She watches from the corner of her eye, pretending not to watch, as he shakes out a cigarette. And then a second. He puts the pack away and nestles both cigarettes between his lips. He flicks his thumb against his lighter and the flame catches, his large hand cupping it against the wind as he lights both cigarettes together. Now she’s watching, staring up at him, watching his hands and his mouth, not just a little intrigued. His lips pull and the sparks glow, puffed to life. He plucks one cigarette from his lips, offering it to her.
She thinks about refusing it or flicking it into the sound.
Her fingers brush against his as she takes it. She puts it in her mouth and takes a deep drag. The paper on the filter feels slightly damp from his lips.
She waits for him to say something stupid and infantile and condescending. He doesn’t say anything, just staring down at her with dark eyes until she has to look away. The wind is cold and sharp; that’s what’s making her cheeks burn, is all.
