Spades

s e v e n : walkies

He had prepared himself for a good three days. For this moment. The moment where he'd ask her to dinner. Or to a movie. Or just...to be. With him, for a few hours. Minutes, if she wanted. Whatever she wanted.

But Isaiah, like all mortals, had negative thoughts that encroached on his positive thoughts like shadows in a lit room.

Those thoughts told him that Eira would reject him. That Eira would laugh in his face. That Eira had a boyfriend, much more well suited than him, smoother than him, more suave, more...well, more of everything Isaiah already was but not around her. Much, much more.

Those thoughts, those bleak thoughts thrived. And that was because...well, because Eira looked like one of those girls who got asked out all the time. Which was great, because she wouldn't be shocked or surprised when he asked her out.

But...she looked like one of those girls who said no almost every time.
Isaiah knew he was in a pickle. A funk.

The silence that enveloped them wasn't awkward. It wasn't tense, it wasn't pregnant. It was the kind of silence that was reflective, and it may have been because Isaiah just admitted that he liked the way her eyes lit up whenever she smiled at him, which, amazingly, was very often nowadays. Isaiah wanted to take a picture of her, but he thought whatever their relationship was, it was too early to do that.

"Thank you," Eira said softly, finally acknowledging his compliment. It wasn't even a compliment, honestly speaking. It was an observation.

They gazed at each other, Eira's beautiful hazels locked onto his unusual pale blues. This went on until Isaiah couldn't pretend that the pinkening of his cheeks wasn't happening. He lowered his gaze to the almond muffin he was almost done eating. There was something about her eyes that made him get goosebumps and fuzzy feelings. He sounded like one of the giggly blushing protagonists of those coming of age books River's triplet sisters liked to pretend they weren't reading.

He was stalling, he knew, the time to ask her out. To do something, anything. He had a feeling that asking Eira on a date seemed too forward, too rushed.

Isaiah didn't know if he could explain exactly why he felt that way, but he reasoned in his oh-so-logical mind that if it took him one and a half weeks to smile at him, two weeks to speak to him, to say her name of all things, that it sure as hell wouldn't take two weeks and five days for her to go on a date with him. 

So instead of asking her to the cinema and committing the crime of looking like more of a blubbering fool, he said: "Tell me about your day."

And she did. "It didn't go as well as I'd hoped," she started, in that way Isaiah already knew. "But it's going better."

"Why's that?" Isaiah asked, failing to quell the curiosity that bubbled inside him.

Eira frowned, and Isaiah found she was a picture of pure cuteness. She looked at him like he was crazy for even asking that question.

"Well, because you're here. You're smiling. You look happy. You're talking. You're alive, Isaiah. Isn't that something to make my day better?"

His heart stopped.

His breathing faltered.

His body tensed.