It's not a date.

I'm sure it's not. At least that's what I am telling myself.

I'm also saying this dressed a lot more nicely than I have been for the last few days. Today's style is floral (my favourite). I'm wearing a floral style, off-shoulder blue blouse with blue denim shorts. Matching with my floral headband and a mini flower stud earring. In the short time I had left, I finish unbraiding my hair and brushed it into an afro. To compliment it all, I have Derek's hoodie tied around my waist.

I arrive at his house and just looking at the outer design, I could tell he was a rich boy.

First up, it wasn't even a house, but rather a hotel. One of the luxury hotels in Hollins now that I think about it is called Briggs's Hotel.

So, his family owns this hotel. This is such a cliche, honestly.

As I enter the lobby, a room filled with guests and rich people waiting to book. Both of the staff members working at the front look exhausted; God I feel bad for them. But Derek is nowhere to be seen. All he said was to go to this address and I'll show up at 5 pm. I check the time.

5:05 pm.

Not exactly late but still not consistent.

I find a comfy sofa and sit down with my legs crossed, waiting patiently. Maybe not patient enough. I got out my phone and called Derek. No pickup. I switch to texting him:

Brooke: Did you text me the wrong address or something?

No response, instantly. Where is that man?

Minutes passed before the background noise of guests start to quiet down to the point where I could drop a pillow and you could hear it. I turn around to where everyone else is looking to see Derek running into the lobby. His hair is an utter mess which threw me off. A light blush shows up on my cheek as he runs in a black t-shirt, sweatpants and crocs.

Crocs? People still wear crocs?

Ignoring the mismatching colours of Derek's outfit, I stand up as people look at us. Great.

'What took you so long?' I cross my arms as Derek pants.

'Sorry..... Your...hair...' He pants, moving back to have a look at the back. 'It's pretty.'

I blush. 'Of course, it is.'

'Well, um...let's go.' Derek takes my hand, and we walk to an elevator. He clicks the 35th floor and the elevator doors close.

'Sorry. I fell asleep since I went to bed late last night. Your call woke me up.'

'It's fine. As long as I get an explanation it's fine.'

'Sorry again. Can I touch your hair?'

I blink several times. 'W-what?'

'It just looks so soft and fluffy.' He's a lot quieter and calmer than usual.

'...sure...'

It was a quiet response, but his ears picked up on it, instantly. His hands lay on my hair and I feel the intensity of his stare as he looks at my hair and back at me. He grabs part of my hair and sticks it up. It stays in place before slowly limping to the side.

'You weren't joking. Gravity-defying.' I smile as he smells his hand. 'Yep. Coconut oil for sure.'

I smile softly as the elevator door opens. Derek holds my hand and we walk to room 321 (ha). He taps in the pin and lets me in first.

I waltz into his nicely designed home with a living room at the front close to the window and a kitchen at the far back.

'Hold on. Shoes off here.' Derek pulls me back.

'Sorry.' I take off my sandals and walk onto the tiles before sitting on the sofa.

Derek does the same leaving this moment where we both sit on the couch, very awkward.

'So, when are we making the crème brulee.' I tap my fingers on my thighs.

'Well, I've done the first part of the recipe and it's in the oven right now. We can try making chocolate chip cookies, from scratch.

'Yeah, that's fine. Let's just wait for the crème brulee to finish first.'

'Yeah totally.'

The silence continues and I don't know exactly what to do. I tap on my thighs noticing that I have Derek's hoodie tied around my waist.

'Man, it's getting chilly.' I untie the hoodie and put it on, knowing full well Derek had just realised what I did.

A moment is left where we're both staring at each other. He then moves towards me 'You bought that on purpose, did you?'

'Maybe...'

'Those eyes of yours...'

Ring!

We look to the kitchen as Derek's phone vibrates on the kitchen bench.

'Dessert is done, I guess.' I move him away, stand up and walk towards the oven.

He stands to the side, as I carefully use the oven mitts to get the crème brulee out of the oven and onto the induction stove.

'Do you think it's ready?'

Derek does the toothpick test, and carefully shakes the tin. 'Yep. We can let it cool in the fridge before we have it.'

I watch as Derek carefully places the tin in the fridge and closes the door. 'So.'

He takes steps forward, inches close to me; our noses basically touching. 'Priorities, Derek. Cookies.'