The loud noises from the moving furniture shook off the apartment's walls.
Spencer raced around in search of his keys. "What are you looking for?" The voice of Esme echoed through the halls as she approached the male who was in a rush. "You're dressed up; I didn't know you had plans." She noted as she swapped her baby's placement from left to right in her arms.
"I am meeting Trina for brunch, and I am already late. I can't find my keys," He vented as he looked through the toy bin in the corner of the living room.
He paused at the sound of keys jingling.
Spencer turned to the sound of the keys; Esme stood with a teasing smile, swinging the keys in her free hand. "Things in the simplest places can never be found," Esme chuckled as he pointed to where she found the keys. "Thank you," He whispered.
"When should I expect you back?" She questioned as he opened the front door. Spencer shrugged, "Later tonight, I guess; I will see you around."
The door closed behind him as he made his way to the elevator. He bit his lip as a guilty conscience plagued his mind. Where did this compassion for the female come from?
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Beautiful lover of mine
The rays are caught in your shine
In all the fire left in me
I dance in the east of the free
Dreams made and dreams lost in the sleep
Are awoken to fail the memory
In the start when a story begins
Do you want to know how it ends?
"Dawn Novus, wise choice." An unfamiliar voice interrupted Trina as she read the poetry booklet. She looked up, meeting the foreigner's hazel eyes. Her bottom lip poked out as he piqued her interest. "Are you being genuine or attempting to build conversation after seeing the name on the pamphlet."
The hazel-eyed male chuckled, "A little bit of both, may I?" He gestured to the empty seats surrounding her — she was holding seats for some people in the crowded cafe. She nodded, not minding a temporary companion as she waited. He sat opposite her with the branded styrofoam, "I am quite familiar with Dawn; she's my cousin." He revealed; Trina's mouth fell agape as he exposed his connection to the amateur poet.
"Do you like literature as well?" Trina asked as she rested down the leaflet; he nodded. "I love the art — it's probably hereditary because my whole family does. I consider poetry a form of art; it's my preference." He explained; Trina stared at him in awe. "Wow, I also love poetry, but I prefer portraits. I love painting, the visualization of emotion — storytelling through images, whether photography, artists, or artisans.
He smiled at her, "Do you have any work?" Trina nodded, seizing her phone from the table in excitement. He watched as she tapped away on the screen before he was handed the phone. "You painted this?" He asked, impressed at the painting he examined.
Trina confirmed his question, "Yes sir, I did," He peaked at her as the reply that fell from her lips sounded flirtatious. "Here comes the model," She proclaimed as her gaze looked past him; the male looked behind, seeing a taller fellow walking in with all black apparel — the clothing and jewelry that set him out as a wealthy person. He also noticed the slight twitch of the lips from the male as he realized that he sat with the female he now assumed to be taken by him.
"Hello, my love." Spencer pecked Trina's lip slightly in front of the unfamiliar male who stood up from the seat. "Oh wait, I never got your name." Trina stopped him from leaving as he saw another couple approach the table.
