The Arch of Love ~ Paul McCartney

42. After rain

Notting Hill, 1 December '67, 11:10 AM

True to his word, Paul knocked on my door just after eleven the next morning. After my talk with Fran, I had managed to finally fall asleep without worries; a welcome change. I had been up for some time when Paul finally arrived, but I also knew that he probably wasn't. Knowing him, he had likely been in the studio until well after midnight, hit up some nightclub afterwards and stumbled into bed just before morning. He had been living on only a few hours of sleep each night for years now and now that touring and performing didn't keep him up anymore, he kept himself up.

'Morning love.' He greeted me with a peck on the lips as he walked into the flat. Nothing in his greeting had changed since we officially started dating. Well, he hung up his own coat, if that counted.

I smiled and walked after him, into the kitchen. I had a day off, but Fran had left early in the morning for her job. Perfect, if you asked me, because that meant I could finally have a good conversation with the bassist, without anyone interrupting us.

'Good morning,' I greeted him. I went over to the stove to put on the kettle, but he stopped me by putting his hand on my arm.

'Have you had breakfast yet?' he asked, while he pulled my arm in a way that made me turn around to him.

I shot a quick look at the clock hanging over the door; it was past eleven. 'Well, yes. Hours ago,' I admitted while I felt my cheeks burn up. Dang it, Archie, keep it together. It isn't Paul's fault that he lived on a different schedule; most of the time, you did too.

'Oh,' he sighed, his smile faltering. He seemed to think for a moment, after which his smile returned. 'What about lunch or brunch? Do you want to go out?'

My first instinct was to say no. No, we couldn't go out together or people might find out about us. But then Fran's words crept into my mind. I had decided that Paul was enough for me, hadn't I? I wanted to be with him, whatever Fleet Street might write about me. The Sun and the Daily Mail could write all sorts of profanities about me and probably would, but Paul was enough for me. It didn't matter anymore if anyone found out. They could know, for all I cared.

And thus I smiled too, forcing my cheeks back to their normal colour. 'Yes, I would love to,' I told him and reached up to press my lips on his cheek. 'Do you've got anywhere special in mind?'

'Not really,' he admitted as he took my hand. 'I thought that you might know a place around that serves a good brunch? Given that you live around here.'

A chuckle escaped my lips. He had a point there. 'There's a café around the corner Fran and I sometimes go to. They serve some brunch?' I suggested. I tried to keep my voice from showing how nervous I actually was about this. My heartrate was through the roof, but I had no way of doing anything about that. I was nervous, because I knew full well that the second Paul and I stepped out of that door, my anonymity was gone.

And that was alright.

Paul smiled again. 'Let's go,' he whispered, without actually moving. Well, he moved, but not towards the door. No, he dipped his head down to press his lips on mine, kissing me square on the mouth.

'Stop it,' I chuckled, pulling away, but not after I made sure to get my share of his lips. I guess I wanted to kiss him just as much as he me. I could never stop kissing him.

When we finally did make it out of the flat, I was somewhat surprised to note that there still weren't any reporters or fans in front of it. Apparently Paul did know how to hide himself from the public eye. Well, they said practice makes perfect, right?

He was hesitant to walk, but as it was literally around the corner, I convinced him anyways. It felt stupid and unnecessary to take his car. Especially because he had decided on the Aston Martin instead of the Mini today. It was a gorgeous car, absolutely, but not one that went under the radar that easily.