ISN'T SHE LOVELY | hs

2 | SUNSHINE BOY

| MICKAYLA |
Sunday 29th May, 2022

"If you walked any slower, you'd stop!"

I'm yelling at tourists and no, I don't feel bad about it. Why they feel the need to slow down in the middle of the path to take a photo of a fucking tree is beyond me.

It is a pretty tree, now that I'm catching a quick glimpse of it as I zoom past. It's all green, lush and fully bloomed, so I get the appeal. Immediately, I feel a tiny bit bad for being a bitch.

It's not these peoples' fault that I'm running late. I slept in again, even though it's just past midday. Last night's painting session kinda ran into this morning, and I fell asleep against a dry bit of canvas mid-stroke. It isn't the first time that's happened, and I sure as shit know that it won't be the last.

The middle-aged couple with their baseball caps, maps in hand and cameras now dropped and hanging around their necks throw me a dirty look as I glance at them over my shoulder. My smile is apologetic as I gesture to my headphones, "Sorry, that wasn't aimed at you. Talking to my friend. He's running late. Slow walker."

It seems to work as they give me a nod for their misunderstanding which wasn't that at all, both of them totally oblivious to my lie. I'm listening to Sam Cooke, and my headphones don't have a direct hotline to wherever in the afterlife he's chilling, even though that would be wicked.

I am on my way to meet a friend, though. Harry. I haven't seen him since our first hang-out, but I texted him a couple of days ago asking when he was free to catch up.

He said for me, any time, any place. I grinned and giggled as I read over the message before replying that he should meet me on Sunday at midday at my favourite spot here at the Heath: a tree stump beneath a very specific wonky willow one that I adore.

I've got an answer for him: I'm gonna be his surrogate. Harry just doesn't know it yet. I left that part out of the message to deliver the news in person instead.

Meeting him two weeks ago has been on my mind every day since. He's a ten out of ten fella in every sense of the word: smart, funny, interesting, kind, engaging, successful, hot. He's so fucking hot.

I wish Sarah had warned me about his god-like level of hotness, because I damn near hit the deck when he first locked eyes with me. She knows me well enough to know that Harry is my type to a T, which is probably why she didn't warn me. I'd have treated our meet-up like some kind of date being the hopeless romantic that I am, and she made it crystal clear that Harry doesn't do that. He's happily single and intends on keeping it that way. No relationships for him, not after his ex-girlfriend.

The history of that situation is still totally unknown to me as I didn't press or pry for more information, but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Jagger got jilted.

What a crazy woman for leaving and hurting such a cool dude. I hope that both sides of her pillow are always warm, and that she never has another orgasm for as long as she lives.

Harry's relationship views came to mind after I grew dizzy and got a little lost in his pretty green eyes, which snapped me out of my trance-like state fast. I swallowed hard and jumped straight into my default mode, instead: being an idiot.

I told him that I'd cursed his name for wanting to meet with me so early, but I left the Heath that day vowing to never speak ill of that man again. Harry's an absolute angel. It really felt like we'd known each other our whole lives, not two hours. I'm an easy-breezy, social butterfly kinda gal that can strike up a conversation with a mop if need be, but in the pond with Harry, I had never felt so chill. So content. So comfortable.