed, reaching out his hand, “I’ll help you walk.”

He offered his hand like a gentleman from a Jane Austen novel. “I’m not a cane,” he muttered dryly, but he didn’t pull away when I grabbed it.

Since he offered, I wasn’t about to be polite. I took his hand and then clung to his whole arm, almost hanging off him.

I latched on, dramatic as ever, milking the moment for all it was worth. He was awkward but consenting, and if anyone had been watching, they’d have thought we were on some kind of adorable first date.

When I overeat, I always hang onto Caleb, letting him drag me home.

It was tradition—eat too much, cling to my brother until I could walk again. Caleb always groaned, but never really minded.

But Derek probably wasn’t used to physical contact with women, so he stiffened, “Let go, don’t... hold so tight.”

He tried to sound annoyed, but I could tell he was flustered. His ears turned pink, and I almost laughed.

I glared weakly at him: “You make it sound like I’m taking advantage of you. Right now, you’re just a walking human wall to me!”

I slumped against him, acting as pitiful as possible. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t shake me off.

Derek: “...”

He had no comeback, so he just led me toward the exit, muttering under his breath.

Dragged by Derek, we wandered around the mall several times before my stomach felt better.

We made lazy loops past the fountain, under AMC movie posters, through Sephora’s perfume cloud, and by the sweet smell of Auntie Anne’s pretzels. I clung to Derek like a lost puppy, finally starting to feel human again.

“See if you dare to overeat again!” Derek scolded, face stern.

He sounded just like my dad—stern but caring, secretly amused by my antics.

I patted my stomach, pretending to be serious: “Maybe I starved to death in my last life.”

I tried to look thoughtful, as if pondering some deep existential mystery. Derek snorted, unconvinced.

Derek clearly disagreed, opened his mouth to lecture me, but someone called his name first.

A clear voice interrupted, and both of us turned toward the sound.

I turned and saw it was a friendly-looking auntie.

She wore a pastel cardigan, a little church choir pin on the lapel, and sensible shoes, her smile warm enough to melt ice. A coupon booklet peeked from her tote. She carried a shopping bag full of gift cards, clearly a pro at the art of mall deals.

“Hello, Aunt Lisa,” Derek greeted her, then explained quietly to me, “She’s my mom’s good friend.”

He leaned in, his voice low. Aunt Lisa beamed, giving me a once-over, as if sizing up my suitability as a future daughter-in-law.

I nodded, smiling as I greeted her: “Hello, Aunt Lisa.”

I put on my best "polite niece" face, hoping to make a good impression. Aunt Lisa smiled back, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“Yes, yes,” Aunt Lisa replied, her gaze sweeping over the two of us before settling on Derek, “I thought your back looked like you, but wasn’t sure, glad I didn’t embarrass myself.”

She laughed, the sound light and familiar. I felt like I’d been admitted to some secret club of neighborhood women who know everyone’s business.

“Are you here alone, Aunt Lisa?” Derek asked.

He sounded genuinely interested, the kind of polite son any mother would brag about.

“Yes, I wanted your mom to come with me, but she said she’s too lazy to move. Now she’ll regret it.”

Aunt Lisa chuckled, shaking her head. I imagined Derek’s mom lounging at home, probably catching up on her soaps.

After speaking, Aunt Lisa looked at me with kind eyes.

There was a warmth in her gaze, a little mischief. I felt like she was sizing up my entire life story in two seconds flat.

I could tell she was hinting at something, so I nudged Derek, hoping he’d clarify our relationship.

I gave him a pointed look, silently pleading for backup. He just smiled, as if enjoying my discomfort.

But Derek glanced at me and said nothing.

He kept his mouth shut, a tiny smirk on his lips. I felt a wave of panic—was he going to let her think we were a couple?

His hesitation didn’t matter, because the next second, Aunt Lisa’s words stunned us both.

She leaned in conspiratorially, dropping her voice like she was revealing state secrets.

“Derek,” Aunt Lisa said, like an experienced elder, “When a girl is pregnant, her temper can be strange. Whatever happens, you need to be more tolerant. You can’t keep a stern face like before. Honestly, even I was a bit scared.”

She said it so matter-of-fact, I almost choked on my own breath. Derek’s face went slack, and I felt my jaw drop.

If our slightly intimate posture earlier had led Aunt Lisa to misunderstand, I could accept it, but how did it become pregnancy?!

I stared at my stomach, suddenly conscious of how bloated I felt—and of Aunt Lisa’s eyes flicking to my a-little-too-rounded belly. The misunderstanding was epic—a sitcom-level disaster.

Derek and I exchanged glances, both seeing confusion and shock in each other’s eyes.

We looked at each other, telepathically screaming "fix this, now!" But words failed us both.

After a while, Derek reacted first, thoughtfully staring at my round belly. When he looked, I immediately understood—it was all a misunderstanding caused by my overeating.

I clapped a hand to my face, mortified. Why did I have to eat like a linebacker today?

“No, it’s not...” I blushed, hurrying to explain.

I fumbled for words, cheeks burning. Aunt Lisa watched, clearly enjoying the drama.

Not only did Derek not help clarify, he suddenly put his arm around my waist, pulling me into his embrace, and accepted it: “Okay, I understand, thank you Aunt Lisa.”

He played along—cheeky and protective at once—clearly trying to save me from a public back-and-forth. He squeezed my side like we were the happy couple everyone wanted us to be. I shot him a glare, but he just winked.

“?!”

I stood frozen, mind racing. Was this his idea of a joke? Or did he just want to mess with me?

Even after Aunt Lisa walked away, I was still in shock, staring wide-eyed at Derek, not understanding his sudden behavior.

He looked at me, eyes dancing with mischief. I wanted to smack him, but mostly I wanted to melt into the floor.

Derek didn’t explain, just winked at me with a mischievous and triumphant smile.

He looked so proud of himself, like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank of the decade. My heart fluttered, despite my annoyance.

Clearly childish, but irresistibly charming.

I tried to glare, but ended up laughing. He had that effect on me—a little chaos, a lot of heart.

His smile dazzled me, and I suddenly thought, no wonder he doesn’t smile often—if he did, girls would be crazy for him.

I watched the way his lips curled, the way his eyes crinkled, and felt a rush of warmth. If he smiled more, the whole city would probably line up to date him.

And now, this girl—me—is already hopelessly smitten.

My stomach dropped as I realized just how deep my crush had gotten. I was toast, and I knew it.

The worst part is, while my reactions slowed, my senses became incredibly sharp. The spot where Derek held me felt like it was burning, heat spreading all over.

I could feel the imprint of his hand on my waist, my skin tingling like I’d touched a live wire. I bit my lip, trying to play it cool.

The flush that had finally faded from my cheeks flared up again, burning intensely.

My ears were on fire, pulse skittering, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

I’m doomed—at my age, I’m actually being seduced by a boy the same age as my brother.

I sighed, half-amused, half-embarrassed. For the record: I’m 28, he’s 25—close enough to make Caleb freak.

Natalie, you really are something.

I shook my head, mentally scolding myself for being so easy to fluster. At least I hadn’t said anything truly embarrassing—yet.

If it were anyone else hugging me, I wouldn’t react so strongly.

I remembered all those office parties, awkward hugs and handshakes with colleagues. Never once had I felt anything like this.

Take the recent team-building event—when the manager insisted on a three-legged race, I had to pair up with a male colleague, arm in arm, waist to waist, racing to the finish.

It was a full corporate offsite—HR’s icebreaker bingo, branded tees, boxed lunches, and a mile-long feedback survey. He was nice enough, but I felt nothing—just tired and mildly annoyed. No fireworks, no butterflies.

Honestly, apart from feeling tired, I felt no shyness or excitement from being physically close to a man—totally unfazed.

It was just another day, another silly corporate game. If anything, I wished they’d handed out snacks at the finish line.

But now, it’s Derek!

I glanced at him, heart thudding, realizing that he was different. Way different.

My parents only know I’ve never dated, and Caleb jokes my heart is made of stone, saying he’s never seen me excited over anyone.

Mom liked to say I was "immune to boys," and Caleb never missed a chance to call me a robot. But deep down, I knew the truth.

But they don’t know, I’ve had my heart race like a deer before—the first time I met Derek.

I remembered that day so vividly—the rush, the nerves, the instant fascination. It was the kind of moment people write songs about.

Of course, good looks are part of it, but there are plenty of good-looking people. Only he made me feel amazed, only he gave me that struck-to-the-heart feeling.

There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence, the gentle smile. He was the kind of person you notice in a crowd, even when you try not to.

Later I realized, maybe you only know when you meet someone whose eyebrows, eyes, nose, and mouth are exactly your type.

I’d read enough romance novels to know—sometimes, your heart picks for you. Derek checked every box, even the ones I didn’t know I had.

But he’s Caleb’s roommate—we’re three years apart, and I can already imagine Caleb’s reaction if he knew I was crushing on a kid his age.

I pictured Caleb’s face, eyes wide, mouth open in disbelief. He’d tease me for weeks, maybe months, if he ever found out.

Probably something like, “Natalie, are you crazy, or am I crazy, or is the world crazy?”

He’d turn it into a running joke at every family dinner. I’d never live it down.

So this hasty crush was hidden away before it ever really started.

I stuffed my feelings deep down, burying them beneath layers of sarcasm and self-deprecation. Nobody needed to know, especially not Caleb.

Years went by, and I almost forgot about it.

Time healed most wounds, but this one just simmered quietly, waiting for the right moment to reappear.

But after that day at the mall, I couldn’t stop thinking about Derek’s actions and smile, couldn’t focus at work, even lost my appetite.

I found myself daydreaming during meetings, doodling his name in my notebook, replaying every look and touch. Lunch tasted like cardboard, and I skipped dessert for the first time in years.

The feelings I’d tried to ignore resurfaced, and I felt doomed.

I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’d ever get over him. It felt hopeless, but I couldn’t let go.