Cecilia's resolve faltered.

She offered a gentle shove, chiding, "Flattery isn't your best tactic."

Her eyes, still tinged with red, betrayed her emotions as she added, "I don't want to rush things between us."

Their maturity precluded the need for explicit statements. He understood her hesitation to physically rekindle their relationship prematurely. Respecting her boundaries, he caressed her dark tresses, his smile acknowledging her sentiments.

Mark was a proficient cook, preparing a meal that included her favorites.

Cecilia indulged heartily.

Post-dinner, a twinge of regret surfaced. She patted her slightly protruding belly, lamenting, “Extra pounds don't translate well on camera."

In response, Mark brewed a cup of fruit tea, offering it with a reassurance, "This is a one-time indulgence. I'll prepare a salad for you tomorrow."

"You understand me well," Cecilia acknowledged, sipping her tea.

The ambiance was comforting, the warm yellow lighting complementing the cool, air-conditioned interior of the tastefully adorned house.

Contentment seemed a natural consequence, and Cecilia was not immune.

Both harbored desires to bridge the distance between them, to compensate for lost time.

Yet, three years of silence, coupled with significant age disparities and differing social circles, had erected barriers.

Their sole mutual interest appeared to be their discussions about children.

After a brief exchange, Cecilia's smile waned.

In a subdued tone, she requested, “When you see Miss Holt next, could you apologize on my behalf? I wasn't at my best earlier."

“It's on me," Mark interjected, playfully pinching Cecilia's cheek.

“I'll extend your apologies."

An ensuing silence enveloped Mark and Cecilia, their gazes locked.

In the past, their connection was primarily physical, a fervent urgency underpinning their interactions, leaving little room for verbal communication. Now, a palpable estrangement lingered.