Flirting by the Book
“How?”
How exactly do you do the proactive thing?
Even with my past-life memories giving me a decent amount of life experience, romance was still at absolute zero for me.
In my previous life, I attended all-girls middle and high schools, spent my entire university years cramming for the civil service exam, barely passed, and then died from overwork.
It was a life with no room for even the first letter of “romance.”
Back in school, my teachers said dating was the fastest route to academic failure. During exam prep, the online lecturers told me to save it for later.
Only there was no later.
The academy I attended in this life was co-ed, at least, but every person who showed interest in me turned out to be completely worthless.
The few I thought might develop into something resembling a fling were no different.
Connie scratched his cheek, deep in thought.
The atmosphere didn’t feel like it would produce any particularly sharp answers, so I simply let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Maybe I should go to the library and borrow some romance books?”
With no internet in this world, books were the only real source of information.
When I muttered it half to myself, Connie shook his head vigorously, looking at me as if I were truly pitiful.
“Girl, why would you look for romance books in a library? That’s not the move.”
Connie firmly stopped me.
“Then?”
“Let’s hit the bookstore. Libraries only carry old stock—they don’t reflect current trends.”
“Ah.”
Zero was definitely better than negative.
We headed to the largest bookstore in the area and returned with armfuls of romance-related titles.
Then, just like when we used to prepare for exams at the academy, we analyzed them with intense focus.
It was only after I had read every single book we bought that I finally lifted my head and rubbed my dry, gritty eyes.
“So the conclusion is… smile when you make eye contact, give small compliments, and initiate subtle physical contact. About that?”
“Excellent summary,” Connie said. He had stayed with me the whole time, poring over the books together.
Flirting really isn’t that complicated.
“Now that we’ve mastered the theory, it’s time for practical application.”
I clenched my fist with determination.
The next day, I wore the outfit Connie and I had picked out while shopping and headed to the meeting spot with Everett.
As usual, he was already there waiting.
“Lord Rohas.”
When I called out to him and approached, Everett—who had been scanning the surroundings—turned his gaze toward me from a slight distance.
Our eyes met. His golden irises sparkled even more brilliantly beneath the sun.
First: smile when making eye contact.
I beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Everett froze, body going rigid.
Is it working?
It was an odd reaction, but he didn’t seem displeased.
Keeping the smile on my face, I stepped a little closer.
Next: offer a small compliment.
“Lord Rohas, you look incredibly handsome today.”
It wasn’t as if he were only handsome today—he was consistently, flawlessly attractive.
Still, that was the exact example phrase from the book.
I lacked the creativity to come up with anything more original.
Since it’s used as an example, it must be universally effective.
After completing stage two and closing the distance to a single step, he still didn’t offer his usual escort.
He simply wore a dreamy expression, as though his mind were somewhere else entirely.
I secretly studied his face, then cautiously reached out and took his hand first.
Next: subtle physical contact?
This was the final stage of flirting I had learned from the books.
This time, there was no reaction at all.
He might as well have turned into a statue.
Maybe this isn’t it?
I tilted my head.
Holding hands probably doesn’t count as subtle skinship.
After all, friends held hands all the time.
The kind of contact the books described for moving toward a romantic relationship might need to be more intimate.
For example…
Scraping together every last ounce of courage I possessed, I gently withdrew my hand and then lightly linked my arm with his.
Everett flinched like a startled cat.
If I hadn’t been holding onto him, he probably would have leaped ten steps away.
Was that too bold?
Worried by his intense reaction, I sneaked a glance up at him.
Everett, who had been staring straight ahead, turned to look at me with a motion so stiff it practically needed creaking sound effects.
The instant our eyes met directly, his face flushed bright red as if on command.
“Miss Diaz.”
He barely managed to say my name before falling silent.
Everett tried to raise his right hand to cover his reddened face, but his right arm was already captured by mine.
With an awkward motion, he lifted his left hand instead and covered his face with his large palm.
Through the gaps in his fingers, I caught glimpses of his flushed cheeks and the nape of his neck.
He looked so mortified that I felt heat rising in my own face too.
Every place our bodies touched felt scorching, as if I were embracing the sun itself.
Heartbeats—whether mine or his, I couldn’t tell—thundered loudly in my ears.
This probably isn’t it either.
Even though I had been the one to link arms first, his extreme reaction made me feel like I had done something incredibly daring.
Reading his mood, I subtly unlinked our arms.
Then I sidestepped, putting a little distance between us.
Only then did I feel like I could breathe properly again.
We stood a couple of steps apart, each facing the opposite direction.
Both of us with equally red faces.
The breeze against my cheeks felt colder than the season warranted.
Everett was the first to regain his composure.
“Um… We don’t have much time left before entry.”
He used the excuse of an entry time that was still several hours away to speak to me.
“We’ve been standing outside too long. Shall we go in?”
That clumsy excuse was just as welcome to me.
Barely stringing words together, we walked side by side toward the exhibition hall.
No words were spoken, yet my mind was racing.
Near the entrance, Everett carefully took my hand again.
We had held hands multiple times before, including during escorts, but for some reason today it felt far more nerve-wracking.
It feels like my heart is about to leap out of my mouth.
It was pounding so violently that in the crowded exhibition hall, my heartbeat seemed louder than the surrounding noise.
I even had the absurd worry that if I took a deep breath, my heart might pop out along with the exhale.
Hand in hand, we completed about half a lap of the exhibition hall in silence.
Like robots following a preprogrammed route.
Yet our minds were busy being hyper-aware of each other.
It was only halfway through an exhibition that would normally take five or six hours.
My heartbeat showed no sign of calming even after considerable time had passed.
To calm down, I probably need to let go of his hand first.
I sneaked a glance at Everett, who was walking while staring straight ahead.
But I don’t want to let go.
I unnecessarily adjusted our grip.
Somehow, I began to grow a little more accustomed to the frantic beating.
Just then, a stall selling exhibition catalogs caught my eye.
My gaze had drifted in a different direction, so my steps naturally slowed.
Everett noticed the change in pace and turned toward me.
His eyes followed the path of my gaze.
When he confirmed what I was looking at, he froze.
At that exact moment, the same scene was probably playing through both our minds like a panorama.
Everett’s pupils trembled faintly.
He seemed slightly embarrassed about being caught having memorized the catalog beforehand.
It was cute, though.
I smiled secretly to myself where he couldn’t see.
Thanks to that, much of the tension drained away.
Enough that I could act relaxed.
I decided to tease him.
“Did you memorize the catalog again today?”
At my clearly playful tone, Everett’s gaze dropped to the floor.
With his head lowered, his reddened ears stood out vividly.
Once again, it felt like feathers were fluttering inside my chest.
I asked again, this time in an even more mischievous voice.
“You didn’t memorize it?”
Everett, who had been exercising his right to remain silent, finally crumbled under the repeated questioning and mumbled,
“I just… read it and came.”
Still embarrassed, he added in a voice that grew quieter with every word,
“Even though that bellows the dwarf used just looks like a lump of scrap iron to me… I still wanted to understand what makes your eyes sparkle with wonder.”
By the end, his voice had faded to nearly a whisper, as though his courage to reveal his true feelings was running out.
Yet at the same time, Everett’s presence inside me felt a little clearer, a little more defined.
To be honest, I had already noticed from the second exhibition that he wasn’t particularly interested in ancient artifacts.
But without even this, we would have zero points of connection.
I simply hadn’t been able to tell him that if it wasn’t enjoyable, he didn’t have to come with me.
It felt like our relationship was hanging by a few fragile threads, and severing even one would make everything precarious.
But a connection continues as long as two people have the will to maintain it.
Points of contact could be created.
I gave our joined hands a light shake and suggested,
“Next time, let’s do something you enjoy.”
Of course, I already planned for the time after that, and the time after that, too.