She's America's sweetheart. He's a world famous musician, translating personal heartbreak to golden lyrics. A serendipitous encounter along the coast of Cannes sparks a passionate and unexpected romance that will leave the world in awe.
"I loved yo...
Reluctantly, I nod, knowing no harm can actually come out of a bite to eat. He holds the door open for me, allowing us both to step inside. We're greeted as the interior is thankfully not packed with any people at all. But this is the city that never sleeps and I doubt it will remain this calm for much longer. The man of the hour towers above me, chewing on his lower lip, debating on what to order. When he realizes I'm waiting on him, his face nervously flushes like a fresh peach as he glances down at me.
"Any suggestions?"
"The four cheese is my go to."
"Hmm, any gluten free options?"
"Harry, no."
He laughs, ordering two slices with drinks. I proceed to pull out my wallet, far too slow in pace in comparison. I forgot for a moment just how charming and clever he can become. For he immediately shakes his head, handing over his card to prevent such an act. "This was supposed to be my treat, remember?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Not happening."
"But..."
"Nope, not an option."
I grab all the necessary utensils and toppings, following as he claims a table in the far back corner of the shop. He sits, removing his coat as I do the same, shoulders barely brushing as we sit near. His bright eyes are filled with an unknown innocence. Those same eyes that I quickly fell for in the summertime, underneath the sunshine.
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"Alright, tell me what to do," he says.
"It's a pizza, Harry. Not a rocket ship."
"Watch it now, I only wish to make the city proud."
"The process is very easy. You bring the slice to your lips."
"Okay..."
"You take a bite..."
"Alright."
"And you chew."
He stops, giving me a threatening and irritated glare as I giggle wholeheartedly in my seat. He sets the pizza back down on the plate, grabbing the straw wrapper, rolling it up before throwing it right at my face. He did the same at the small cafe along the streets of Cannes. I don't think much of it, realizing this is the first time I've shared a genuine laugh in months since his absence. He pretends to be annoyed with me, pouting for a moment before laughing timidly. We both stop, looking at one another honestly and truly, canceling such a memory as the bell of the door indicates another's arrival.
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