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.

"This is pretty, and I mean, really pretty," I murmur, awe overwhelming me as I take in the few people setting up their canoes along the bank. "I haven't been here before."

At the end of the circular area, there's a bench tucked beneath the tips of the leaves swooping down.

Brandon makes his way toward the seat, sending me a small smile over his shoulder. "Care to join me?"

He offers his palm, and my heart skips a beat. Viewing it as a simple gesture, I slip my hand into his, only to let go once I've fully seated myself. Quietness envelops us, and peering through the closest gaps, I make note of the ten-foot drop to the water's surface.

Knowing this is going to be another place I frequent, I let my body melt into the wood as I take a lengthy sip of my frappe.

"Beautiful. . ."

I slide my gaze to Brandon. "Pardon?"

He clears his throat, using the hand containing his beverage to gesture towards the scenery. "I said it's beautiful."

"It sure is," I whisper, smiling.

Taking another sip, I savour the cool texture as it slides up the straw. The caramel is sweet and brings back the memory of Mum and Dad beaming away as their taxi picked them up for the airport.

The most enjoyable things in life can be the smallest ones.

"Do you want some?" I offer, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "This is the best drink in the world, so you have to experience it at least once in your life."

Eyeing the frappe for a moment, he agrees. "Alright."

Inching closer, his knee brushes against mine, and my cheeks tingle involuntarily. Swallowing, any thought of trying to speak vacates, leaving me to shuffle away and extend the straw to him for the needed space.

When he leans in, I'm granted the view of his forest irises over the rim of his shades. They're pinned on me as his lips close around the tip of the straw before sucking lightly.

Easing back, his lip curls. "Delicious."

Shifting, I take my drink with me in a desperate attempt to hide from his alluring words. I don't know if he did that on purpose or if I had been reading one too many romance novels, but I know women would be dying to hear that low tone inches from them.

I brush it off. He notices and clears his throat.

"Here." He holds out his cup. "Have a taste."

Waving my hand, I keep my voice polite. "I'm OK, thank you; I'm not a big coffee person."

"Are you sure you would rather pass it up?" A dark brow arches. "I bet I can win you over."

The challenge is out there, and I can't fight the flare of competitiveness.

Clasping the cup, warmth strokes the inside of my hand. The faint waft of caramel greets me, but the caffeine is much stronger, beckoning me for a taste. Bracing myself, I take a cautious sip, sucking in air through pursed lips as the hot liquid dances on my tongue and leaves a prickling sensation behind. I swallow it down.

"Alright, it's not that bad," I divulge, and my mouth waters from the aftertaste. "But how can you drink it straight away like that? It was hot!"

Brandon shakes his head, lip twitching. "I've been drinking this for a long time. My mouth is used to hot things."

When his gaze shifts to me, my brain buffers.

Not knowing what to say in return, I hold his drink out. He reaches for it, fingers brushing along the length of my own, and a zap of electricity runs through my skin. I yelp. The cup dips, and there's a stinging sensation across the curve connecting my thumb and finger. I pat at my jeans as it soaks through, and when I stare down at myself, there's a splodge on my hoodie.

Brandon's quick to pull the coffee away, setting it down carefully by his feet. In the next breath, he's holding my hand in his, strong and confident as he examines the damage.

"I apologise, forgive me." His tone is sincere, but he doesn't tear his eyes away. "It hasn't burnt you, has it?"

The dull sting layering my skin is hard to miss, but I know it will ease in a matter of seconds. However, as if sensing my lack of focus, he raises my hand and softly blows cool air over the pinking area.

"I apologise again. Is it troubling you?"

I gawk, knowing there's a different kind of heat, and it's unwanted and in my face.

Hastily scrambling for control, I pull my hand back so it sits in my lap. "N-no, sorry. Thank you."

My conscience screams at me for being a clumsy fool and allowing something as trivial as an electric shock to startle me. An unnerving feeling creeps in at the thought of my vacation from bad luck coming to an end.

Mustering my brain to concoct words, I murmur, "It was my fault. The famous electric shocks strike again." Attempting a light chuckle, I sigh whilst evaluating the damage. "I'm fine, honest. . . but I think I'd better head home."

The brownish hue contrasts against the white material, and I know it's going to need special care.

Humiliation works overtime through my system, knowing there's no way I'll be able to be confident enough to walk around with a mess on my chest. But that's not the part that hits me the most, it's the fact I've been a fool, and I'm ruining our time together. He won't want to put up with this throughout the day

Fidgeting in my seat, I muster the will to climb to my feet, only for Brandon to grip my wrist with such gentleness that it makes me freeze.

"Don't go yet," he starts, his tone just as soft as his hold. "Would you like me to buy you a new one?"

It takes me a minute to realise he means a new hoodie. My pulse hammers as I stare down at him, the sincerity swirling something deep inside me. It's strange because, even though this is happening, it doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel as if it should be me standing here, rather someone else. Compared to Jackson, Brandon is a complete U-turn.

"No, seriously, it's alright."

"Do you have something on underneath?" He slips off his shades, placing them beside his thigh. "If you would prefer, you can have my jacket."

I'm embarrassed by the number of times he's made my face feel as if it's on fire. The thought of discussing what's beneath my clothing doesn't help, but thankfully, I kept my work uniform on. I would rather die if it had gone the other way and I had to tell him I was practically naked.

I should commend him for being a gentleman and offering his jacket.

"I have my work shirt on underneath," I whisper, bashful. "I should be fine."

Gripping the hem of my hoodie, I'm about to remove it when his fingers dust over the back of my hand. Ceasing all action, I follow his line of sight to the grey clouds steadily herding our way.

"I think you should keep it on, just in case." There's a pause, and I drop my view back to him. "Your hair could get wet."

If it were a light spit, I wouldn't mind getting a little damp. But if it is on the heavier scale, I can't risk being sick for work.

Adjusting them hem so it sits in place, a small click captures my attention. Brandon is swift in trailing the zip down the length of his torso until the leather hangs open, revealing a pictureless hoodie beneath. Shedding it off, he stands up and extends it toward me.

"Brandon—"

"Arms."

I pause, regarding him quietly. Sensing the hesitation, he cocks a brow in silent prompting.

Complying, my arms slip through the awaiting sleeves, leaving me to work the zip myself.

If this carries on, dying of humiliation might actually—

His scent is so masculine. It swarms me like a cocoon. I can't help but find it wonderful and suffocating at the same time. Needing more, I breathe in again in a futile attempt to figure out what the fragrance is. There's a tang of what could be aftershave or body spray, then there's a softer note of what could only be bathing soap.

Lifting my line of sight, I catch a swell of muscle beneath the fabric of the hoodie covering his arms, and I'm erupting all over again.

I wish the floor would swallow me whole.