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Emelia Pattinson is a 20-year-old, all set to step into a new phase to build her dream life in Yorkshire, which she's always wished for.
Things she never expects always tend to happen in her life.
And just like tha...
After 5 minutes of hiking, I seat on a bench situated at the sunset point of the location.
I could sink into the spectacular sight before my eyes.
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The peaceful sea with its smooth waves carpeting the bed of the cliffs and the sky illuminated by the sun now was whirling a shade of grey, with rainy clouds coming in charge.
This is the beauty I want to replicate on my canvas.
Would he come and join me?
What.
Why do I have to worry about him? Situations will worsen with his company and I know that.
I really don't want to do this with him. . . . . Or do I?
I shake my head to free myself from the thoughts I was about to linger on and I pull my art supplies out from the tote bag.
"Not a bad choice, Emily." I jump from the strong whisper in my ear from behind.
Recognizing his voice, I turn my torso with the lower half of my body postured on the bench.
His hands are sloped on the backrest of the bench, with his body weight falling forward as he leans, to bring the distance between our fronts a few inches.
My eyes reach his pinkish-red turned lips from the cold but quickly meet his caramel gaze with his minty breath fanning my face. His soft brown flock of hair brewed along with the frosty wind, suited on a neat face. I snap myself out of his dreamy sight and rise from the bench to step away from his glare and body.
He is clothed in a beige cardigan with his black topcoat layering perfectly. I could see his black rugged bottom from in between the structure of the bench. A few chains hung from his neck as he leaned over and I noticed a band of ink emerging from underneath his cardigan.
I instantly connected, it was the anchor tattoo I had seen before.
How would you not know the tattoo after gawking at his half-naked body?
I would've been proud of my memory if it wasn't a naked chest I had remembered at this instance.
With his torso leaned and a strong face, his eyelids rake my body from the ground to meet my eyes back up and he doesn't even feel the need to hide this gesture. I cross my arms in front of my chest and raise an eyebrow.
"What are you doing 'with.a.girl.like.me'?" I question him, dramatically repeating his words.
He smiles from a corner of his mouth and releases his leaned posture to an upright position. He walks over, crossing the bench to continue in front of me with our eyes meeting again
