Thomas Sangster

Thomas sat at the edge of the high table, casually twirling a cup of cold tea in his hands, his gaze fixed on Mia. She stood by the window, arms crossed over her chest, stubbornly pretending to be more interested in the city lights than in the presence of the famous actor.
All day long, a sparkling tension hung between them, which they both tried to ignore. Mia tried her best to put up walls, retorted boldly to his teasing, and tried not to succumb to his quiet, unobtrusive charisma.
"You know," Thomas quietly broke the silence, tilting his head slightly to the side. His voice had a warm, slightly husky quality that sent shivers down my spine. "I've been watching you all day and I want to ask you one thing. You love me, right, Mia?"
Mia flinched slightly at such directness, but immediately composed herself. She slowly turned to face him, raised her chin proudly, and spoke with what she considered flawless, icy confidence:

• No. I don’t love you.
  Her answer sounded like a challenge thrown straight in the face of someone accustomed to heightened attention. For a moment, silence fell over the room. Mia braced herself for him to back away in disgust or try to turn it all into a casual joke, but Thomas suddenly laughed softly. It wasn't an arrogant laugh, but a sincere, soft sound that made the ground beneath her feet tremble slightly.
  He rose from the table, took a couple of quick steps, and, without giving her time to recover, pulled her toward him. His arms wrapped confidently yet surprisingly gently around her waist. Mia froze, her nose buried in his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of his woody perfume and the warming heat of his body.
  Thomas leaned close to her ear and whispered:
• Well, I'll have to.