Only Yours

0.1

Tamina

Stealing a peek at Brandon, I can't help but wonder if he thinks the same with how he takes steady breaths through his nose, releases, then does it again. It's oddly relaxing to see how comfortable he is even though his eyes aren't on show. I can't help but wonder if it's good enough for him to come back.

"I saw a spot not that far from here. Would you like to take a stroll?"

Bobbing my head in silent agreement, I hand over the reins to my curiosity before it can eat away at me. Since my path never strays from the shops, here, and work, I'm dying to see what place Brandon has in mind.

A part of me wants to see something new, but the safer part of my brain hopes it's somewhere within the comforts of the shops.

Knowing this will be my last chance for a good view of Roasties until my next visit, I lose myself in it on the way to the door. Sun rays beam through the large window, warming up the wooden slats lining the lower portion of the interior, reminding me of the nice chill that awaits on the other side. When I turn around, Brandon has let his shades slip, and he takes in everything as well.

As soon as a smile stretches across my lips, his gaze snaps to me.

Hastily swivelling, I do my best not to knock into customers as I weave through the last of the tables and pillars until I breach the exit. The heat clinging to me disappears the minute the door cracks open. The cool air curls around me, and it's a relief.

Once we're on the pavement, Brandon's swift in liberating the bag from me. The handles look small between his fingers. Stunned, I fumble for words as I reach for it. "T-thank you. . . but I can hold it."

Rather than handing it over, he pushes my drink into my awaiting grasp. "Gentleman, remember?"

Noting the teasing arch of his brow and the slight hint of a smile, I giggle. "How can I forget?"

Who are you Brandon, and why are you so hell-bent on treating me like this?

Refraining from releasing the exasperated breath, I push my mental interrogation away. I can watch rather than ask, and paint a picture of my own.

Pleased with the plan, I take a slurp of my frappe.

The rush of caramel and cream dances on my tongue, providing a good distraction from the man strolling beside me. The cold stream rolls through my body.

I could never give these up.

Risking another glance at my companion from my peripheral, I can't stop admiring the confidence oozing from him. Each stride is purposeful, his posture is straight, and his focus is fixed ahead of him. Meanwhile, I'm too busy shuffling alongside him, my eyes pinned to the concrete for fear I'll do something embarrassing, like face-planting.

Even though he wanted to meet me after work, I missed the chance to change into something other than the uniform and a hoodie. I'm simply pleased it cooperates with the weather, and I managed to scrub out the syrup splodge on my thigh.

Just take one step at a time—

"Here we are," he announces.

Jerking to attention, my eyes widen.

My pace slows, and my breath catches in my throat.

This has to be one of the most scenic spots I've ever been to. It's so pretty.

The paving bows out, the curve is rimmed with brickwork that has cut-out diamonds and swirls spaced all the way through the centre. I can imagine children spying through the holes, big grins on their faces as they absorb the expanse of the river.