Tamina

"Thank you." I clear my throat, trying my best to act like a normal twenty-two-year-old and not some unsocialised hermit. "Are you going to be warm enough in that?"

Grateful he lets me have the façade, I watch as he inclines his head and clips his shades to the collar of his hoodie. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

Shifting from one foot to the other, I take my seat once more and use the scenery as a way to escape. The water may be a soft, murky green, but it manages to enhance the sparkles glittering along the surface under the sun. When the clouds start to ambush the rays, the water deepens in tone, rippling from the oncoming breeze. Seeing the predictability of the ripples brings a sense of calm to my own uneasiness.

"I am really sorry," I blurt, rubbing my wrist for reassurance. "I'm unbelievably clumsy."

Brandon shakes his head, and I don't miss the subtle exhale. His hand settles on my thigh, as if today isn't our first time officially meeting up, and not by accident. As if he's known me for a long time. My leg tenses under his touch on instinct.

"Don't apologise, there's nothing to be sorry for. Accidents happen," he assures, and in a matter of seconds, the words put me at ease, and my muscles relax.

Removing his hand, he reaches under the hood to scratch his nape, causing the bag to rustle as it slips down his wrist.

"I know it is a bit late to ask, but do you have a boyfriend?"

Air catches in my throat, and blood shoots straight to my face as my heart thunders erratically. My brain buffers as it tries to conjure up the reason he's asking such a question. Before I can panic, Gabriel's words flutter through my mind, and I clutch my drink harder.

If he genuinely is interested, I'll have to draw a line.

I truly hope it's not because he's found a sudden interest because I'm enjoying my time with him—as humiliating as it is. I don't want to assume, but why else would you ask that question?

Steadying my breath, I force the words out of my mouth. "If you don't mind me asking, why?"

His eyes search mine, and it takes everything in me not to look away. The inquisition fades away and leaves a neutral expression behind. "Because I doubt your boyfriend would like you spending time with another man. I would like to refrain from causing any trouble."

Mortified would be a good place to start. But it dies down with the fresh whoosh of relief. Rather than saying it's not a problem anymore, I say, "Thank you, and no, I don't have one—a boyfriend, I mean."

Now it's his turn. "Why?"

My limbs tense up at the question. Yet again, it's innocent, but the memories the answer brings sting.

"I'm sorry." I drop my line of sight to my hands. "I don't want to talk—"

He doesn't say anything but collects my free hand in his. His hold is gentle like before, and everything that could be said falls away. The longer we remain in this little stare-off, the more I'm on the brink of stumbling over the edge. Not even my parents know the full extent of what happened, and lying to them about it sucked.

"You can talk to me, Tamina."

With those words, my lip rolls between my teeth, knowing tears will flood if I continue having eye contact with him. However, the slight caress of his thumb has me flicking my focus up, to the point where I find a tuft of his hair poking out from under the rim of his hood. But it's the warm smile that gets me.

Sucking in a needed breath, I wait until the sting in my eyes disperses and nod. Instead of divulging the reason why, I simply offer the standard answer. "Because I don't want one."

Pulling away, he clears his throat after taking a swig of his coffee. "Why is that?"

I shrug with a sigh, hoping he will let this go. "It's one of those things." I incline my head toward him, in hopes of getting him to share. "Anyway, what about your girlfriend? Wouldn't she be worried about you being with another woman?"

If he does, then I would have to keep my distance to casual hellos. Most couples hate sharing their other half with the opposing sex, and that is one misunderstanding I would love to avoid, full stop.

Hopefully now, he'll change the topic.

The corner of his lip tugs up. "I don't have one."

Cursing him, I then curse myself for feeling the slightest bit of curiosity as to why he isn't dating anyone, let alone having a queue trailing after him. He is a handsome man in his prime; he could sweep any woman off her feet if he wanted to.

"And why not?"

He faces me head-on with a knowing look. "Family." Something passes over his face, possibly doubt or denial. "And the right woman hasn't come along as of yet."

With a slow nod, I pull a long drag from my frappe. I can understand; there are priorities, and family is a big one. If there is someone on your side, having them get along is a big task, but the feeling when it pays off. . . well, I can imagine how nice it would be. The right person, on the other hand, makes you wonder if there really is ever a right person.

"You may find her one day," I offer. "Sometimes you have to get through the bad apples before you find the good one."

Fumbling for anything to cover the awkwardness taking over, I fiddle with my fingers, pick at the knotted leaves beside my shoulder, and resume rolling the splintered portion of concrete with the toe of my shoe.

"So. . ." I start, stealing him from his coffee. "What brought you to Brooks and Books?"

Swallowing his mouthful, I note the way his Adam's apple bobs. "I was buying a book for my cousin; it was a strange birthday wish on his part, but he loves his studies."

Toward the end, I hear him mutter something about posting being a hassle, but the envy in his voice quietens me. I'm assuming his cousin doesn't live locally, and the story goes deeper than he's letting on.

Pushing the thought to the back of my mind, I roll another chip of concrete with the sole of my shoe. "What does your cousin study?"

Brandon's smile returns, only this time, it feels genuine, not that polite or practised courteous quirk of the lip. It makes me smile.

"Jordan has a thing for art; he wants to be an architect, but in his free time, he enjoys designing the craziest of structures," he divulges, and I try to picture some of the concoctions his cousin could come up with.

"Do you have a favourite?" I ask.

His eyes soften. "I do. It was from when he was younger, perhaps ten. It was a climbing frame in the shape of a tiger. He thought it would be fun to hide in and use the stripes as a climbing frame, then slide down the tail," he chuckles.

The funny thing is that I can imagine it clearly. Children racing each other down the length of its body, its hind raised in the air, either for a pounce or from coming down from a leap, and the tail swoops down to the floor.

"He sounds like he has everything planned out," I murmur, tracing the rim of the dome lid. "He's going to do amazing things for people."

The nod I receive is strong. "He does. He's already devised a plan; whatever will give him the edge, he's applying for it all." He takes a swift sip of his coffee before swallowing. "I'm proud of him."

I can see it without him having to tell me. It's in the softness of his eyes, the confident way he talks about him, and the memories and interest in his journey. It's endearing.

"Do you have a big family?" I ask once a comfortable silence hangs over us.

"Not really, it's just my cousin, his parents. . . and mine," he mutters around the opening in his lid.

It's not hard to pick up on the tension surrounding his parents. The urge to avoid making him uncomfortable steers me away from asking further questions about them.

"That's nice. It's only me and my parents," I reveal, but the smile on my face is light as I picture them having the time of their lives.

"What do they do for a living?" he enquires, accepting the change.

Admiration swells within my chest at the interest he's showing in my family; his posture's snapped straight, eyes level with my face, and he's even angled to face me. That's enough evidence to know he's listening.

Brushing my hair from view, the thought of my parents makes me smile. "Well. . . my mum has been working for companies to maintain the biographies and designs for the sites. My dad is a chauffeur for high businesses—usually, he has fixed clients until further notice, so he gets to meet interesting people." I let out a heavy sigh. "His previous employer wasn't treating him well, so I'm grateful one of his other clients offered him more time."

I eye him wearily, hoping this question won't be too much for him.

"Does your family have any interests?"

I would like to know more about him; that's how I believed today would work, but it seems he's finding out more about me. If that's what he prefers, I can't judge, but it's going to make it tough to develop this acquaintanceship into friendship.

"Nothing special. Tell me, are you still studying? If not, what did you do last?"

Drumming my fingers against my thigh, I reminisce about the scent of paint, the sensation of pastels against my fingertips, and the strokes of pencils. "I'm not studying anymore, but funnily enough, I had studied art and English to better my grade. How about yourself?"

The tiny wave of air increases to a mini gust. My free hand moves to tame the wild strands whilst the other elevates the straw to my lips. Brandon does the same, only his hand doesn't have to work to keep his hair in place for long.

"I studied English and business; afterward, there was little time for studying." He takes a sip of his coffee, using his thumb to catch a stray bead of liquid before rubbing it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. "Work was a primary focus for me."

Bobbing my head in silent understanding, I'm captivated by his words. Brandon wears the appearance of a man who spends his time wisely.

If that's the case, then why would he make a slot for someone as ordinary as me?