Only Yours

0.2

Tamina

Jasmine and I both pivot in time to see a man approach.

He doesn't look that much older than us; he's tall, at six foot if not an inch or two taller. This man is lightly tanned, his hair is fair and longer on the ends—wilder.

"Are you still taking orders?" His voice is smooth like silk, and those spring-blue eyes are pinned on me. "Or is it your lunch hour?"

I shake my head, plaster on a smile even though my eyes are drawn to the way he runs his fingers over a strong jawline. Each move is sure and precise.

Swallowing, I set up the till, embarrassed he had to ask such a question.

Hopefully he didn't see our mini stand-off.

"No, orders are still being taken, what can I—"

"Tamina, didn't you say you were going to check on some tables?" Jasmine beams, voice overly sweet. "I can take it from here."

Tearing my gaze away from our customer, I find a forced smile on Jasmine's painted lips, and her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Releasing a tired breath, I pivot to walk past her when the customer speaks up.

"I'm already being served, thank you."

I freeze, and the sneer I receive is cold and menacing. She says nothing more on the matter and leaves to take up the job I invented just to get away from her.

Shifting from one foot to the other, my heart thunders in my chest. This is awkward. Jasmine will certainly come over and make a comment once he leaves, and I can only hope he doesn't file a complaint.

His eyes are solely focused on me, unrelenting yet patient.

Just open your mouth. Start fresh. Pretend it never happened.

"Welcome to Heated Beans, what can I get for you today?" I greet, pushing through the swell of discomfort until it starts to fade to the back of my mind.

With the small bursts of chatter surrounding us, the space between us feels claustrophobically silent. All I can do is watch as he scrutinises the menu hanging behind me. After a handful of beats, he finally turns to me with a suggestive brow hitch. "What do you recommend?"

The minute the question registers, my mind is quick to run through the drill that's hammered into us within the first week of training. "Alright, what are you in the mood for, cold or hot?"

The light catches his eyes as his head tilts to regard me, making them much lighter. His fingers stroke along the smooth skin across his jaw. "Cold."

Nodding along, I go with the first choice. "My personal favourite is the caramel frappe; we also have strawberry, chocolate, mint, and chocolate orange." I wait for the silent incline of his head before proceeding. "Or we have smoothies and slushies?"

There's a low hum, and a thoughtful expression highlights his face, and I'm pleased to hear the positive sound. "Can I have a caramel frappe; would you be able to put coffee in it?"

"Of course." Taking the small amount of time it takes to log in his frappe, I raise my head only to catch him watching my hands. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

His long fingers disappear through his hair, causing it to shift, then ping back into place. No other customers line up behind him, as if the rush hour never happened. The ones that are sat down are quietly conversing and indulging themselves.

"No, this is all, thank you."

Noting the card in his hand, I nudge the card reader so it's more on display for him as I key in the total. "Alrighty, that's four pounds and twenty-five pence when you're ready."