[ summer rainault ]
She had already sat down, not even looking at the other occupant, and plunged back into her book, when he spoke. Her gaze jerked up, fixing first on the curls, as unruly as ever, and then the planes of his face, and her heart seemed to leap up into her throat.
How had she not sensed him as soon as she walked in, much less before she sat down at his table? Her hand shook, and she put her book down before she dropped it. “I-I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t realise it was you. I’ll, I’ll … “
”You don’t have to leave, you know. I’d like to think
that we’re mature enough to share a table without
one of us having to find a seat somewhere else.”The sight of the fiery haired girl before him made his blood boil with disdain but still his icy blue hues were met with by pair across the table. He wasn’t overly pleased with the situation but as he had stated, surely they weren’t going to act like children about it.
“You didn’t want to see me before … before,” she mumbled. “You didn’t even want to talk to me. I figured that hadn’t changed.” She pushed her tray away a little. Her guts were too churned up now to eat; she’d just choke on it. Linking her hands together, she put them over her eyes. “Maybe I’m not mature enough. I guess that makes you better than me.”