pursed his lips, a thin smile <b>barely </b>visible as <b>he </b>pulled a sleek, <b>ck </b>face mask pen his pocket and <b>slipped </b>it on <b>with </b>a casual, <b>“</b><b>No </b><b>need</b><b>,” </b>
Wyatt, seeing <b>this</b>, <b>decided </b>not to press the issue<b>. </b>The two men, one after the other, continued <b>their </b>stroll along the park’s winding pathways<b>. </b>
Before long, they came upon a boisterous gathering of men and women, a banner pping gently in the breeze beside them. Emzoned across it in bold letters was <b>“</b>Singles <b>Mixer</b><b>.</b><b>” </b>
<b>From </b>a distance, Wyatt surveyed the crowd. “Looks like a bunch of young singles. I doubt Donald would be among them.”
With most of his face obscured by the mask and his imposing presence slightly reined in, James wasn’t drawing much attention. He nced over the scene briefly before drawing his gaze away. “Let’s <b>go</b>.<b>” </b>
He turned on his heel, heading back the way they hade.
“Right,” Wyatt murmured in agreement. He could guess Donald’s intentions by now, but to send his grandson to a mixer like this… What on earth was going through Donald’s mind? <b>If </b>the other prominent families in Riverdale caught wind of this, James‘ reputation would be in tatters.
Shaking his head in resignation, Wyatt took onest look over the crowd. But as his eyes. drifted away, they inadvertently fell upon a solitary figure seated on a public bench. He paused, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.
That silhouette… wasn’t <b>that </b>Ms. Mirabe?
“Sir, hold up a sec,” Wyatt called out to his charge.
James had already taken a few steps back but stopped at Wyatt’s call, turning to follow his gaze. His expression showed a hint of surprise.
“James, isn’t that Ms. Mirabe?” Wyatt asked, pointing to ensure his point was clear.
After a few seconds, Wyatt continued, almost to himself, “That’s definitely her… But what in the world is she doing here? Cough, she couldn’t possibly be here for the mixer, could she?”
As Wyatt finished his thought, James‘ eyes narrowed, his gaze inscrutable behind the mask.
Meanwhile, Mirabe, slouched against the back of the bench, had been engrossed in her phone, ignoring the several men who had approached her, mistaking her for a participant in the mixer. It wasn’t until someone blocked the sunlight that she pinched the bridge of her nose and looked up. She was about to rify her non–participation, only to be startled
<b>by </b>the identities of the two men before <b>her</b>.
James<b>?</b><b>” </b>she eximed, using his name directly,
It was the first time James had heard her day his name so inly, and he felt a curious str within him. His lips quirked beneath his mask as he acknowledged her with a soft “Hmm” <b>Wyatt </b>also greeted her, “Ma. Mirabe.”
Slipping her phone into her jacket pocket, Mirabe stood and nodded to them, her curiosity evident. “What brings you two here?”
Then, ncing at the mixer nearby, she added, “You’re not here to mingle too, are you?” If <b>they </b>were, it would be quite the coincidence.
James keenly caught the word ‘too‘ in Mirabe’s question. His eyes narrowed slightly, taking in her attire, which was very different from her <b>usual </b>style.