Only Yours

0.2

Tamina

"How are you finding your new read?" he asks after a moment, and I can't help but smile. "Have you managed to find time to start it?"

My eyes widen at the mention of my new addition. The fact he's asking brings a sense of awe because I never thought he would.

"It's good, thank you again. The main characters are in the suspense-filled stage of their relationship at the moment; they've got their issues they're trying to work out, and I'm wondering what could possibly happen after everything they've been though."

He makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, avoiding a puddle taking up most of the pathway. "It sounds intriguing."

I nod hastily. "It is." Turning enough to face him, I flip the question to hear more about him. "What kind of books do you like to read?"

A dark brow slowly hitches. "What makes you think I am a reader?"

I roll my eyes with a laugh. "You read Sylvia Day, you know about her collection. . . I would put you in a category of at least a light reader."

"Very observant of you," he chuckles. "Yes, light reading is more of a habit rather than a hobby for me, I would say. I prefer non-fiction, but on various occasions, I have dabbled with fiction."

I can't help but grin because I can see that in him; sat with his ankle perched on a knee or merely sat behind a table with a biography or documentation between his fingers.

"Are you currently reading anything at the moment?" I ask as we come to the turning that leads into the estate where my street will be lurking.

He shakes his head. "Not at the moment. Work has been demanding my attention."

I try to think on how trying it must be, but it's hard. My role at the café takes up some of my time, but I still manage to cram in space for myself, either after work on the days I finish earlier or by waking up earlier than the alarm. With an easy-going boss, there's even time during the shift to have a breather.

I'm curious to know what Brandon's boss is like, but I refrain from asking this time round.

"What do you do for work?" he asks, breaking through the pitter-pat of rain.

"Café. How about you?" I return, taking a sip of the intrigue fluttering through me.

"Office work," he answers. The tone is casual, and I want to know what his office work entails, but he adds, "Do you enjoy your work?"

Fiddling with the zip, I nod. "I do. I love socialising with the customers and making the drinks." I glance towards him. "What about you?"

For the first time since meeting him, he shrugs. "I like to keep busy, and being somewhere that needs work done is better for me than a place that lacks."

Bobbing my head in quiet understanding, I murmur, "That's good. Not many people enjoy pressure."

"Pressure gives you more to work for."

He has an interesting way of thinking. It's different and offers a good insight.

Sensing the end of the conversation, I sift through my mind for something—anything we can talk about in the short time we have left.

"I hope it won't take you long to make it home." Twiddling my fingers, I quietly take a path that leads to the top of my street. "Did you drive or catch the bus?"

We step onto the road, closer to the curb to avoid the row of bins lining the walkway. Recalling the way the lids had been notched high with bags, I know they've been emptied.