She's Not Afraid - A Louis Tomlinson Fanfiction

Chapter Three

“What about that?” I said and pointed my finger at a little place just on the other side of the street. Small tables, red curtains and small art pieces was all I could see through the glass windows of a small Italian restaurant called “MaMA”, but it seemed like a nice place.

“Yeah, let’s go for it,” Jessica said and nodded.

After the movie I had asked her if she wanted to grab something to eat, and when she said yes, I had taken her by the hand and we had walked down Regent Street’s numerous evening lights.

We crossed the street by the nearest crosswalk and walked up to the restaurant I had caught sight of. I opened the door for her and bowed deeply and formally, when she stepped over the threshold. She giggled, but beat me softly on the shoulder and told me to get up directly away. “This is a fine restaurant, Mr. Tomlinson,” she said. “Now is not the time to fool around.” I could see her point, but I still had a hard time taking her seriously when she looked at me with that spark in her eye.

We walked up to a sign which said, “Please wait here” with fat, black font and waited for a waiter to come and service us. A moment later, someone did.

“Table for two?” the waitress asked us. I looked at Jessica as I intertwined my fingers with hers. I found myself smiling like a fool at her when I, still with my eyes on her, affirmed the waitress, “Table for two.”

She led us to one of the window tables and gave us two menu cards. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said and left us alone. In the middle of the small table stood a low vase made of fine-shaped glass, and in it was a little but beautiful rose in the greatest red color. I picked it up from the vase and held it between my fingers, as I reached over the table. “For you,” I said to Jessica. “It might sound cheesy, but you are just as gorgeous as it is.”

And I wasn’t an empty comparison. She was absolutely beautiful.

Jessica took the rose and closed her eyes, when she smelled it. A smile showed upon her lips. “Thank you, Louis,” she told me. “That’s really sweet of you.”

We ordered our food when the waitress came back: I decided for spaghetti with meatballs and she for a risotto with seafood.

“In which part of the city are you living?” she asked me with a small smile on her face, her small dimples showing. “Just by Hyde Park,” I answered. “I live close to King’s Cross Station,” she said. “At my parents’ place.” I slightly raised my one eyebrow in surprise; I hadn’t thought Jessica would still be living at home. She seemed like a grown woman with goals in her life—they might not be that big yet, but she still had some.

I took a slice of bread from a small breadbasket on the table and took a bite of it. It tasted wonderful, like Italy: Rosemary and olive oil.

Jessica had seen my reaction to her statement about living home and now leaned a bit over the table. “What’s wrong with that? I’m only 18.” I almost choked on my bread, but I luckily pulled it off by coughing heavily into my arm.

“Sorry?” I asked her in a hoarse voice.

“There should not be anything wrong with me living at home when I’m 18, should there?” she said. A little and slightly concerned wrinkle showed on her forehead, when she noted that she filled 19 in two months.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with that,” I hurried to say so I wouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t one to be against age difference, but still … “I just— I hadn’t expected that to come.” She shrugged her shoulders carelessly and took a sip of water from the glass in front of her. (The waitress had brought us a bottle of water while we decided on what to order, and then, poured it down the thin-made glass.)