3 What you don't do

I lay in her flower basket, peaking out at the few people that walked the town. My eyes, blurry gray giving out at the morning sunlight. The faint smell of bread pranced around the air as we left the flower shop. Coffee and freshly baked sweets roamed the morning bakery.

Words were exchanged through the phone and in person. And finally,after walking for 17 minutes, Hannah got to a coffee shop where the least ordered thing is coffee. The waitress, a short, petite young lady with dyed pink hair and big blue eyes came to our table to take the order.

Or so, that's how it began. The conversation started with, "Do you guys have breakfast croissants?" and then it went to something like, "OH MY GOD IKR HE'S SO HOT!" Then the waitress left and I scratched Hannah.

The bitter sensation of someone else bothered me. Maybe scolding her like this wasn't fair. After all, Hannah is a human being and she deserves other humans. Maybe I was being too selfish. Age really doesn't determine one's maturity. I sunk down to the bottom of the basket and lost myself in the scent of my surroundings.

Though the air felt nonchalant, hazy steps carefully made their way to us.

I sat up and glared at the what seemed to be English man who elegantly walked towards our table.

His structure, manners, and approach made it visible that he was a man of high class.

"Good morning Ms. Evernoon" He said, and though I expected some sort of rocket science tone in his voice, he surprisingly spoke in a deep, relaxed tone. Like milk and honey. A mesmerizing combination.

"Morning Mr. Forlesther. What brings you around these parts of town? On a Monday, at that." He grinned at Hannah's quick response. "I'm on break today." The grin faded a bit, then disappeared. Hannah motioned him to sit and he took the chair across from her.

"I feel tired, I know I'm only in my mid twenties but to me it has been more than enough." He grunted and sighed as he brushed aback his slick, black hair.

He leaned back, his broad shoulders slumped down as he crossed his arms.

"You're a teacher what could be so tiring?" Hannah sighed  as she stroked my ears. She does this when she wants someone- or something- to give her answers. She says that petting me is her way of finding "courage" in herself when she just wants to stay silent.

The young man bent over, hand on his chin, and a broad smile that you could possibly see in a TV show. He just had perfect teeth. It made me want to scratch his perfectly chiseled face. I purred in enragement and a bit of fear. He eyed me for a second, his dark brown eyes like the spruce wood in the woods once winter comes around. I stuck my head out a little more, just out of Hannah's reach. "A student shouldn't be talking." He grinned, dimples so impeccable they made a cat's heart skip a beat. I sat up on the table and blinked HARD. This is exactly what you don't do.