I can't even .:trust myself:. | (Bryony)

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

My brow furrows at his response. It seems a bit ridiculous that he had to come all of this way for such miniscule repairs. Usually the men of the lumberyard did such things on their own. There was no need to pay up for such minor things. Something seemed fishy about it, but before I can respond, Ven is already changing the subject… and there’s that smile.

I swallow back the lump in my throat as I feel my cheeks warm. I quickly look to the sweets that he mentions as I try to control the fluttering in my stomach. “Yes,” I say before looking back to him. “They are. You can have some more if you like … Well I say more because you had some when we made them, not that you had some already today…” I can feel my cheeks getting downright hot as I stumble over my words. This is why it’s better to keep quiet. To avoid further embarrassment, I turn away from him and grab a handful of cookies. They are the ones with berries and chocolate chips and those were the ones he ate the most of from what I remembered… he’d eaten plenty, but whether I’d admit it or not, I was paying attention to what he liked.

I place them on one of the small plates we have stacked beside the sweets display before handing it to him. “These were the ones you liked, right?” I bite my lower lip softly as I continue to avert my eyes. “I mean, I don’t really remember…” I lie. I’m a terrible liar, and I can feel even my ears burning with blush now too. If he knew I’d thought so often of that day, what would he think of me? He’d probably mock me, honestly, that’s what most guys like him seemed to do. He still didn’t seem to know enough about me to act that way yet, but the only way to keep that from happening is to stay cold and keep my distance. So with that, I purse my lips together and begin to open the bag of tools he has brought. As I thumb through the assorted blades and gadgets, my brow furrows once more. There was hardly a knick or blemish on anything he had brought… What is he playing at?

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

I can’t help but look up as Ventus bites into the cookies. The small smile of satisfaction that tinges his lips causes a warming sensation in my chest. I take in a slow breath to hold my stoic expression. As he asks about my grandmother, I furrow my brow. Why did he care how she was? He hardly knew her or myself … I guess he is just being polite? I revert my gaze back to the hardly broken tools in the bag he brought and begin inspecting them once more.

“She’s doing alright. The cold doesn’t exactly agree with her bones, but she’s managing, and I help her out when I can.” I can’t help but smile as I think on her fondly. Admittedly, she’s my favorite member of my family, though I would never divulge that information to my parents. I get on well with them too of course, but I know they favor my brother. It’s hard not to when raising him was so easy and I have been so… well, problematic would be a nice way of putting it. Who wants a child with severe anxiety attacks when treatment is far too expensive for even the wealthier members of the district.

My next words slip from my lips before my conscious has time to stop myself. “She’s asked about you, actually.” As I realize what I’ve said, I can’t help widen my eyes in horror and try to think of a magical way to retract it. No such thing exists however and my cheeks burn bright once more… something they seem to do a lot in Ventus’s company. My hands fumble through the tools as I furiously wrack my brain for a quick transition or excuse. “Well… I mean…” I feel my finger catch the tip of a blade and in my flustered state, I realize too late as it presses into my flesh and draws blood. “Ouch!” I quickly retract my hand and try to find a clean-ish spot on my apron to press it into until I can find a bandage.

I take in a deep, aggravated breath and look at Ventus accusingly. Of course this wasn’t really his fault, but if it weren’t for him unhinging me so with his smile and his questions, I wouldn’t have cut myself in the first place. As I move to behind the counter to grab the small first aid kit we have on hand, I remember that Ventus too had cut himself on our baking day, and this strikes a new thought… Did he cut himself for the same reason? Was he distracted by me…? No. That would be ridiculous.

I'm in misery
where you can seem
as old as your omens

The moment happens too quickly and it’s too late to escape as Ventus grasps my hand into his. That doesn’t stop me from trying to pull away, but he has me. My eyes lock with his like a deer in headlights. His irises are a perfectly deep shade of warm brown, and they are filled with life like the giant oaks in the summer. I can feel my heart rate quicken as he pulls in closer and try desperately to retain my expression of aggravation.

“It’s only a cut,” I say as I take the towel and release my hand from his. Despite my agitation and distrust, the blush still rushes to my cheeks as I continue to look at him. My expression slowly softens to one of curiosity as I really take him in. There is something so genuinely kind in the way he looks at me that is almost frightening. My grandmother often gives me a similar expression, but there is something notably different in the subtleties behind it. Still, it is unnerving and I finally find it in me to turn from his warm eyes.

I move to behind the counter to grab the puny old first aid kit that we keep stashed for situations like this. It’s probably gotten the most use out of me in all of the time we have had it. I grab one of the few remaining bandages and remove it from its yellowing wrapper. After applying some ointment to stifle the bleeding, I quickly wrap my finger and turn back to Ventus.

I catch the bag of blades and tools out of the corner of my eye and recall why he was there in the first place. I cocked a brow at him in suspicion as I walk to the bag to re-survey the wares. “Are you sure these need to be sharpened…?“ It was already odd that he was here with such silly repairs, and on closer evaluation they hardly needing repairing at all. No one comes in here for this.

“And the shop closes at seven in the winter months, so that’s when I am done. Haven’t you come here enough to know that?” I fold my arms as I stand across from him skeptically. Something wasn’t adding up, and as warm as his smile and eyes may be, I am still too scared to trust him.