If it weren't for the crackling of the fire right in front of them, Danielle was sure one could have heard her heart snap in two when she told Hunt that they could be friends. Of course, she shouldn't have expected anything else. And, really, wasn't that exactly what she'd wanted for years? For them to be friends?
She knew it wasn't; she might have always known. But when Hunt had held her close and called her sweetheart in his kitchen earlier, her heart had fluttered and told her all she needed to know. It wasn't his friendship that she wanted, but if that was all he was willing to give, she'd just have to take it. So she put on that smile that she hoped Hunt wouldn't see right through it and decided that being his friend and hiding her feelings was a much better course of action than telling him what she really wanted and losing him for it.
Still, Danielle couldn't bear sitting by the somewhat cosy fire with him for too long. So she left as soon as all the evidence of her past mistake had been thrown into the flames and she could be reasonably sure that it was no longer possible to use any of it against her. Not that she mistrusted Hunt so much—she didn't—but she still felt safer knowing she hadn't left any viable evidence behind.
He'd said something wrong. He knew it from the moment she had started smiling that despicable fake smile he'd seen far too often, and she'd all but confirmed it by leaving when the contents of the box had barely begun burning. Granted, Thomas could not have used any of it anymore even if he had wanted to—which he most certainly did not—but still, he found it quite strange that she would leave so soon. It had to have been something he'd said.
He was still sitting in his backyard, pondering where he had gone wrong, when the fire died down and the sun rose. Perhaps he'd misread her entirely. Perhaps she'd been quite content being nothing more than a former student, and he'd made her uncomfortable by suggesting they could be friends. It didn't seem logical, considering their conversation back at the studio, or even the one they'd had right where Thomas still sat, but it was the most plausible possibility. Anything else, he didn't dare consider.
Eventually, Thomas cleaned up the area around the fire pit and made his way back inside. The kitchen was still somewhat of a mess—Danielle hadn't bothered to put away any of the ingredients nor utensils she had used to make him breakfast—so he had to clean that up, too, before he made himself a second breakfast at a much more reasonable time than the last one. Once he had eaten and taken another aspirin for his returning headache—though he was fairly sure this one had more to do with his overthinking than the hangover—he chanced a glance at the clock. And he promptly regretted it.
He was still the director of a film produced by Montmartre, still being blackmailed, and still expected to heed his worst enemy's every command. He most certainly did not have time to dwell on the nature of his non-relationship with a former student when he had this enormous issue to take care of. Though, of course, said former student was quite involved with this issue, so it wasn't like getting her out of his mind was an option. Especially not considering the fact that he would likely be seeing her again on set in just over an hour.
"Great," Thomas murmured to himself as he made his way to the bathroom, knowing full well that he would not be able to make himself look anywhere near presentable after the night he'd had.