Understated

He opens the door to me with a wide, welcoming smile. Clad in a pair of loose stonewash levi's and a plain White t-shirt, his muscular arms are as naturally golden as his wavy hair. 
      "Come in," he beckons, reaching for my hand and pulling me gently into the hallway of this grand yet understated terraced house. 
Once inside, he takes my handbag and places it at the foot of the wooden stairase. He leads me through to the airy white kitchen, pours me a glass of coke to which I slyly add a slug of vodka in an attempt to give me that cool air of confidence that both he and Isobel exude effortlessly. Luckily he had already walked toward the French doors leading to the garden, so hadn't noticed my brazen hands stealing from his parents drinks cabinet. After replacing the bottle, I join him in what I discover to be a palacial garden if such a thing exists. He lounges across a large wicker sofa and gestures for me to join him. I smile and walk toward him, place my glass on the wooden coffee table, then perch on the edge of the wide seat; he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer but I'm knocked off balance and rather than just sitting closer to him as I assume was intended, my top half falls clumsily sideways and I land atop his muscular chest. He smiles, amused, and brushes a stray lock of hair from my face with the soft tip of his index finger. Our faces centimetres from one another, his sweet breath warms my face, yet he seems unphased by our sudden closeness. He stares deep into my eyes until I look away, exhale a relaxing breath and lay my head on his chest. Silently, he kisses the top of my head. A smile crosses my lips and we lay perfectly still in utter contentment until he suggests we go upstairs...