Secret Crush: From the First Meeting

It was the morning of the second day of Christmas when I was jolted awake by the sound of people chatting and cracking nuts.

Without opening my eyes, I instinctively stretched my legs and let out a yawn from the warmth of my bed.

"Oh, Phoebe is awake!"

That unfamiliar yet familiarly loud voice of an elder immediately dragged me back to reality.

The reality was that my mom had once again invited a bunch of relatives into my room before I was even fully awake.

But something felt off—our usual guest, Mrs. Hansom, wasn't among them.

Ever since I graduated from college, I'd seen her at our house every year after Christmas.

I sometimes suspected my parents had some sort of subscription with her, determined to find me the perfect match.

Could she be managing things remotely this time?

I opened one eye and quickly scanned the room before burying my head back under the covers.

Wait a minute!

I thought—just maybe—I saw a handsome guy sitting at the desk next to my bed.

No way! Could Mrs. Hansom's taste have improved this much?

I stealthily created a small peephole in my blanket to sneak a look.

No, it couldn't be. Judging by Mrs. Hansom's track record with blind dates, there was no way someone this goodlooking would show up.

The guy was sitting sideways, lost in thought. His profile was sharp and clean, with fair skin.

A pair of black halfrimmed glasses rested on his high nose bridge, and a few strands of hair fell across his forehead. Through the glasses, I could see his eyelashes slightly trembling.

It seemed like he had thought of something amusing because his tightlypressed lips curved into a slight smile, softening his otherwise cool demeanor.

His Adam's apple moved slightly, and my heart embarrassingly fluttered.

Wow!

As if sensing my gaze, the handsome guy tilted his head toward my direction, his clear eyes filled with a touch of curiosity.

The familiar, almost sculpted features sent a shock through me.

Wasn't this the same guy, my crush, I'd run into at the grocery store a few days ago?

Even though I quickly retracted his photo from our family group chat, my mischievous younger brother had already saved it and shown it to my parents.

Mrs. Hansom, you heartless woman! To meet your quota, you even included a high school kid?

Honestly, what were kids eating these days? How did they grow so tall, and how was it possible for someone to look even better without a mask? Just one look at those lips, and I know they'd be perfect for kissing.

But alas, I couldn't love you—it was against the law.

Okay, I was wrong.

This wasn't a blind date. It was just a family visit; a distant relative visited my home.

"Phoebe, I'm about to start making soup, but I forgot to buy some pork ribs. Go out and buy two pounds, will you?"

My mom's voice called out from the kitchen as I was preparing some tangerines for the guests.

Out of habit, I shouted back toward the living room.

"Alex—"

"Don't even try it, Mom was calling you!"

I grumbled and dragged my feet, but the next moment, Mom appeared in front of me, holding a spatula like a weapon.

"Get going! Larry brought his bike, so let him take you. You'll be back in a few minutes."

Larry, who was peeling a tangerine on the couch, smiled obediently when he heard his name.

"Sure, Mrs. Steele."

"I'm coming too, if Larry's going!"

Alex, who was absorbed in a game on my phone, suddenly chimed in, raising his hand eagerly. My forehead throbbed—how did middle schoolers bond so easily?

Of course, Mom coolly rejected Alexander's offer.

"Let's go, Phoebe," Larry said, flashing me a sweet smile.

But as soon as we stepped out the door, his demeanor changed into one of indifference.

Hmm, I got it—teenage rebellion, two different personalities.

The elevator door opened, and Larry held out his arm to stop it, gesturing for me to enter first with a nod.

Our reflections in the mirror showed us standing in opposite corners of the elevator, and the atmosphere was a bit awkward.

Larry's tall frame was even more pronounced, despite the oversized black puffer jacket he wore, which only made him look leaner.

His collar was open, revealing just a white tshirt underneath, and his long, pale neck with collarbones.

He had put on a mask again, adding a bit of aloofness to his already cold features, but he still exuded a youthful charm.

If I had met him back in high school, I would've had a crush on him for sure.

"So, Larry, how's your homework going? What's your class ranking this year?" I asked, trying to break the ice after much consideration.

Larry frowned slightly and gave me a brief glance.

"Phoebe, you're at Wessex University, right? The second year of your master's, if I recall."

He drew out the last word with a lazy tone.

"So, what are your plans—government exams or an internship? How's your thesis coming along? What about after graduation? Still no boyfriend, huh—"

"Cut it out!"

I kept smiling on the outside, but in my mind, I was already imagining wringing Larry's neck.

Once outside the apartment complex, I followed Larry's gaze and instinctively sat on the back seat of an electromobile.

"Wrong one."

Just as I sat down, Larry grabbed the back of my collar and lifted me off.

He then led me to a sleek, impressive motorcycle parked nearby.

I pointed at the massive beast, then back at Larry.

"Seriously, kid? Are you guys riding these things now? Do you even know the consequences of riding without a license?"

Larry ignored me and handed me a pink helmet.

Holding the heavy helmet, I felt a headache coming on—why did I have this sudden premonition that I'd die young at twentyfour?

"Don't know how to put it on?"

Larry raised an eyebrow and, after a brief glance at me, took the helmet from my hands.

He leaned down, gently tucking my hair behind my ear before carefully placing the helmet on my head and fastening the buckle.

Larry's eyes were clear, like they held tiny specks of light.

The cool scent of youth surrounded me, and I felt my face inexplicably grow warm.

"Why are you blushing?"

A teasing voice came from above as I felt a flick on my forehead.

Maybe out of consideration for me, Larry didn't drive too fast, but I still couldn't help feeling a bit anxious.

My hands clung tightly to his jacket as I nervously asked, "Does your mom know you ride this thing?"

"Your mom knows, so what do you think?" Larry replied with a shrug.

For some reason, I could never come up with a good response to Larry's comments. Maybe this was what they called a generation gap.

After we successfully packed the pork ribs and were about to check out, I realized my phone had died and I didn't bring any cash.

Alexander must have been too engrossed in playing games on my phone to remember to charge it!

I glanced over at Larry, hoping he could help.

He simply shrugged and said, "Don't look at me, I was in a rush and forgot my phone."

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. I grabbed his left hand and pulled up his sleeve, only to find his wrist bare.

I was completely puzzled.

"Don't you have a smartwatch, the one for kid?"

Now it was Larry's turn to look confused.

"A what?"

As I was scratching my head, wondering what to do, a familiar figure appeared at the next register.

Of course, during the holidays back home, you're either going to run into an ex or an old classmate.

Nelson Thompson, my old classmate, and the guy I had secretly crushed on for three years in high school.

"Phoebe Steele!"

He had just finished paying and was walking toward me with a shopping bag in hand.

I quickly let go of Larry's hand and flashed Nelson a sweet smile, but my smile froze as I noticed someone trailing behind him—a girl I knew all too well.

It was Irene Toland, another high school classmate.

Irene was the girl who led the entire class in ostracizing me shortly after freshman year started, all because they thought my voice was "too innocent," and they accused me of pretending to be something I wasn't.

Even after all these years, my voice hadn't changed, but Irene had transformed from a schoolyard bully to a softspoken, gentle woman.

At this moment, Irene was holding onto Nelson's arm and greeted me with a smile.

"Phoebe, it really is you! Nelson thought he might've been mistaken."

Her smile was warm and friendly, as if we were old friends.

But I couldn't stop the flood of memories from high school that came rushing back.

I remembered how, during our first year, Irene had led a group of girls from other classes to corner me in the dormitory. They had heard rumors that there was a "fake innocent" girl in our class who had all the boys talking to her and even had the teachers favoring her because of her good grades.

So, they wanted to "see for themselves."

They didn't do anything too outrageous—just touched my face, tugged at my hair, mocked my clothes, and mimicked my voice in a sarcastic tone.

But to someone who had just moved away from home and was living at school for the first time, it was terrifying.

I couldn't move, couldn't cry; all I could do was tremble uncontrollably.

Just like now, my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The next moment, a warm, strong hand enveloped mine.

I looked up at Larry in confusion.

His calm eyes met mine as he spoke softly, "Let's head home. Your mom's waiting for us."

"Larry Harrison!"

Before I could respond, Irene's voice cut through the tension.

She gasped in astonishment. "Larry Harrison! Is that really you? From class eleven? You—"

"Are you two going to pay for those ribs or what?"

The cashier's impatient voice rang out behind us.

"Credit," Larry replied coldly, shooting Irene a frosty glance before pulling out his card and completing the transaction.

Then, without another word, he tugged me away from the scene.

The whole way back, my mind was a whirl of thoughts, piecing together Irene's words.

Class eleven... Larry Harrison from class eleven...

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a love letter from class eleven.

I slapped Larry's shoulder in surprise.

"Wait, you're the Larry Harrison from class eleven? The one who was always getting in trouble for fights?"

Larry came to an abrupt stop, causing me to bump into his back.

"Took you long enough to remember, Miss Perfect from class one, always top of the charts."

He chuckled derisively.

My heart sank a little as I nervously asked, "So, does that mean... you wrote me a—"

"Phoebe!"

The elevator doors opened just as Alexander dashed out, whispering urgently, "Code red! Mrs. Hansom's here with another guy.

"He's a doctor this time, pretty handsome, almost on par with Larry."

He sneaked a glance at Larry, who furrowed his brow and looked down at me.

"Phoebe, do the potential sonsinlaw at your place have to compete for the spot or something?"

As soon as I stepped through the door, I saw Jamie Brown. He was my therapist back when I was studying in Miran City, the one I used to visit regularly.

I knew we were from the same hometown, but I never imagined we'd end up being set up for a date.

Jamie was strong and refined, the kind of man who exuded a quiet elegance. In the clinic, he always wore impeccably tailored dark suits, with goldrimmed glasses and neatly styled hair.

Today, though, he was in a simple, solidcolored sweater, making him seem much warmer and approachable.

It suddenly hit me—Larry was still behind me. When he showed up at my house this morning, he had that same scholarly, gentle demeanor. But the moment I realized he was the same high school bully who broke eight ribs in one swift kick, every unpleasant memory from those years came rushing back.

I couldn't figure out how our family was even remotely connected to his.

"Phoebe, this is Jamie. He's a therapist who had his own practice in Miran!"

Mrs. Hansom called out as soon as she saw me, waving me over.

"He's thinking about moving back here, so you two should really get to know each other."

Jamie recognized me, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile as he opened his mouth to greet me. But I quickly shot him a series of exaggerated winks.

"Dr. Brown, nice to meet you," I said, trying to divert any mention of our past connection.

I didn't want my family to know I regularly saw a therapist, or that ever since high school, I'd been suffering from severe insomnia, reliant on specially prescribed medication just to get a few hours of sleep.

Jamie winked back and gave a slight nod, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Steele."

Larry, however, didn't miss our little exchange. He sneered, leaning in close enough that only I could hear him, his voice dripping with mockery as he echoed, "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Steele."

"What's your problem, Larry?" I threatened, raising a fist as if to punch him.

Larry immediately raised the bag with the pork ribs, blocking my view of Jamie.

"And who might this be?" Jamie asked politely.

I was scrambling for an answer when Larry coolly put down the bag, met Jamie's gaze, and introduced himself.

"Larry Harrison, Phoebe's number one date."

He shot me a glance, a hint of resentment in his tone, then raised an eyebrow at Jamie, his expression tinged with a subtle challenge.

"Phoebe, how could you? Your father promised me that today was for Jamie to have dinner and meet the family. How could you schedule someone else—"

Mrs. Hansom's face clouded over with displeasure. Before she could go on, my mom rushed out of the kitchen, trying to smooth things over. "Oh, Larry's just my godson! He's here on behalf of his mother to celebrate Christmas with us."

"God—son?"

I was flabbergasted, as was Larry.

My mom pulled me aside and whispered, "I had no idea your dad planned to introduce Jamie today. He didn't tell me a thing before he left."

"I don't know how your dad told Mrs. Hansom to bring Jamie here today. He didn't tell me before he left."

"Wait, Mom, didn't you say he was just visiting as a family friend?"

She wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes suddenly lighting up.

"You took pictures of him, remember? I knew you'd be shy to date him.

"It's okay. Two dates at once. The odds of success are higher that way."

I could never quite understand how my parents could, on one hand, make me feel so inadequate, and on the other, have such unrealistic expectations.

After pacifying everyone, my mom went back to the kitchen, but not before giving me a meaningful look as she closed the door.

I knew what she meant, but I didn't want to acknowledge it.

Mrs. Hansom received a call and had to leave, leaving just the four of us in the living room. I was squeezed between Larry and Jamie, feeling utterly trapped.

"Well, Mr. Harrison, it seems I'm now number one," Jamie said with a smile, sipping from his glass.

I nearly choked on the tangerine I was eating. Larry, noticing, quickly handed me a glass of water.

"Don't be so sure."

"Pardon?" Jamie blinked, clearly not expecting that response.

Larry clicked his tongue, his tone leisurely.

"You wouldn't understand unless someone had secretly taken photos of you.

"Right, Phoebe?"

This time, I really did choke on my water. I shot up from the couch, waving my hand frantically.

"Mom! I'll help you in the kitchen!"

I thought retreating to the kitchen would save me from the madness, but soon Jamie squeezed his way in, followed closely by Larry. My mom and I just stared in bewilderment as the sliding kitchen door was abruptly shut behind them.

Pressing my temples in frustration, I turned to Alexander, who was sitting innocently on the couch.

"What happened?"

"All I said was that Phoebe finds men who can cook more attractive—"

"And then?"

"And then Dr. Brown mentioned that he cooked a full Christmas dinner just yesterday. Larry responded by saying he once won first place in a cooking competition with his team. Dr. Brown countered that he was invited to be a judge at a cooking contest. And then Larry—"

I exhaled sharply, cutting him off.

"And then?"

"And then I said, 'Really? I don't believe you—'"

My fingers dug into my temples as a thought flashed through my mind. "Stop it, please, just stop fighting!"

My mom's sharp eyes caught sight of the two phones clutched in Alexander's hands, and she immediately scolded him.

"They're guests, and you're pestering them for their phones to play games? Alex, must you force me to discipline you?"

Alexander quickly dropped the phones.

"I didn't! They just gave them to me! I swear—ow, ow, ow!"

After dealing with Alexander, my mom grew increasingly anxious. She couldn't bear the thought of letting our guests cook on their first visit to our home. Several times she tried to reclaim her position as head chef, but each time, the two men gently but firmly pushed her out of the kitchen.

My mom later reported that they both seemed incredibly professional and confident.

Yet, while we anxiously awaited the meal with a mix of dread and anticipation, the kitchen exploded.

Well, more accurately, the pot did, leaving the kitchen in shambles.

Mom managed her emotions well, reassuring them that the pot had been faulty for a long time and was overdue for replacement.

[Pot: Sure, sure, it's all my fault.]

In the end, we had to eat dinner at a restaurant downstairs. During the meal, the family's allegiances became clear with my dad's arrival.

He was thoroughly impressed with Jamie. In his eyes, doctors, lawyers, and teachers were the ideal professions for a soninlaw.

But Larry's current job with the city's criminal investigation team seemed too busy and dangerous to him.

On the other hand, my mom clearly favored Larry. My brother had also somehow become Larry's loyal sidekick without me even knowing.

Stuck in the middle, all I could do was keep my head down and focus on eating.

The dinner was awkward, to say the least. Fortunately, nothing else went wrong, and we made it home without incident. Jamie had to leave early for an appointment, so I walked him downstairs.

"Miss Steele, how's your sleep been? Are you almost out of your medication for this treatment?" he asked quietly.

"Not bad," I replied, though I felt a headache brewing at the thought of the fireworks that had been going off late into the night lately.

But honestly, even without them, I struggled to sleep on my own.

Holding the elevator door, I whispered, "But I'm almost out of meds.

"I was thinking of contacting you, but I didn't expect—"

I glanced at Jamie, suddenly feeling awkward about our current situation.

"Didn't expect me to show up on your doorstep, did you?" he said with a soft laugh.

His expression was as composed as ever.

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, a hand slipped in to stop them.

Larry stepped in, holding my coat in one hand. Without a word, he tossed it onto my head.

"What are you doing—"

"Your mother said it's cold outside and you should wear your coat," he said lazily, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stood on the other side of me.

After seeing Jamie off, Larry snapped his fingers in front of my face, then mounted his motorcycle.

"I've got something to take care of at work, so I'm heading out too," he said, slipping on his helmet and waving goodbye.

"Phoebe, come here. I've got something to tell you."

Reluctantly, I shuffled over. He tilted his head, pinching my cheek between his fingers.

"This time, it's got to be me. Got it?"

He leaned in close, his eyes narrowing, his blue pupils inscrutable.

With his naturally pale skin, the cold wind had turned his nose a slight shade of red, giving his already delicate features an unexpectedly youthful look.

I immediately slapped his hand away and pushed his face back.

"Don't—don't get too close to me."

He froze for a moment, then burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking with amusement.

"Alright, I'll head back now and wait for the good news."

"Larry Harrison! The same Larry Harrison from Class Eleven when we were in high school?"

I knew this was exactly how Lesley would react when I mentioned this to her.

Unlike me, Lesley had firsthand experience with Larry's reputation. While I'd only heard stories about him, she had witnessed him in action, brutally breaking eight of a classmate's ribs with a single kick.

Lesley had been passing by when it happened. The boy who got his ribs broken was someone she knew from middle school, though he wasn't exactly a good person either. In their circle of "troubled kids," right and wrong didn't mean much; they did whatever they pleased based on their whims.

Lesley couldn't fathom how my family ended up connected to someone like Larry, and she was vehemently opposed to it.

"Let's forget about his past. Just look at his face—every strand of his hair has at least eight hundred girlfriends," she warned.

Her words triggered memories of high school rumors about Larry and the queen of another class, Veronica Shaw. They were said to be childhood sweethearts, a perfect match, who had been inseparable since kindergarten.

"They only broke up when Veronica left for college abroad. What does that make her? His first love!"

Lesley's concern was palpable, but I couldn't help but find the whole thing a bit amusing. It felt like we were blowing things out of proportion.

Come on, we'd just met each other for the first time. It wasn't like I was agreeing to marry him or anything. Besides, it was clear to me that Larry and I were from entirely different worlds.

We weren't in the same world back in high school, and we certainly won't be.

7

On the eve of Valentine's Day, I received an invitation from Jamie for dinner.

During our conversation, I learned that Jamie was an only child and that his mother had been in poor health, having undergone surgery this year.

After much consideration, Jamie decided to return to the city to be closer to his family. Naturally, the blind dates were arranged by his parents.

Jamie suggested that we pretend to agree to see each other, as a kind of mutual cooperation.

Remembering the nightmares that Mrs. Hansom's matchmaking had caused me over the past two years, I found myself wavering.

Sensing my hesitation, Jamie asked if I had found someone I was interested in.

For a brief moment, Larry's face flashed in my mind.

Jamie smiled faintly and nodded toward something behind me.

I turned and found myself locking eyes with Larry, who was sitting among a rowdy group of boys, some familiar, some not.

A few of them I recognized as those "troubled kids" from high school—the ones who used to sit in the back row, the ones I never dared approach.

Larry was slouched on the couch, wearing a baseball cap, one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, and the other holding a beer bottle.

His long legs were crossed, and his sharp jawline was visible as he tilted his head back slightly.

He wasn't wearing glasses today, and his clear eyes were fixed on me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.

When our eyes met, Larry blinked slowly and then looked away.

"Alright, Dr. Brown, let's do it your way."

I agreed to Jamie's request, though my mind was still reeling from the intensity of the gaze I had just encountered. I struggled through the rest of the meal, and even after we left the restaurant, I didn't dare look back.

Before leaving, Jamie reached out to pat my head. I instinctively dodged the gesture, which made him pause for a moment before he placed his hand on my head anyway.

"See you tomorrow."

When I got home, I told my parents about Jamie's proposal, emphasizing that we were only going to see how things went. I assured them that if it didn't work out, I would end it, but in the meantime, I hoped they wouldn't set me up with anyone else.

My dad couldn't hide his delight, though my mom looked a bit disappointed. Still, she didn't say much and I knew she would gently relay my wishes to the matchmaker.

Later that night, while struggling with a paper, I received a call from an unknown number.

"Phoebe, you're something else," a low, slurred voice greeted me.

It was Larry. I could tell immediately that he was drunk.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Huh?"

His words didn't make any sense to me, and I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Then stop playing games with me."

Okay, I admitted I was initially attracted to him, but we both agreed to the blind date. If it didn't work out, we'd just move on to the next one. It was not like we were ever serious enough to require any kind of explanation for turning each other down.

"Uh, sorry?"

I cautiously apologized, but he let out a selfmocking laugh on the other end of the line.

He didn't say anything else, and I was too afraid to hang up, suddenly feeling a bit scared.

Yes, I was scared of him. From the moment I realized he was Larry Harrison, all those terrifying memories from high school came flooding back—memories that had kept me awake for countless nights.

Larry's voice softened, almost as if he were talking to a child.

"Phoebe, turn around and look at me, okay?"

I was certain he was drunk, and not just a little drunk—completely wasted, to the point of talking nonsense.

He spoke again, drawing out the last word.

"I'm begging you—"

I quickly hung up, a series of violent crime cases I'd read about online flashing through my mind—crimes of passion committed by men driven mad by unrequited love.

Wait! That was ridiculous. There was no way he was obsessed after meeting me just three times. I was clearly overthinking things, which explained my insomnia.

It took three pills to finally force myself to sleep that night. The next day, I showed up for my date with Jamie, sporting dark circles that no amount of concealer could hide.