Only Yours

07. Exchanges

Tamina

He rubs his jaw for a second, pulling my eyes toward his light stubble before he replies, "I'm being customary. Would you prefer me to call you something else?"

It amazes me how puzzled he sounds, but it also makes me feel bad too.

Sipping on the remnants of my frostino, I clear my throat. "Is it OK if you call me Tamina? Miss Tamina sounds. . . too important." I pause in thought before offering, "It's nice, don't get me wrong, I hope I haven't offended you or anything?"

He chuckles and waves his hand in dismissal. "Tamina it is, and no, you haven't offended me. If anything, I find you. . . I'm not sure how to put it, but remarkable."

My brain buffers to conjure up a response other than a shocked intake of air. When something does come, I ramble, "Or Tam. If not, then Tammy?" When his lips lift at the corner, I carry on, "P-people normally shorten it and what not, it's completely up to you, sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"I would rather find my own nickname, love."

His tone pulls another gasp from me. It's husky and sounds like something straight out of a book. Damn, what if this is a dream and I'm about to wake up in my bed with a hot sweat?

"H-how come?"

With a confident grin, he says, "It will be more meaningful."

And just like that, my heart is doing that odd flutter while my face is about to explode. It would be something nice if we were to continue these meet ups, and the more time passes, I'm not seeing a problem.

"Howdy, what can I get you?" a man around our age pipes up while jumping from out back.

His hair is rusty toned and permed to the side, freckles dust over his features, and his eyes are like dark oak. Plus, he's tall, maybe an inch or so smaller than Brandon. When my eyes fleet from between the two, my eyes divert to the floor when it sinks in his are busy dragging up and down my body a bit too much for my liking—not that I like being stared at anyway, but there's no need to cause a scene.

"We have a special offer on today! Two for half the price, and a shaving off the meat sections, what do you say?" All the while he rants on about the deals we could have, he pays no attention to Brandon. His brow hitches up at me while I make a pointed look of no interest by analysing a stand full of flyers and magazines across the room.

Suddenly, a strong arm slopes around my waist, tugging me flush against a warm side. Brandon's cologne hits me tenfold, and I'm starting to believe fainting from the power of it is a possibility. It's one of the best things I've ever smelt, but I'm confident I'll be able to get over it—

"You're making my girl uncomfortable," his tone is low, a warning.

And I thought his voice couldn't be any more masculine than it is already.

The worker's lower lip trembles, moisture gathers on his brow before his spine snaps straight, surprising me that it doesn't literally snap from the velocity behind it. "M-my apologies, may I take y-your orders?" he quivers. Even his voice is smaller and shakier than before.

Brandon places our orders, making sure the process is swift, and for the remainder, the man never looks at me, and I don't dare another look at him from that point onward. Letting out a calming breath when he disappears out back, my body relaxes in the comfort the warmth provides, and my eyes grow heavy temporarily while leaning into it.

"Are you alright?"

Peering up through my lashes, I show an appreciative smile. "Thank you for that, I wasn't entirely sure what to do."