Tamina

My fingers linger on the handle, shaking from tension.

The way I'd swooped up my phone and raced down the stairs just to answer the door has me flushing. Although, now that I'm here, I can't help but wonder if opening it now will make me look overly excited. But wouldn't leaving it a few minutes be rude?

His message is clear in my mind: Are you excited? I know I am. If that isn't enough evidence of how he feels, I'm not sure what is. But what if it's all a lie? Only time will tell.

Sucking in a needed breath, my fingers tug the door open.

Oh, my. . .

All the air in my lungs vanish, he is the literal term of breath-taking.

Brandon's standing patiently on my doorstep, his mahogany locks on show, falling to his ears and slightly dusting above his lashes; they're thick enough to lose your fingers in. Broad shoulders clad in dark denim, a white shirt hugging his firm front, and black jeans that lead to matching trainers.

When my gaze finally steadies on his features, I have to do a double take. His stubble's gone. Although, I'll have to admit, he still looks dashing without it. Then his forest irises fixate on me, captivating me.

"Don't be nervous," he begins. "You will be fine with me."

Scolding myself for thinking there will even be the slightest problem being with him, my eyes soften. Ever since Brandon came into my life, any normal boundaries I had have been crossed, and now I'm going on a date. . . and my walls may be crumbling.

The sudden lift of my hand causes my sight to drop, finding Brandon's large one curling around it. Bending down swiftly, he places a lingering kiss on my knuckles. "Good evening, by the way," he chuckles, standing upright.

As he releases my hand, he creates a fluid motion of bringing the hand behind his back forward, presenting a bouquet of roses. The ruby hue of the petals beckons my nose, the floral scent easily pulling a sigh from my lips.

"Brandon. . . they're beautiful, thank you," I gush, eyes opening from reminiscing in another inhale.

"I've seen better." His gaze makes a pointed look at me.

"Stop it, you." I laugh, needing to turn away before I risk combusting on the spot. "I'm going to put them in some water, I won't be a minute." Entering the hall, I call over my shoulder, "Would you like a drink?"

There's no response and my hands continue to busy themselves with putting the beautiful flowers in a vase. When watered, I sit them on the counter, admiring the contrast of red and white. Spotting a small card hanging from one of the stems, my fingers slowly retrieve it before inspecting the cursive ink.

To Tamina,

I hope you enjoy them, they're a token of my appreciation for your company. I wish for another night like the one we are about to share.

From, Brandon x

My heart skips a beat from the sweetness behind each word, and my fingers instinctively untie the note before sitting it against the base of the vase. With one more sniff, my feet slide to turn round, only for me to jump instead.

"You scared me," I giggle, hand positioned over my chest.

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you from outside. Normally I wouldn't just enter," he apologises, voice lowering. His eyes shift around the kitchen slowly before they finally settle on me again. "Your home is very—"

"Plain?" I finish.

"I was going to say comfortable."

A grateful smile plays on my lips. Doing my own search, I offer, "Would you like a drink?"

He shakes his head in a slow manner. "I'm alright for now, thank you."

My feet shuffle as he inches closer, leaving me to mirror it backward until my back is against the counter. The intensity of his gaze has something stirring inside me, and my nose is held captive by his cologne, but having Brandon's hands sit on each side of me is another story, and his lip twitches. "Have I told you how beautiful you look?"

My cheeks need an extinguisher.

Why does he have to do this to me?

"N-no?"

My mind curses away with how timid my response is, and I'm praying that I'm not like this the entire time we're together.

He reaches up after a deep breath, letting it out so I can smell the mint and traces the curve of my cheek with his knuckle before hooking a tendril behind my ear. "I better change that then." My head turns from embarrassment, but he carefully pulls my gaze back onto him while saying, "Don't look away, love." When I'm about to disagree, he adds, "And I don't want to hear otherwise."

No matter how many times I tell my cheeks to calm down, they won't. It's like they're deliberately trying to embarrass me. My thoughts are racing with too many questions about whether he's flirting with me, or simply trying to get some reaction, or just messing me around. Then doubt rushes in to fend off the last one.

"Have you got everything?" he questions while leading the way down the hall when we're ready to make a move, but not before he plucks my cardigan from the coat hanger and slides it over my arms like the gentleman he is.

Checking my phone case for my key, identification and spending card, I bob my head. "Yep, all good to go."

Pulling the door behind us for me to lock up, we stand in silence for a moment before my shoes scuff the concrete, knowing now is the best time than ever to tell him.

"What type of places do you prefer?" Brandon waves his hand around. "I heard the restaurant on the outskirts of town have four and a half stars."

Guilt sets in. "Um. . . I hope this doesn't offend or bother you, but restaurants aren't my thing."

Instead of trying to change my mind or kick up a fuss, he simply smiles down at me. "That doesn't offend me, nothing you say could ever offend me."

That fluttering is happening again, and it doesn't feel like it's going to stop, but I'm not sure if I want it to anymore.

I'm startled when he reaches out and curls his fingers around mine, but a deep part of me lets him stay. His hand is warm, and bigger than mine, and when I'm able to thread my fingers through his at a shy pace, they fit like two puzzle pieces. A deep intake of breath comes from him, and his fingers squeeze mine shortly after in reassurance.

The air is cold, but not cold enough to see my own breath, the birds cease their harmonies as they settle down in their nests and rest for the night ahead. Even though time is slowly getting on, it's not dark yet, but the sun is on the verge of its descent.

In the near distance, the sound of people cheering and the faint base of music registers. When we get into the heart of the town, the folks are herded in groups to create a swarm as they jump and jive to the variety of tunes coming from the speakers on the large stage. It's only when Brandon's voice comes close to my ear that I'm noticing he ever said anything.

"Do you have a place in mind?"

My hand tightens around his. "I-is it OK if you pick? I don't really know a lot of places if I must be honest."

"That's quite alright, I just want to know what your tastes are. Don't worry, we have plenty of time to exchange."

My lips tug up into a smile. "Thank you, Brandon. Maybe next time we can do—" My eyes widen. What did I just say? Next time? I've practically just told him I want there to be another date. "—I mean, if there was a next time, I mean—"

"I understand, don't worry yourself. Whatever happens tonight will be your call, and I'll gladly go along with it."

My heart skips a beat. Silently nodding, my eyes divert to the stage for the last time, remembering how a nutter got up there and sang until it was scarily possible for someone's ears to bleed.

"Would you mind telling me why restaurants aren't your thing?" he encourages, and it eases me.

"I've never fit in at elegant places, and restaurants happen to be one of them. . ." I trail off, realising how naturally I'm holding his hand. It feels right to have it there, but it scares me all the same. "I-I also like places where there's some sort of noise, even if it's in the background. It eases me, and I guess it feels more private and no one can hear you, you know?"

And it honestly looked like he did for a moment.

"In that case, I'll make sure we have those requirements met," he assures, and I'm left thanking him in a stumbly manner like a fool.

Sharing another flex of his hand, we continue to walk down the streets, enjoying one another's presence and the comfortable silence until we slow to a stop.

"This is my car."

I'm in awe. It's stunning with its hot rod red paint job. The splitter, skirts, and diffuser are made of carbon, and so's the spoiler. Taking a slow walk to the rear, my head spins in delight. It even had dual exits exhaust.

"How long have you had it?" I'm highly interested to know about his relationship with this car.

He cocks a brow and scrubs his jaw in amusement. "Two years, do you like it?"

I'm unable to help the small squeal that comes out of my mouth. "Like it? It's magnificent." When the opportunity arises, I'm definitely going to tell dad about this baby.

The echo of his footfalls cease when he arrives at my side, the warmth of his palm heats the small of my back. "Do you know the manufacturer?"

My head bobs. "Yep, Aston Martin Vantage. Obviously, you had it customised."

My breath catches in my throat at the intensity of his gaze. There's a glimmer of surprise and intrigue before it dissolves, and it doesn't take a minute for the flutter to sink to my stomach. That's when it dawns on me.

There's no way I'm getting butterflies. . . am I?

Shamefully my mind is reeling with thoughts of wanting to see that look again, and then the memory of how his lips had brushed my hand, and what else he may be thinking as he stares at me. I'm not going to survive this date; I can feel it.

"You know your cars."

It wasn't a question, only a statement. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he sounds impressed.

Smiling brightly up at him, the sharp intake of breath doesn't go unnoticed. "Yes, you have my father to blame for that."

"Is that so?" Brandon questions, swinging the door open for me. "I can say he sounds like a good man."

And my heart finally skips a beat. There's no way a man this polite exists in the real world. Now I'm eager to know what his flaws are. I'm finally understanding the women in the books on my shelves, the butterflies nesting in their bellies and skipping hearts. . . it's nice but scary, and I'm not entirely sure what my choice from here should be.

Once I'm seated and waiting for Brandon to climb into his seat, I'm too busy marvelling the interior; black covers everything while the seats and steering wheel have red stitching, and the gadgets have red accents.

"Is everything alright?" Brandon asks once seated and strapped in.

When the door shuts, I'm realising the car smells like fresh cherries, and when it first hit my nose, I've been struggling to stop inhaling it. That mixed with his cologne, and I'm hooked. "Yes," I breathe. "It just keeps getting better and better."

"Watch yourself," he warns softly, and a small giggle comes from me.

 "Are you ready to go, love?"

A long exhale passes my lips, still unable to believe I'm actually going on a date, and it's with Brandon. In a really cool car, also with Brandon. At the sound of the thrum of the engine, the answer comes to me. "I'm ready."

Without hesitation, Brandon peels from the parking space and rolls down the road with ease, and the headlights bathe the oncoming streets in a soft glow. Nothing can beat a good car ride in the evening.