Angels don't have tattoos

Chapter Fifteen (Edited)

I hadn't known where Jameson was taking us. There had been a long moment, where he just stood, with the front of his body pressed to mine. It was in those moments, and in the car ride that panic had made its presence known. It was like he knew that I suddenly became slightly aware of the situation. We were parked at a stop light. My arms were tightly wrapped around my body as I started out the window at the snowy sky.

"I can take you to the therapists office." His voice breaking me from my trance.

"Jameson, please. I don't, I don't want to go there." I wrung my hands nervously before trying to explain. " I remember how the people in the hospital looked at me. The sympathetic looks, and the overly cautious actions. The whispers, and the way the doctors talked to me. It was as if I was a child. That I couldn't possibly comprehend anything they were telling me. Telling person after person was hard enough. I had to relive those moments. I had to feel his hands on me." I couldn't help but to choke up a little.

"Bryn. There is absolutely no need for you to explain your actions to me. If you don't feel like you're ready to go to a therapist. Then you're not ready. I'm not going to push it" he stated.

Jameson had pulled into a little parking lot by then, I was impressed he could find a spot so easily. Even though he wore atlas two layers to keep the arctic New York City winters off his skin, I could imagine the cords of muscle that lay beneath all those layers.

I must've really been day dreaming, because when I finally stopped myself from thinking about Jameson's statuesque appearance, The man himself was ushering me out of the car. A gust of wind blasted against my uncovered cheeks. I pulled the lapels of my jacket more firmly around my face and adjusted my scarf before accepting Jameson's hand.

With out a glance back, he took off in long stride. If I would have been a short, the task of keeping up with him would be near impossible. Looking down I saw our hands intertwined. Both of our hands were covered by leather gloves, but the fact he was even holding my hand at all made heat rush to my face.

Jameson pulled open the door of a wall building ushering my inside before firmly closing the door. Jameson stomped his feet on the door mate before heading further in. I copied his motions and looked around as I did so.

It was a small place, maybe twenty-five tables in all. The tables and chairs seemed to be mismatched. Each chair had a cushioned seat, but the shape and color were all different. The walls were paneled with rich dark wood that gave the place a victorian feel to it. I left my gaze wander across the room, there was a larger table in the middle of the room that was obviously made to accommodate larger parties. But besides that all he tables only sat two.

I was continuing to look around while Jameson approached the hostess, whispering a few words to her before we were escorted to a table in the back corner of the restaurant. There were only a few people who were seated, and they were all on the opposite side. I gave Jameson a funny look, but he was too busy shucking his coat off, again I followed suit, the petite hostess took our coats and left us at the table.

"Miss! What about menus?" I questioned as she turned to walk away.

The small blonde stopped and shot me a look. "Is this the first time you've dined at the blue whale?"

A voice came from behind me. "Sorry Suze, I'll take care of her."

The girl now dubbed as Suze, game a warm smile to the voice behind me before turning and walking away.

"Take care of me? How am I supposed to order food if I don't know what they offer?" I sat down in the large purple chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Bryn."

"That is my name." I paused for a second. " While we're on the topic of names, you seem to be calling me a few that aren't mine."

"Have I now?" He questioned

"Yes you have. Several times. Mo chroí" I said, not for sure if I was getting the word right. 

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P.H.B.