“Mr. Cross,” I said, getting his attention. “What is your favourite colour?” I timidly inquired.

I could not help but feel self-conscious as he scanned his eyes towards me and let out a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me.” I let out a heavy sigh and scolded myself silently.

Ouch! Could we all just take a minute to acknowledge how dumb my question was? I should have known better. But let's be real. What else am I supposed to ask? My thoughts were already driving me crazy, and the car ride was taking way longer than expected.

“I have noticed that when you get embarrassed, your facial expressions are quite amusing,” Mr. Cross informed me.

I had serious mixed feelings about such a statement.

“I am not sure how to feel about that,” I admitted. “Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Oh, it is a good thing. It shows that you have a sense of humour and can laugh at yourself."

“Mr. Cross. I don't like the idea of people finding my embarrassment amusing,” I said. 

I know my words might have come off as a bit rude, but could you blame me? It seemed like people just loved to make jokes at my expense like it was some kind of daily routine for them. So yeah. Your girl could get somewhat defensive.

“I understand where you are coming from but trust me. It's endearing.”

Damn. When he said those words, I swear I turned into a freaking over-ripe tomato. My face was legit on fire. I am blushing like a complete idiot. It was so obvious that Mr. Cross knew exactly how to get to me with his words and actions. But let me tell you. His fine ass certainly did not give a damn. Like, not even a little bit.

“My favourite colour?” He pondered. “That is a tough one.”

“I am sorry for putting you on the spot. You don't have to answer if you don't want to.”

"To be honest, I have never really thought about it,” he admitted. “Maybe because it is such a basic question that no one has ever asked before."

Although he held the title of a teacher. His demeanor suggested a detachment from regular society. Mr. Cross conveyed himself with such superiority that it appeared he had never engaged with ordinary individuals. In fact, one could argue that his tone of voice reflected someone of distinguished status.

“Red,” Mr. Cross finally decided. "It's bold, vibrant, and unapologetically eye-catching. It demands to be noticed. Additionally, its association with love and strength further adds to its appeal.” His words were deliberate and articulate. 

Red truly was a colour that exuded confidence and power. I understood why he was so drawn to it. I could not help feeling a tinge of sadness though. The woman who stands alongside him must have confidence, strength, and beauty. And let's be real, I was lacking in all of those qualities and more. Shit. I felt like I did not measure up or something. Ugh. What a tough pill to swallow.

“Won’t you tell me what your favourite colour is?” Inquired Mr. Cross with such gentleness that my stomach fluttered.

“I don't have a favourite colour,” I confessed. “I like different ones for different things.”

He chuckled. “That is a diplomatic answer. Tell me. What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for example. I like blue for the ocean and the sky, but I prefer green for nature and plants. And I like red for passion and energy.”

“You put a lot of thought into it. But if you had to choose one right now, which one would it be?"

I thought for a moment. “Maybe green.”

“Green? That's an interesting choice. Do you have a particular reason for choosing it as your favourite colour?"

I blushed at that question. My cheeks were getting all hot and red. And for a second, I am like, do I really want to tell the truth? 

I remember my mother used to preach that honesty is the best policy, I never believed that load of crap. My listeners. Who wanted to tell the truth all the time?

Anyway, I will be real with Mr. Cross. 

“It is the colour of your eyes. That is why I choose green.”

He was seriously giving me some intense vibes. I could tell Mr. Cross had his eyes locked on me the whole damn time. Even when I was looking out the car window. And let me tell you. After all the bold words I just uttered, I would not even dare to glance his way. 

"I find it quite bothersome, Miss Evans when individuals fail to maintain eye contact with me," Mr. Cross expressed. “You just said the most beautiful words to me, yet you won't even look at me when you say them.”

“I don't understand why that matters,” I said. My gaze was still averted from him.

“It matters because it feels like you are not being genuine. If you cannot even look at me while saying those words, how can I believe that you mean them?”

“That is not fair,” I complained. “Just because I cannot make eye contact doesn't mean I don't mean what I say.”

“Eye contact shows sincerity and connection. It is hard for me to feel that when you won't even look at me. Must I make you look at me?”

This damn man! I swear, Mr. Cross knew how to get what he wanted. I let out an exasperated sigh as I nervously looked over at him. Damn. He was just so charming and confident. It was almost suffocating. And now, here I was, feeling completely trapped by his gaze. Those beautiful eyes were so mesmerising.

“You like my eyes, huh?” He asked. 

Once again, he tipped my chin, and my heart skipped a beat. Our eyes locked in a moment that seemed to last too long. But I could not for the life of me figure out what was going on in his head. Was he angry? I wanted to understand his expression. It was frustrating, like playing a game with no instructions.

“I do,” I replied. “They are like emeralds.”

He smirked. “Maybe I should consider green another favourite, too.”

“You should.” I agreed. “It’s a beautiful colour. Just like your eyes.”

“So, do you have a least favourite colour?” Mr. Cross inquired, as his thumb traced circular patterns on my chin.

“Hmm. Probably brown,” I said. “It's just not very exciting to me.”

"That’s understandable. I am the same when it comes to the colour grey," he said with a charming smile as he playfully bopped my nose.