Secrets Between Us.

- Chapter 2 -

I decide what I want to drink and rise from my table. You see, I was waiting for you. And it seems that others were waiting for a table.

On days like these, the human race turns into a pack of vultures. There is one particularly large monster with bulging eyes and little neck who is eyeing me carefully. You can see his hopes get snatched away as I pull my belongings into clear sight to let people know this seat was occupied.

I lock eyes with him for just the right amount of time to convey the message that I wasn't moving and nor was I pansy that he could just shove out of the way. Getting the picture, he broke contact and lulled away someplace else. From the corner of my eye, I could see him ogling at a couple of birds who were wearing almost nothing at all.

Working my way through the crowd, I inch closer towards you until-

"I am so sorry!" I apologise in a husky, surprised voice as I bump into you. Your hair smells like strawberries and feels soft and silky against my skin. Your purse falls to the floor and skids towards me. It flops open just as it comes to a halt at my feet and two cards slide out onto the wet floor.

"It's ok," you laugh freely. As if our destinies had become one, we both bend down and our hands meet for the very first time. Your hands feel smooth, absent of any callouses or ridges. I feel my heart go into a beating frenzy. I take a quick peek at your face – your eyes are diverted, but your face is youthful and so angelic.

It reminds me of a ceramic doll, one of those that my grandmother had on her mantle.

I could get used to this, I really can.

That tingle. That warmth between our skin. This is the way it should be between us. There is chemistry in touch – can you feel it?

You withdraw your hand and I scoop up the runaway cards and purse.

In a quick moment, my eyes wander over one of your cards and – oh, hello. It turns out that I hit the jackpot.

I savour this blessed moment and commit to memory the few morsels of information I am able to garner in the few seconds I had with your driver's licence.

Your name is Autumn Jensen.

You are younger than me but only by a year.

You live close-by – an affluent neighbourhood which isn't too shabby, might I add – and there doesn't appear to be any medical conditions which would be considered important enough to declare on the small piece of plastic.

"Here," I hold out the purse and cards and let you take them from my hand. I smile as our eyes meet and you immediately look away with a school-girl, pinkish tinge in your cheeks.

Autumn. Are you shy? Do I unnerve you?

You look up at me once more. Despite being a good head shorter than I, the warmth of your doe-like eyes radiates through me and all I want to do is take you into my arms and plant a kiss on those soft-looking lips. We should be cuddled up on the couch, listening to the rain pounding the tiles on my roof and sharing a hot cup of tea.

"Thank-you."

You turn on your heel and I am met with the expanse of chestnut hair on the back of your head. The dampened tendrils fill my nostrils with the sweet, fruity smell and I find myself smitten by your mere presence.

You made my knees weak, Autumn.

You are only centimetres away from me, yet you still feel so far away. Should I have said something else? Do you know that I exist now?

I stand behind you, watching as you step towards the barista. He laughs and works the machine without even having to ask for your order. For your sake, I'll try not to read too much into this. I will just take this as a sign that he is an attentive worker striving to offer the best service one could possibly be motivated to provide on minimum wage.

From between the stacked mugs, I can spy the plastic tip of the black marker.

Oh, no.

That marker is a dagger, Autumn – that dagger will go through my heart if he dares to draw another pathetic heart.

The goon snatches the marker, whips the lid off and there it is.

The call-sign belonging to the man of a hundred women. Yet, you remain oblivious to the game of heartbreak that this man plays.

You take the mug and give me a quick glance from beneath your eyelashes as you make your way towards the door. And then you're gone, swallowed by the doorway and spat into the rest of society which flittered by this place on the sidewalk.

He's bad for you, Autumn. Why can't you see that?

I can protect you; give you the happiness which you so deserve.

A sense of doubt creeps into my spine and I feel my stomach rise into my throat. Somehow, it feels as if I didn't make the most of our time together, Autumn. I really should've done more; tried a different tactic, even.

I step into the spot which you occupied just mere moments ago, trying to detect even a last whiff which may have trailed behind you. The barista recognises me too and shoots a smirk in my direction.

"Same as usual, Matt?"

A jolt shoots down my spine as the pony-tailed asshole speaks to me. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to jump down his throat. Being called Matt is a pet-peeve of mine. My name isn't Matt – it's Matthias.

We aren't chummy friends.

We aren't even acquaintances.

I force a polite upturn of the lips even though a sharp sense of disdain plagues me inside.

"You know it."

"We'll bring it out to you."

I push my phone against the payment machine and wander back to my table with clenched fists. I slide back into my chair and stare through the leaves of the fake plants at the water trails meandering on the windows outside.

The trails that are being left behind remind me of life, as philosophical as that seems. As time goes on, you never quite know which direction it will go or what it may bring.

If I am lucky, the trail I am on will hopefully take a turn and the weather will ease up by the evening. Today is one of those days that I really could do with an evening cycle to ease the mind and to ease my beating heart.

And it just so happens that I now knew the perfect destination to cycle to.