Only Yours

0.1

Tamina

The young man's hair is kept short and tucked under a hairnet, his eyes dark like wood in the rain. He can't be that much older than us, if he's even older at all. Dare I say it, he's a little taller than Brandon by an inch or two. I flick between the two, only to find myself staring at the floor when his eyes shamefully trail over the length of me. My skin crawls.

"We have a special offer on today! Two for half price, and a shaving off the meat selection, what do you say?" All the while he rants on about the deals we could have, he pays no attention to Brandon.

I grip my arm, hoping Brandon can hurry up and give the order so the worker can leave the room.

I choke on my breath as a strong arm loops around my waist, tugging me flush against a warm side. Brandon's cologne hits me tenfold. As stupid as it is, I wouldn't be surprised if fainting from the power of it were possible.

"You're making her uncomfortable." Brandon's tone is low, warning.

Here I thought his voice couldn't get any more masculine.

The worker's lower lip trembles, moisture gathers on his brow, and his spine snaps straight, surprising me that it didn't literally snap from the velocity behind it. "M-my apologies. May I take y-your orders?"

Brandon takes charge in putting our order through, and for the remainder, the man never bats me an eye and leaves us to make our paninis. Every muscle in my body relaxes in the comfort the warmth provides.

"Are you alright?"

Peering up through my lashes, I show an appreciative smile. "Thank you for that. I wasn't sure what to do."

His features soften. "Of course," he murmurs, giving my waist a light squeeze.

Before I'm able to stop myself, I spring from him, embarrassed for remaining in his embrace. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lean on you for so long."

The worker returns, taking away the chance for Brandon to utter a response. My face is beyond boiling point. I'm surprised that, with how often it's happened, my hair hasn't singed.

Brandon pays, and I'm sure he's pleased by the way his chest puffs out. His hand settles on my back, and I can only picture the hassle he goes through to do it with my backpack in place.

Upon our exit with our paninis in hand, the rain continues its parade, only now it's picked up the tempo from the faint spits earlier. We step into the fray.

Throwing our empty cups in a nearby bin on the corner, we look at one another with small smiles. His fingers reach for me, and I watch them carefully, curious as to what they're planning. Carefully, they reach behind me, and before I know it, he's settling my hood over my head. We must stay like this for a couple of minutes because I can feel my face slick with rain, and the packaging around my panini is starting to dampen.

He takes a step back. "Would you like me to get us an umbrella?"

I shake my head while taking a step in a random direction, motioning him to follow. Our shoes slap against the mini puddles gathering in the grooves of the adhesive until we arrive at a sheltered seating spot that overlooks another part of the river. Owners have now parked their canoes along the length of the banks. Ducks drift elegantly across the surface, and I swear something breached the surface and sent a spray of liquid through the air.

"If you have worries about me spending money, don't; I have plenty, and I want to," he assures, but the statement doesn't have the effect he hoped it would.

"Are you. . . well off?" I ask after a beat of silence.

At first, he doesn't answer. He merely slides off his shades, tucks them into his pocket, and regards me. I let him search, for what, I have no idea, but I let him. A moment passes. "I am. Does that put you at ease?"