Sweetly Yours

Chapter Eight; Sweetly Delightful

Author's Note; beautiful banner to the side by NattyKat, thank-you so much! :-) Enjoy this chapter guys!

Sweetly Yours

Chapter Eight; Sweetly Delightful

The sight in front of my eyes was simply . . .

Mind blowing.

Amazing.

Glorious!

A delight.

An utterly wondrous delight.

An explosion of colour greeted my eyes, the string of fairy lights around the room creating a homely glow. The decor was pastel, light and cheerful, instantly creating a happy, relaxed, calm vibe. The furniture was all random and mish mash, all different patterns and colours, creating a vintage feel.

Papers were strewn everywhere, exuberant, cursive scribblings covering page after page in a black ink. Books, books, and more books covered shelf after shelf, wooden bookcases, an array of different tables. There was even a shelf dedicated to little glass jars filled to the brim with wrapped sweets.

"What is this room?" I asked in awe, slowly walking around this wondrous room. My hands dusted across a patchwork woolen quilt, which was flung comfortably over a faded old leather chair, complete with a matching, quaint foot rest.

Jamie smiled at my reaction. "I thought you'd like it. It's my mother's 'playroom', as she calls it. It's a little study really, where she comes, just lets everything go, relaxes and writes. It's her little safe haven. She's very passionate about writing; it's close to her heart. Our grandmother loved to write," he explained.

"It's a beautiful room," I complimented honestly, taking it all in, even down to the old paper-ish, crisp smell, "how did you know I'd like it?"

Jamie met my gaze sheepishly, "I may have overheard you talking about how you loved books and writing to your friend Phoebe, one English lesson." 

"Awe, so adorable of you to remember that, it was weeks ago!" I cooed, trying to contain my happiness upon discovering not only did Jamie pay attention to me in class--eavesdropping is still attention, isn't it?--but he had also remembered such a casual, petty conversation.

"I always remember the little things," Jamie shrugged, a hint of bashfulness in his movement and his quietened voice.

I smiled warmly, "well, I'm glad. This room is something else entirely," I trailed my hand across some old papers, feeling the creases and crinkles, tracing the beautiful writing looped over the page.

The corners of Jamie's lips tugged up into a fond smile. "I know. Whenever I'd come in here, I used to think it was magical. In a way, I suppose it is. There are no words to describe Mum's writing, that would do it good enough justice. Take a look."

Without any need for further encouragement, I eagerly picked up one of the pages, my eyes greedily taking in every little word and detail.

The sun burnt bright, the large ball of hot white light streaming down onto the baked tarmac. Waves of heat radiated from the softened black floor, almost as if it was sweating heavily. Everything, from the fallen, messy mush of ice cream discarded onto the floor; to the tanned, glistening legs of a passerby jogger, hinted at the intense heat of the day.

The sticky, moist air made for clammy minds, as well as bodies. The crowds retreated to the precious scraps of shade that were available, packed tightly together in hoards, like a tin of slippery sardines.