the long game / gr63

chapter fifteen

— TALIA —

The winter morning sun was high in the air, fog just about clearing up in the windows of the shops around us, snow slowly melting from the rooftops. I was covered head to toe in either fleece or wool, wearing a beanie, mittens and thick boots.

"I think you might have overdone it a little bit," George chuckled beside me. In contrast to me, he was in his everyday black wool coat, with only the addition of a creme-coloured scarf. "It's not that cold, it's not even the middle of winter yet."

"I was born and raised in Africa," I grumbled. "I'm not made of pure ice like you white people are."

George stopped in his tracks, making me whip my head around to face him. "I don't know if I should be offended by that? Are you saying I'm cold-hearted?"

"Well, there has to be a reason you're not feeling the cold. That's all I'm saying." I shrugged nonchalantly, continuing down the street. Footsteps thudded against the icy ground and then two arms wrapped themselves around my waist, spinning me up into the air and turning me to face him.

"Do I feel cold now?" He asked, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His breath formed white clouds once it hit the icy cold of the wintery air, yet his hands burned through the multiple layers of clothes where they were placed on my hips. Desire tugged at my core, and I bit my lip.

Over the past couple of days, I'd found myself getting excited whenever I saw George's name flash on my screen, and now, as we were on our way to cross off yet another item of our Christmas to-do list, I was finding it harder and harder to deny what was quite obviously starting to flare up inside of me. Every little touch, every small smile had butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. It was exhausting.

"No, no you don't," I admitted, my eyes flickering to his lips and back up to those icy blues. The question of whether he'd kissed me that night or lingered on my tongue, but... well, maybe I didn't want to know. Maybe it was best not to know.

"See? No heart made of ice in this chest," George hummed, his eyes darkening. "Or do you need some more proof to fully reject your hypothesis?" He reached for my hand, lifting it up to cover the left side of his chest. I could feel his heartbeat and the warmth of his skin through his coat. It left my throat dry.

"I'm good," I squeaked, pulling away from his touch. "Come on, we'll be late for our reservation."

I didn't miss the soft frown that took over George's features, but when I blinked, it was gone and he was following me through the streets of London. The Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tea room was quite a far way from the city centre, but we'd taken the metro and were now walking the short way from the station.

We were leaving for King's Lynn in two days. George had offered to give me a ride so that I didn't have to take the train, which was very nice of him. Since we had to leave so soon, we had decided to try to squish in a couple of more list items today. One of them being the themed afternoon tea.