Page 4 of In You
"You too." I nod and grab my own bouquet, and we push out the intricately trimmed door out onto the cobblestone sidewalk. "I'm that way." I tilt my head south. "Two blocks down. I couldn't find a closer spot. I can give you my number real quick so you don't have to walk all that way," I offer suggestively.
"That's okay," he says, giving me a grin. "I don't mind the walk if you don't mind the company."
I gesture to the flowers in his arms. "But you have two bouquets, surely your arms will get tired."
His eyes flash as he gives me a panty wetting smile. "I'll walk all over the city with my arms laden down for the chance to accompany you to you car. And besides, one of these are yours." He flicks his gaze pointedly at the roses, and I melt a little, tilting my head up slightly to accommodate our size difference.
He's about six-foot to my five-foot-four height, and though I'm not the smallest woman in the world, next to him I feel petite.
"Alright." I giggle, feeling a bit taken aback. I'm not a dater having spent much of my time in school before working as a billing specialist for a nearby clinic. Doesn't make for good money, but it's enough to afford my studio apartment on the North side of town.
We begin to walk, and I find myself brushing against him now and then as we have to move closer to avoid running into other people walking towards us. A man catches my eye, staring a few beats too long.
"So, what are you doing with your mom today?" he asks casually, giving the gentleman a smile and a nod of his head. The man averts his face quickly, and begins to walk a little faster.
"Well, every Father's day she makes us a lovely brunch, and then we go treat ourselves to a spa day." I laugh nervously, always a bit conscious and not wanting to feel judged. "We look forward to it every year, it's kinda our thing."
He looks down at me. "Where's your father?"
"What father?" I breathe, looking down at my feet now as we journey along, not really wanting to get into it. "Probably dead. It'd be better than the alternative."
"The alternative?" He raises a brow.
Looking up, I give him a sad smile. "I'd rather believe that he died than believe he abandoned me."
"I'm sorry," he says in a low voice. It goes silent when we reach the crosswalk, and it isn't until we're on the other side does he speak up. "I don't have a father either."
I tilt my head up to look at him. He's staring straight ahead, and his eyes are squinted a little. "No?"
He shakes his head, getting a sad smile on his face.
"Well," I bump my arm into his, "that makes two of us, so you won't need to feel alone." He's busy staring into my eyes as we're walking, no longer seeming to care about the oncoming foot traffic as we near my car. I reach into my pocket for my keys and then hit the button to unlock it. "This is me," I say sheepishly, watching as his eyes slide to my beat up black Honda with peeling paint.
He waits patiently as I place my bouquet in the front seat and then turn back to him, rubbing my hands together. "Uhm, I can drive you to your car so you don't have to walk back?" I offer, hesitantly as he's still a stranger to me. Albeit a charming one.
"No need," he says, his gray eyes turning warm. "I fancy a walk today. Takes the mind off things." He holds the two dozen roses to me and arches a brow when my eyes widen in surprise.
"Oh, you were serious?" I ask, my voice going up an octave.
Loud engine rumbling fills the air as a car races past, making another car blare it's horn at him, startling me. I put a hand to my chest, and he frowns when I don't immediately go to take them. "Well, yes. What makes you think I wasn't?"
"Maybe my history with a string of bad men," I mumble, looking to the side, uncomfortable with receiving a gift like this.
"What was that?"
My eyes go back to his, seeing his brows scrunched a bit. "Oh. Nothing. I just…" I shift my weight from foot to foot awkwardly. "I'm not used to receiving flowers like this, is all."
The next smile he gives me almost blinds me with it's charm and intensity. "Well, I'm happy to end your dry spell. Now, can you take them so I can put your number in my phone?"
"Oh!" I say, giving him an apologetic look and take the flowers, strapping them in next to my moms in the front seat. When I turn back around he's already swiping into his phone.
"What's your name?" he asks. Though I'm struck by how gentle and calm he is, I'm even more taken aback by how safe he makes me feel.
"Tamryn," I reply softly, "my name is Tamryn." Without being prompted, I spell it out and then give him my number, giggling with amusement as he calls it and my phone rings from my purse. "You thought I'd give you a bum number?"
He laughs, placing a hand to his nape and squeezing. "It's happened before, believe it or not," he says sheepishly as he clears his throat. When his eyes pin mine, he turns serious. "I'm taking you to a steakhouse tomorrow. Wear something," his eyes flick down my body, making me feel hot all over, "elegant."
The way his mouth moves to form that one word has got me aroused; a feeling that's as foreign as it is bewildering. I'd sworn off men after my ex turned out to be a major jerk, and it's become apparent to me over the years that I obviously can't trust myself to pick a man that's good for me.
