Tamina

"Thank you for the drink," I say, taking a small sip.

Brandon smiles and starts his. Out of the corner of my eye, his shades are pinned on me. "What's up?"

"W-what do you mean by that?"

If I'm able to play dumb, the topic involving my co-worker may ease off. I know what Jasmine was up to by the way her demeanour changed. My previous thoughts niggle away at me, only for a mental hand to swipe them away. However, I'm smart enough to know there had been blatant disrespect, but there wasn't anything I could do—

"How was work?" Brandon's voice appears, distracting me from the walls of my mind.

"Busy, to put it in shorter terms," I answer with a tired smile. "How about you?"

Taking another sip, my tongue flicks across my lip to clear a smudge of cream whilst waiting for his response.

After he swallows, he says, "Tell me, I want to hear about it."

The sincerity is clear in his tone as he slows the pace for me to keep up, talk, and drink at a comfortable speed. A funny feeling in the pit of my stomach has me taking another swig of my hot chocolate.

"Well. . . there's a band cutting through town, people have been stocking themselves up with coffee and tea all day"—I blow on the rim of my cup— "I was going to message you in case you were unaware."

What else can I say?

"Oh! If you'd like, shall I meet you at the book shop? That way you don't have to worry about the crowds."

He shakes his head. "Nothing will stop me from picking you up from your door." He sounds confident, leaving me in awe. "Do you prefer it fast, or nice and slow?"

I shrug. "Both. It depends on the shift I guess." Glancing toward him, I ask, "How about you? What's work like?"

I've been curious since yesterday about what he does for work and his free time.

It's Brandon's turn to shrug. "It can be fast paced, but I've become accustomed to it. One day, I can show you."

I've got the sudden urge for him to show me everything he can, and it scares me. I've never desired to be a part of a man's life this much before, yet I'm unable to help but want to let go for the time being.

After commenting on how that would be nice, we drop into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying one another's presence. Not long after, the two of us arrive at my door, and the thought of saying goodbye fills me with dread. Reminding myself it will only be a little over an hour and a half before I see him again, my mind scolds me for being foolish.

"Thank you for the drink, Brandon," I murmur, gazing up from under my lashes.

"No problem, love."

A smile settles into place, even though I'm unsure of what to do other than say to him, "I'll see you soon."

"You will." He takes my hand unexpectedly while brushing his lips faintly over the surface, eyes peering up from behind the shades.

All I do is remain frozen on the spot, speechless, and thinking how hot my face feels right now. Now I'm watching as he turns on his heels with a smile, and slowly vanishes from view.

I want to feel that exhilarating sensation a—

Shaking the intruding though from my mind, my fingers set the lock in place once I've entered. I'm quick to down the rest of my drink as a distraction from my racing heart, bound up the stairs, and get ready.

Eying the Zodiac necklace dangling from the curtain hook with a fond smile, I finish the last drop of my drink before chucking it in the circular bin. I still recall mum's words on my eighteenth birthday: 'you're a young woman now. This is to bring you luck and remind you that I'll always love you.'

I've worn it on and off over the years, but when it's off, it hangs by my window so I can see it every day. Since this is a special occasion, I'm going to bring it with me. Thinking back to mum, the war between telling them I'm going on a date rages on in my head, then going against it wins. If this doesn't go well, I'd have to go through the hassle of explaining why.

Narrowing my eyes on the chest of drawers supporting my small television, my lips pull down. "Alright, you don't like me, and I don't like you. But we are going to make this work, OK?"

Ten minutes later, I've wrestled everything out of the drawers, analysing every article of clothing owned and having it strewn across the carpet. It only took digging to the bottom to find a good outfit: white top with see-through flowing sleeves with butterflies on, and the thin neckline matches. Accompanying it is a pair of light blue jeans, and I've traded in my high tops for the white slip-on shoes.

I wonder what he might be wearing. . .

Glancing at my phone, my lip rolls between my teeth. A surprise will be better. Taking the clothes down the hall to the bathroom, I set them on the toilet seat, run the bath, and shed my work clothes before shoving them in the washing basket. Making sure to take my time with the soak, my thoughts run wild with the possibilities of what Brandon could be thinking about, like what I'm doing, going to wear, the date. . . everything. Splashing my face with water, I hop out once clean and after a couple of minutes amusing myself by sinking and letting my feet float in the water. Drying and dressing is fast, and I'm back in the bedroom, eyeing the curlers peeking out from the bottom drawer.

Readying the curlers and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Curling every section was the first to come to mind until the first time resurfaces, remembering how it didn't suit me at all. The second is making my waves more emphasized with a little curl in them. One turns into two, and two turns into a steady number of layered spirals.

Just a little—

"Ah, you little—" Shoving my finger in my mouth, a grumbled groan comes out whilst sucking the sore spot until it numbs.

By the time the job's done, I take a minute to situate myself in front of the miniature mirror on my wall. Blue eyes wide awake, blonde waves styled, and I'm smelling of strawberries. Collecting the necklace from its hangout, it clicks and hangs effortlessly from my neck for the finishing touch.

Checking the time, forty-five minutes have passed, and there's only fifteen minutes left. Settling down, my eyes fleet to the book Brandon brought me when we first met at the book shop—officially. I'm about to pick it up when my phone vibrates on the bedside cabinet.

Opening the gadget, Brandon's name sits in the notification bar. Smiling, my finger doesn't waste time to tap on it.

From Brandon: It's nearly time, love.

A flush layers my cheek, and my brain grows fuzzy at the notion of him spying on the time. It's not like me to get excited over this, but it feels nice.

Biting my lip, I type:

To Brandon: Yep! Not long left :)

A minute must've swum by before another message pops up.

From Brandon: Are you excited? I know I am.

Staring at the screen, the skin on my face burns double time. He's looking forward to the date. A generous portion of me is screaming on the inside, doing the cha-cha slide before I'm scolding myself for getting excited over a simple message. Although, the foolish part of me can relish in it and hope the calm stays and the storm never breaches the horizon.

However, he said this is going to be a casual date. Is it even a date to be excited about? What's the difference? Damn, I've read too many books and they're all blurring into one.

Glancing at the time, my breath works double time to choke me. I've spent ten minutes acting like a total loon over a message that I've completely forgot to reply to. I can only hope he doesn't think I'm ignoring him.

To Brandon: Yes, sorry for the late reply. I'm excited and a bit nervous.

When I hit send, it dawns on me that I've admitted to being excited to myself and him, and there's no way for me to take it back now.

Waiting for a response, nothing comes through except the counter rolling to 17:00 p.m. and a knock sounding at the door.