Only Yours

0.2

Tamina

"OK, OK." I run my fingers through my hair, avoiding eye contact at all cost. "I was putting it away after reading it for the hundredth time, but there was a large spider sitting on it."

I wince, coming to a standstill at a miniature knot. Easing the strands apart, I take note of the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth—a sign he's enjoying himself, even if it is at my expense. I'm merely thankful he stops staring and returns to his investigation.

In the small time we're sharing together, Brandon is the type of guy I've never interacted with before, which is unnerving. Not because he falls into the category of company you want to keep, but because I can't get a good read on him. I talk, he mostly listens. I ask, he offers minimal answers.

So far, he has manners, patience like an angel, and knows how to be confident around other people.

"How did you ruin your book?"

I'm more curious about what he's after. While he's been scrutinising every title with me, he hasn't picked up a single one.

Nevertheless, I brave the question with a nonchalant shrug. With that, I explain how my bad luck fell into effect—how the eight-legged terror spooked me into spilling my food, and the book became a soppy mess and tore in various places.

To my surprise, Brandon listened to every word. If this were someone else I knew, they would tell me to grow up.

"So, what happened to the spider?" The inquisitive hue to his tone is light, layered with humour.

If it weren't for the pride swelling in my chest, I would be mortified.

Beaming at the books before me, I say, "I managed to summon up enough courage to do the same to the spider."

There's no response, but the second I peek over my shoulder, there's a raised brow waiting for me.

"It went up the hoover."

He chuckles, swivelling to his shelves. I don't miss the way he runs his fingers through the hair hiding under the hood.

Silence falls over us once more, leaving me to ponder what else could be shared, only this time, I want to encourage him to talk.

With a deep inhale of woody vanilla and the scrape of wood against my fingertip, I bob my head in silent acceptance.

I will make him talk.

"Anyway. . ." Pulling out a chunky novel, I skim over the description before putting it back. "What brings you here?"

"I came to find you."

My finger jerks to a stop. A good-looking man like Brandon was seeking me out. Me.

I've never felt my face burn as much as it is right now. If this were a sunny day where I'd be more put together, I wouldn't be this embarrassed. At least without the damp clothes and static hair, I'd be somewhat better to look at.

"Thank you," I murmur, hooking another lock behind my ear. "But you didn't have to."

"I did." The response is clipped, his stance rigid, and for once, the silence is tense.

Maybe getting him to talk wasn't a good idea.

Shuffling from one foot to the other, my eyes widen at the colourful spine crammed between a mossy green and a leather-bound notebook that shouldn't even be there. Retrieving it from its slot, a pale background supporting a cluster of peach and white roses stares back up at me. To top it off, the title is in cursive.