Layla
I felt foolish. Completely and utterly foolish as I debated over and over again in my mind if I should choose to proceed and step out of this hotel lobby. The staff must think I'm out of my mind as I eventually, convince myself to take another step. For I can't keep him waiting, that isn't appropriate and we don't have much time. And so, I eventually step out at such an early hour, observing the man sitting behind the wheel. For he's dressed to impressed in a floral shirt and dark trousers made evident from where I stand. His curls are tossed and styled. But those eyes, those eyes will render me weak every time. For the moment they land on me, I'm speechless.
He studies me closely as I must say some effort was put into the blush colored maxi dress I wear. Nothing too outrageous, but I did wish to look appropriate for such an outing in the morning sun. And while it hasn't welcomed us in its glorious presence yet, I anticipate its arrival soon. The streets are pretty bare and quiet as all soon get ready for another great day ahead. I, look around, fearing another step forward will have dire consequences.
"You only have two options here little darling. You can either get in this car and let me buy you that cup of coffee, or you can stand there and risk getting mobbed by the paparazzi. Take your pick."
I'm conflicted, standing by the lavish hotel entrance at such an early hour, knowing the promise of caffeine is my only chance of survival for the day. He knows it too as he sits in the classic white convertible, sporting vintage glasses as the sun decides to rise. I weigh out my options, deciding to climb into the passenger seat as he turns up the volume on a happy melody playing through the radio. He smirks largely at my actions, humming to himself as I fight a threatening smile of my own.
"Don't flatter yourself and keep your eyes on the road," I say in return.
"Yes ma'am. Buckle up."
And just like that, he removes his grip on the brakes, allowing us to venture off together into the morning sun as we create headlines.
The destined cafe is a short drive, offering serene views of the ocean as we step inside. It barely contains a handful of people, far too early to keep company. He holds the door open for me as I thank him in response, stepping foot into the air conditioned interior. A quaint sound of jazz fills the atmosphere as the smell of ground coffee and pastries captivates all who dare to enter. I look from behind the glass, craving such appetizing sweets along with a hot cappuccino. It's then in which I feel his intrigued eyes upon me. He smiles kindly, walking closer to ask such a question.
"What would you like?"
"What do you recommend?"
He looks around, pointing over in the corner. "Their scones are delicious."
"That sounds lovely. I'll have that and a cappuccino, please."
He nods in agreement, stepping forward to place our order. The poor girl at the cash register is flustered, stuttering on every other word as her face reddens completely. But instead of mocking her, he kindly makes her feel welcome, sparking a small conversation as I quietly stand to the side, gaining a small audience of my own in the process. It's then in which his eyes wander off to meet my own as he walks closer.
"You can pick whatever table you wish," he quietly states, allowing me to truly look around.
I decide for one in the far corner that overlooks the rising and tired waves of the ocean. The seats are inviting and warm as the sun begins to reflect through the glass. We sit, awaiting the arrival of our treats and drinks. At first, we're silent, awkwardly trying to pinpoint a topic for discussion.
"Did you have a nice time at the social?" I finally ask, deciding to break the ice.
He nods, placing both hands in his lap as he leans back in the chair. "It was good. Stayed for a few songs. Had a drink or two. You should have came with me."
"Maybe next time. But I must say, I am a girl who prefers the company of a warm bed and take out much more than a night out in the city."
"Is that so?"
"Not really a big socializer."
"There's nothing wrong with that."
"No?"
"Absolutely. I enjoy nights in, watching a romcom, ordering Chinese."
"You don't take me for the romcom kind of guy."
He chuckles, leaning forward from across the table. "Don't be fooled little darling, I'm a sucker for romance."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"What's your favorite romantic movie?"
"The Notebook."
"Oh, come on."
"What? It's a classic!"
"The Notebook is not a classic."
It's then in which our tray of food and drinks arrive. I realize at that very moment, just how close the two of us were leaning forward from across opposite ends of the table. I increase my distance, sipping on the coffee, hoping for some source of caffeine. He does the same, stirring up his iced coffee as he sticks out his tongue before drinking away. Such a sight causes me to giggle, grasping his attention.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just. Your tongue..."
"What about it?"
"Well, you stuck it out like a child before you started drinking your coffee."
"Oh, hush up you," he says, throwing his rolled up wrappings from his straw in my direction. I throw it right back at him, causing it to hit him right on the nose before falling on the ground. "I have to keep my eyes on you. You're a clever little one," he says.
"Don't underestimate me then."
"Never again."
Silence.
"Did you ever find your luggage?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Still says in transit, whatever that means."
"Did you have valuables in there?"
"To me, yes. Had a few journals filled with possible new songs. Some old shirts."
"I'm sure it'll turn up soon."
"Won't be the first time my luggage has mysteriously disappeared."
"But I'm sure it was the first time someone chased you down for it."
He smiles boldly, nodding. I can't help how much I truly enjoying being the reason behind that smile. I try not to cloud my mind with such ridiculous and childish thoughts, but every time he looks my way, I lose the strength to stop.
"How long are you in Cannes for?" He asks.
"Perhaps another week. You?"
"Roughly around the same time frame. Thankfully my schedule is free for the next few months before tour begins."
"That's exciting. What do you do in all your spare time?"
"Not much, really. Write if I get inspired, read a little, enjoy whatever country I'm in."
"And are you currently inspired? Will we hear more of your work soon?"
He looks at me quietly, green eyes having the power to warm me up completely as my face blushes slightly when he smiles and nods before he speaks yet again.
"Yeah, I think I'm currently inspired."
We spend the next hour talking about everything and anything. Thankfully, we don't get approached much, allowing us the much needed time to get to know one another.
"Where do you shoot your next movie?" He asks.
"New York City."
"Do you like it there?"
"I love it there. It's where I've called home for ten years now."
"East coaster?"
"And you're not?"
"Definitely not. Los Angles does the trick for me."
"Well, they same home is where the heart is."
"That they do."
We shyly look at one another before focusing our attention elsewhere. He clears his throat, fiddling with the many rings on his fingers before continuing on with the conversation.
"Does your family live in the city as well?" He asks.
Such a mention causes the once ever evident smile on my face to temporarily falter. He realizes my hesitation, beginning to apologize as he takes notice of my saddened reaction.
"My parents and I don't exactly have the best relationship."
"Would you mind if I asked you why?"
"No. It's just, they've never fully supported my career. So, we've never talked much since it took off."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"Why don't they support you?"
"My dad is Armenian and my mom is Scottish. I didn't exactly please my father when I decided I didn't want to attend medical school."
"When did you know you wished to become an actress?"
"Probably around when I was nine. My mother allowed me to attend some acting classes as a hobby. But as I grew up, I realized just how passionate I had become of it and how little I cared about furthering my education. My father didn't exactly take it well."
"How so?"
"We were living in Connecticut at the time when he told me that if I wished to become an actress, I'd no longer be welcome in his house."
He places a comforting hand over my trembling one, causing such a warmth to stop all fears. Out of habit and thoughts of being seen, I immediately attempt to withdraw my own. However, he keeps it gently in place, offering a sincere smile. It's then in which I don't try to resist, appreciating his kindness and the time he offers to listen to such words that haven't been spoken in years.
"I'm sure your father is very proud of you," he whispers.
"I doubt that."
"Have you spoken to him recently?"
"Just small talk. Him and my mother filed for divorce eight years ago. He's remarried since then. Has another daughter who just turned four a few weeks ago."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. Please, enough about me. Tell me more about you. What's it like to be a world famous musician?"
He modestly shrugs in response, avoiding my eyes for the first time all morning. "I'm very thankful for the life I live."
"Sounds like a politically correct statement."
He sighs, formulating a response carefully. "No, it's just...difficult for me to trust people."
"Why is that?"
"I wear my heart on my sleeve, or so I've been told. People have always taken advantage of that."
"How so?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters. Tell me."
He chews on his lower lip before meeting my curious eyes, exhaling in the mix. "I tend to get my heart broken more often than not. Makes me think I'm the one to blame."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because, I love far too easily and passionately when I do open up. In the past, my prior relationships have been tricky. Too many obstacles. Too many opinions. It just ruins everything."
"Forgive me, but if the other person truly loved you then they wouldn't walk away."
A pause.
"No? Think I still have a chance?"
"I think so."
He smiles softly, holding a certain peachy flush to his face at my words. It's then in which the screams and chaos is made evident. For as we look towards the entrance, fans from all around are desperate for a gifted moment. And as I look down upon my watch, I realize just how foolishly I've avoided the time. We both mumble profanities under our breaths as photo after photo is snapped. Thankfully, some of the girls working at the cafe offer us a route of escape through the private door. And as a nervous musician looks my way once more, he proceeds to take my hand in his own as I silently agree to whatever plan he has in place, rushing off together into the streets of Cannes as madness follows.
Writing this story makes me so happy, hope you all are enjoying it! How do you like Layla and Harry's characters so far? How do you think their relationship will progress? Do you think Layla is falling for soft Harry? Thoughts on what may come? Please, please vote and comment my loves!