Unexpected Reunion

As Jack stepped into the Marbo Lofts, the evening cityscape cast golden hues across the pristine lobby. He took in the quiet luxury—polished marble floors, ambient lighting, and the faint scent of something expensive lingering in the air.

He approached the reception desk, adjusting the watch in his hand as the receptionist, greeted him with a practiced smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Vales. How can I assist you?"

Jack leaned against the counter casually. "Do you offer personal chef services?"

The receptionist nodded without hesitation. "That can be arranged. But as of no in house chef ready, you would've to wait till tomorrow, would you like me to arrange a temporary for tonight ?"

Jack exhaled. "Yeah. Make it happen."

"Understood. Expect someone shortly."

"Alright. Thanks." With that, he turned, making his way toward the elevator.

___________________________

Jack had just settled into the penthouse when the intercom chimed softly.

The screen on the wall flickered to life, displaying a live feed of the visitor standing at his door.

He blinked, doing a double-take. "You've got to be kidding me."

Jack walked over, pressing the unlock button. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and in stepped a familiar figure, carrying a sleek black culinary bag.

Arielle.

The same woman who had served him at Belle Époque Bistro. The same sharp eyes, the same effortlessly confident stance.

She grinned, shifting the bag onto the counter. "Well, well. Looks like I wasn't wrong calling you Mr. Big Shot after all."

Jack chuckled lightly. "Arielle. I thought you were a waiter?"

She smiled, unzipping the bag and pulling out a chef's knife with practiced ease. "You're not wrong, but you're not exactly right either." She glanced at him, amusement in her eyes. "Can't have too many side hustles. And besides tuition at CUTA won't exactly pay itself."

Jack leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "So, what? You freelance as a chef?"

She unwrapped a bundle of fresh herbs, her movements fluid and precise. "Let's just say you learn a thing or two working in a place like Belle Époque."

Jack arched a brow. "And now, here you are. Cooking for me."

Arielle met his gaze, smirking slightly. "I don't cook for just anyone, Vales."

Jack tilted his head slightly. "Guess I should feel honored, then."

"Damn right you should." She turned back to the counter, pulling out a cutting board. "So, what are we working with? You got preferences, or am I making magic with what's in your fridge?"

Jack exhaled, pushing off the counter. "Surprise me."

Arielle rolled her eyes. "You rich types and your vague answers."

"And what makes you so sure I'm rich?" Jack replied with a smirk.

She gestured at the penthouse around them. "Oh, please. This place screams I have way too much money and no idea what to do with it."

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Fair point."

Arielle set to work, the rhythmic sound of chopping filling the space. Jack watched her move with practiced efficiency, his mind turning over the sheer coincidence of it all.

Or maybe… it wasn't a coincidence. Didn't matter.

I'll just go through the motions.

For now, he was just a guy, standing in his overpriced penthouse, watching an acquaintance cook him a meal.

And that—felt normal.

The soft clatter of utensils and the quiet hum of the stovetop filled the penthouse, the only sounds breaking the silence.

Jack leaned against the marble counter, watching as Arielle moved effortlessly through the kitchen.

She glanced up, catching his stare, she snapped her fingers twice. "Hey. What's on your mind?"

Jack blinked, shaking off his thoughts. "Nothing."

Arielle arched a brow, amused. "Nothing?" Approaching the counter she leaned forward slightly, her smirk widening. "You sure? You looked completely lost in my beauty."

Jack chuckled, tilting his head. "Hard not to be."

Arielle smiled. "Well, dinner is almost done." She disappeared into the kitchen, dishing the food before carrying it to the dining area."

Soon the aroma of garlic, seared meat, and fresh herbs filled the penthouse, blending with the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air. The lighting was dim but warm, casting a soft glow over the sleek dining table.

Jack pulled out a chair, nodding toward the opposite seat. "You should eat too."

Arielle smirked, already setting down two plates. "Then I suppose I'll grace you with my presence." She slid into the chair effortlessly, pouring herself a glass of wine from the bottle Jack had opened earlier.

Jack glanced down at his plate—pan-seared steak, perfectly crisped at the edges, resting atop a bed of herbed risotto. The sauce drizzled over it was rich and velvety, pooling at the base in an artful swirl.

He raised a brow. "Gotta admit, this looks professional."

Arielle took a sip of wine, leaning back in her chair. "What, you thought I'd show up and slap together a sandwich?"

Jack smirked, picking up his fork. "Didn't know what to expect, honestly."

He took a bite, the flavors hitting his tongue with a perfect balance of richness and depth. He chewed slowly, nodding in approval before swallowing. "Damn. I should hire you full-time."

Arielle grinned. "Tempting. But I prefer to keep my options open."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Of course you do."

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the occasional clink of silverware filling the space. The meal was undeniably good—better than most high-end restaurants he'd been to.

Arielle set her fork down, tilting her head slightly. "Alright. What's your story?"

Jack glanced up. "My story?"

She swirled her wine glass absently. "Yeah. Well you showed up at Belle Époque one night, then disappear, and now you're here, living like a damn CEO. What's your deal, Jack?"

Jack tapped his fingers against the table. "Nothing much really. Just… life took a weird turn."

Arielle smirked. "Weird enough to land you in a penthouse?"

Jack exhaled. "Let's just say, I got unlucky."

Arielle pursed her lips, studying him for a moment, a look of questioning in her eyes. But she didn't ask. Instead, she picked up her wine glass again, raising it slightly.

"To weird turns, then."

Jack lifted his glass in return, the clink of crystal echoing softly in the penthouse. "And unexpected reunions."

The night settled into something unexpectedly comfortable. The wine was nearly finished, the plates pushed aside. The quiet hum of the AC unit filled the penthouse.

Jack leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink. "Gotta hand it you, Arielle… this was probably the best damn meal I've had in a while."

Arielle smiled, setting her glass down. "Told you. I don't cook for just anyone, Jack."

Jack chuckled, stretching his arms. "Yeah, yeah. Next time, I'll actually give you a real challenge."

She arched a brow. "Next time?"

Jack met her gaze, smiling. "If you're free, and up for it."

Arielle rolled her eyes but smiled. "We'll see about that."

She stood, picking up the plates and wine glass before heading into the kitchen. Moments later, she gathered her things, moving with the same practiced ease.

As the doors slid open, Arielle turned to him, one hand resting on her culinary bag. "You know, Jack…I enjoyed tonight."

Jack leaned in close, smirking. "It doesn't have to end with this you know."

Arielle lowered her head, blushing slightly before lightly pushing Jack away with a roll of her eyes, and walked into the elevator. "Keep dreaming, Jack."

With that, she stepped into the elevator, giving him one last glance before the doors closed.

As the elevator doors slid shut, Jack shook his head lightly. He turned, heading for his bedroom. The night had been unexpected—but not unwelcome.