You had to look somewhere, after all. She let her gaze fall on his hands. His fingers curled around the charcoal, long and tapered; sensitive hands. Of course he’d be sensitive. What artist wasn’t? No wedding ring. His forearms were surprisingly muscular. A clock somewhere was ticking. Her legs were starting to numb. She couldn’t see much of his face… Read it
Tia lives in Kent where she teaches the English language by day and wrestles with it by night. She has two boys who claim to ‘quite like’ her writing and a wholly unappreciative cat.