He nodded, his wide, doe-like eyes darting nervously around the room. I remembered his name from Alexa's student roster. She had mentioned him once, noting his difficult upbringing. Orphaned at a young age, he had been raised by his grandparents and had worked tirelessly to excel in his studies despite the odds.
When Alexa walked into the living room, Nathan froze. His gaze dropped to the floor, his hands twisting anxiously in his lap.
"Mrs. Colby," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alexa barely spared him a glance. Her focus was on me, as it always was—or so I'd thought. She crossed the room and slipped her hand into mine.
"Darling," she said softly, her eyes filled with warmth, "you shouldn't go out in such weather. You'll catch a cold."
Nathan sat stiffly on the couch, his gaze flitting toward us. For a brief moment, his expression shifted—an almost imperceptible flicker of longing. But I dismissed it at the time, brushing it off as admiration for Alexa's kindness.
Now, those fleeting glances, the subtle tension in his posture, took on an entirely different meaning.
How blind I had been.