Fifty Shades Of Park Jimin

THE COFFEE DATE

We walk four blocks before we reach the Coffee House, where Park Jimin releases my hand which he has been holding to hold the door open so I can step inside.

"Why don't you choose a table, while I get the drinks. What would you like?" he asks, polite as ever.

"I'll have... um - English Breakfast tea, bag out."

He raises his eyebrows.

"No coffee?"

"I'm not keen on coffee."

He smiles.

"Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?"

For a moment, I'm stunned, thinking it's an endearment, but fortunately my subconscious kicks in with pursed lips.

"No thanks." I stare down at my knotted fingers.

"Anything to eat?"

"No thank you." I shake my head, and he heads to the counter.

I surreptitiously gaze at him from beneath my lashes as he stands in line waiting to be served. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and slim. Once or twice he runs his long, graceful fingers through his now dry but still disorderly hair.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Park Jimin is back, startling me.

I go crimson. I shake my head. He's carrying a tray, which he sets down on the small, round, birch-veneer table. He hands me a cup and saucer, a small teapot, and a side plate bearing a lone teabag labeled 'Twinings English Breakfast' - my favorite. He has a coffee which bears a wonderful leaf-pattern imprinted in the milk. How do they do that I wonder idly. He's also bought himself a blueberry muffin. Putting the tray aside, he sits opposite me and crosses his long legs. He looks so comfortable, so at ease with his body, I envy him.

"Your thoughts?" he prompts me.

"This is my favorite tea." My voice is quiet, breathy. I simply can't believe I'm sitting opposite Park Jimin in a coffee shop. He frowns. He knows I'm hiding something. I pop the teabag into the teapot and almost immediately fish it out again with my teaspoon. As I place the used teabag back on the side plate, he cocks his head gazing quizzically at me.

"I like my tea black and weak," I mutter as an explanation.

"I see. Is he your boyfriend?"

Whoa... What

"Who?"

"The photographer."

I laugh, nervous but curious. What gave him that impression?

"No. Joe's a good friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?"

"The way you smiled at him, and he at you." His gray gaze holds mine. He's so unnerving. I want to look away but I'm caught - spellbound.

"He's more like family," I whisper.

He nods slightly, seemingly satisfied with my response, and glances down at his blueberry muffin. His fingers deftly peel back the paper, and I watch, fascinated.

"Do you want some?" he asks, and that amused, secret smile is back.

"No thanks." I frown and stare down at my hands again.

"You seem nervous around men."

"I find you intimidating." I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for my candor, and gaze at my hands again. I hear his sharp intake of breath.

"You should find me intimidating," he nods. "You're very honest. Please don't look down. I like to see your face."

I glance at him, and he gives me an encouraging but wry smile.