Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter forty-seven

You kicked off your sandals, changing into a soft tee and your sleep shorts. In the bathroom, you combed through your hair and twisted it up into a knot, looping a hair tie around it. Yeah. Comfy. When you came out, Chris was finishing changing his own clothes. You spotted the menu on the end of the bed and moved around him, crawling over the mattress on your knees to pick up the booklet. Falling back on your heels, you flipped open the book and asked if he knew what he wanted.

Chris pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head and rattled off what he was debating between for dinner. You hummed, contemplatively, as you skimmed over the offerings for yourself. You shifted around, stretching out for the hotel phone by the bed to order. You smiled, when the phone was answered by a cheerful man, answering, "Good evening, Mr. Evans. How may I help you?"

"Good evening. I'd like to order dinner," you said.

"Ah, Ms. [y/l/n]," the man corrected. "What would you like to order?"

You shook your head, tickled by the personalized service the hotel seemed to constantly excel at. With a questioning look to Chris, as you listed what you'd like for your meal, Chris whispered his decision to you and you relayed it for him. You were told dinner would arrive in 30 minutes and gave the man your thanks.

Curled up on the couch, you enjoyed a short phone call with your mom and dad. You skimmed over your trip for the last couple of days, summing up your encounter with the giggling guard at Buckingham Palace and promising, "Just wait for the video. You'll die." Beside you, Chris grinned, shaking his head, as he scrolled through his phone. At the knock on the door, Chris snapped up, waving for you to finish your call while he answered the door.

You were just excusing yourself on the phone for dinner, as the waiter came into the room. With a wide silver tray carried in front of him, the man greeted Chris with a smiling 'good evening' and nodded to you, seeing the phone to your ear. The covered dishes were arranged at the table for you and the recommended bottle of wine for the meal was uncorked. By the time you hung up with your parents, the waiter dismissed himself with a polite wish to enjoy dinner, after he checked that there was nothing else he could do for you. The room was already filling with the delicious scents of your meals.

Pulling a chair back from the table, you put a knee into the cushion, picking up and setting aside the metal lids over your plates. "Mm," you hummed, looking over the prime cuts of steak that were delivered.

Chris joined you at the table, tucking his phone into his pocket before sitting down. You settled into your chair, folding your leg underneath you and laying your napkin out over your lap. Chris poured the wine, while you traded your side plate of vegetables for his, correcting the insignificant mistake of your server. Over dinner, you chatted about the interviews you watched him do and he told you about the one you missed when, according to him, "you ditched" him to have lunch with Josh. You had to laugh and he did, too.

After dinner, you and Chris went back to the couch. Clicking through the channels on the television, you didn't find much to watch. You caught a joke you both liked on some sitcom you didn't know what it was and settled on that. In his pocket, Chris' phone buzzed, announcing a new message. You had to sit up from his side for him to reach and took advantage of the moment to stand up and get the last of the wine from the table. Topping off both of your glasses on the coffee table, you asked who it was, when Chris seemed to be seriously contemplating his reply.

"Downey," he distractedly answered, scratching at his chin. "He sent out this group message to everybody."

"Oh, yeah?" you mused, leading him on for more info.

"Yeah," Chris said, looking up and watching you put the empty bottle back on the dining table. "He invited everybody over to his place for breakfast." He looked back at his phone and shrugged. "Well, brunch, I guess."