MIRA

As I arrange my groceries into my bike’s basket, my shivering hands betrayed me, before I knew it my jam kiss the floor.

“Ah shit Mira! I’m sure you can do better.” I hiss

“Need a hand?” A voice call from beside me. Low, but steady. Not like he was managing it, but like he was trying to be nice.

I raise my head, not to him. But to the reflection on the glass to catch who that is before I face him. It’s him.

I know from the jeans he suddenly changes into. A wave of ...