12 - Do you believe in destiny?

***POV ISABELA***

I turn off the ignition key, listening to the sound of the car engine shutting off. I grab my bag from the passenger seat beside me and exit the car, closing the driver's door. I put the key in my bag and looked ahead to where my daughter was standing with her new friend. I smile at them as they run towards me.

"Hi Mom," Isis says, hugging me tightly. I return the hug, slightly awkward due to our bags.

"Hi, daughter." I step back from the hug, analyzing her face. I missed her so much. "Do you want to put your bag in the car?"

"Yes, please."

I retrieve the key from my bag again, unlock the alarm, and open the back door. My daughter tosses her bag onto the seat, and I close the door, locking the alarm once more.

"Don't throw your things like that," I reprimand, putting the key back in my bag.

"Sorry," she says, biting her lip and looking at her friend, who's standing nearby. "This is the friend I told you about."

"Hi, you're lovely!" I approach the girl and give her a brief hug.

"Thank you, auntie. Can I call you that?" she asks tentatively.

"Of course you can," I reassured her and looked at the large house in front of us.

"You're both so beautiful; you look like sisters!"

"Thank you, dear." I smiled kindly.

"Let's go inside!" my daughter's friend says excitedly.

(...)

This is a joke!

I'm starting to believe in its destiny because, in my head, it doesn't make sense to have so many encounters. I walk out onto the street and run into him. Impossible!

A thousand times, no.

I watch the girls laugh about something and smile, seeing my daughter so happy. She's been down because of the separation, but I'm glad this friendship is doing her good.

"I told you it was destiny." I hear his husky voice speaking softly. I press my lips together, looking around to make sure nobody's paying attention to us. I turn my face to him, and he's smiling. I'll never get tired of saying how perfect this man's smile is.

"Do you believe in destiny?"

I ask, adjusting in the uncomfortable chair. He always makes me feel this way...

"I believe everything happens for a reason. People change so you can learn to let go; things go wrong so you can appreciate them when they're right; and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together. I met you for a reason; our encounters happened for some reason."

My eyes wander over his face as he speaks; he seems sincere, as he always does when we talk. His eyes are looking at me with the intensity only he has; I can't look away.

I run my tongue over my lips, moistening them, and alternate my gaze between his blue eyes and his mouth. I'm speechless and reactionless; he makes me feel this way.

I feel like a silly little girl around him, and I shouldn't feel this way. I'm 35 years old, the mother of a teenager, and he's young, damn it, much younger than me...

"Sorry for the delay." Eleanor's voice interrupts Noah's mother. "I got caught up inside," she concludes as she approaches the table where we are in the garden.

With great difficulty, I manage to divert my eyes from him and look at his mother, who is now accompanied by a man.

I stand up, adjust my dress, and extend my right hand towards the man.

"Hi, I'm Isabela, Isis's mother."

The serious man analyzes me thoroughly and looks me up and down. I confess I felt embarrassed, but I tried to disguise it.

"Oliver," the man says, extending his hand and shaking mine. He looks me in the eyes, and I feel a shiver with the way he looks at me.

"Father," I hear Noah's voice, and I pull my hand with some force since the man kept holding it.

I take a step back, lean back in my chair, cross my legs and look at my daughter, who is now showing her friend something on her cell phone.

I take a deep breath.

"Maria made a wonderful carrot cake," says Eleanor, sitting down in the chair next to me, crossing her legs and placing her hands on them. "She's bringing it here."

"I think it's time for me to go," I say, looking at my daughter.

At that moment, all eyes turned to me, and I don't know why his gaze was making me so disoriented, especially his eyes fixed on me.

"Why, Mom?" my daughter asks sadly.

"Stay a little longer. Don't make a undone of Maria's cake," said Oliver, leaving his son behind and approaching the table. He pulled out the chair in front of me and sat down.

I swallowed my saliva with difficulty.

"Stay a little longer," Eleanor asked, smiling.

"Okay."

That was the only thing I replied to. The man in front of me made me uncomfortable, but not in a good way. I don't know why his gaze was bothering me so much. He didn't even try to hide it!

Noah sat in the chair next to me and crossed his arms, staring at his father. He seemed nervous somehow.

"You don't seem like a mother. How old are you?" the man asked, breaking the silence.

"35, I became a mother early," I replied, lifting my gaze to the man who nodded, smiling and looking at my mouth. Disgusting!

"I did too; I got pregnant with Noah when I was 25. But I don't regret it!"

"I don't regret it, either. My daughter is everything to me." I smile, looking at her.

"I imagine you're married?" he asked, serving himself with a glass of juice.

"No," I replied, attracting all curious glances from the table. "I just got divorced."

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry," Eleanor said with regret.

"Do not feel. I think it was the best decision I've made in years," I'm sincere.

When I realized the man was still going to ask me more questions, I grabbed my glass, which still had a little juice, and took a big sip without giving him a chance to ask anything else.

"What do you do for a living?" the man asks another question as soon as I put my glass back on the table. I hold back the urge to roll my eyes and squirm in the uncomfortable chair.

"Why so many questions?" Noah asks with his husky voice, but he seems annoyed. Since his father joined us, he's been like this.

I stared at the man beside me, giving him a thankful look for cutting the questions.

"Excuse me," a woman said, placing a tray with the cake on the table. She must be the housekeeper.

"Thank you," I said before she turned around and went back inside the house.

Eleanor stood up and cut the cake, handing me a plate. She did the same for the other people present here.

"It's delicious," I said, tasting the chocolate flavor on my lips.

"I told you Maria makes the best sweets..." Mel declares with her mouth full of chocolate. We laugh.

"Why didn't you go to training today?" Oliver asks, staring at his son.

“I've already told you that I don't owe you any satisfaction,” he replied rudely. 

“Don't talk to your father like that, son,” Eleanor said calmly.

I lowered my head, looking at my plate. What a situation...

“I hope that little woman you were with is no longer a problem for us,” the man said in a loud voice. 

I swallowed. 

Noah shifted in his chair uncomfortably and was ready to confront his father. 

On impulse and wanting to avoid a possible fight in front of me under the table, I put my hand on his thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. He sighed and looked at me. I gave him a half-smile and continued stroking his leg until I felt him relax. 

“I've already told you and I'll tell you again. I'll take care of my personal life. And the next time you address her like that, I won't answer for myself!”

The table fell silent, but Noah and his father were in a silent fight over their eyes. 

“Are you in love?” Now it's Eleanor's turn to ask.