★彡ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ | ᴘᴀᴜʟ ᴍᴄᴄᴀʀᴛɴᴇʏ彡★ ✅

★彡[ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 29]彡★

America was thriving; it was like nothing Paul or Abby had ever seen before. It was nothing like London, and it was definitely nothing like Paul's native Liverpool.

Everywhere they looked were lights and people and noise - the noise part wasn't unusual to Paul, who was constantly followed and borderline harassed by fans - but this was a different sort of noise.

A lot of the people around them didn't seem to care that Paul was a Beatle, or that he was out on the town with a 'normal' girl, as opposed to his last date; the model and actress Jane Asher. No, nobody cared - and that was why they both decided there and then that they loved America.

"Where d'ya fancy, luv?" Paul asked as he took Abby's hand into his own and led her down a street, the two of them weaving in and out of the other people around them.

Abby was too fascinated by what was going on. She had never seen anything like it before - that had already been established, of course, but she was awestruck by everything - right down to the poor and homeless people sitting on the street.

As they passed another tramp, Paul reached into his pockets and pulled out a few coins. He didn't bother looking at what they were before he dropped them into the paper cup on the street for the man.

The tramp looked overjoyed, and Abby beamed as she linked her arm with Paul's, pulling herself closer to him.

Paul liked having her close.

"Tea?" He asked, turning to their right and seeing that they were walking past an expensive-looking restaurant.

Abby nodded and let Paul lead her into the restaurant.

Perhaps the most wonderful thing to happen to Paul since arriving in the States was that he was told to wait for a table.

They didn't recognise him.

He loved it.

He and Abby sat at the bar, Paul ordering a drink each for them. After about twenty-five minutes of them sitting closely together and giggling into each others' ears, a maitre de came over and told them that their table was ready.

It was right by the toilets.

But neither of them minded.

All they needed was to be together; they didn't need some fancy table in a posh restaurant in a posh part of the city. They didn't need to be dressed particularly well, or to have been driven to the restaurant.

In fact, the dampness which had begun to collect under Abby's arms was almost welcome.

Since meeting Paul, she had not walked very far.

It had been months since she had sweated as a result of walking. She found that she quite missed it.

"Anything you fancy, Abby luv?" Paul asked, peering at her from over the top of his menu. He was sitting up fairly straight in his seat, but he looked exhausted. Abby knew from reading over and reviewing (and usually rearranging) the boys' schedules that he was overworked and overtired.

She wished that she could do something for him.

"Abs?"

She snapped to, casting her eyes up from her own menu to meet his doe brown ones.

"Hm?" Abby hummed. She hadn't heard his original question.

"Is there anything you fancy?"

Everything was in French.

She couldn't read French.

She could barely read English, most of the time.

She shrugged. "Anything you recommend?"