When up-and-coming model Isabelle meets talented but jaded photographer Milo, sparks fly despite their age difference. Their romance becomes the talk of the New York City fashion scene, fueling rumors and speculation about their scandalous affair. A...
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They went on a walk. A simple walk, but when Isabelle steppe outside that morning, she felt as if she was stepping outside for the rifts time...in a long time. As if she spent 10 years in a prison cell, to finally break free.
She looked at the trees and the sky in a new way, like she took it all for granted before.
But not anymore.
She looked to her side and she saw him. Standing almost a head taller than her, with his brown hazy hair and the stubble on his cheeks. Their fingertips grazed each others, until he finally took her (permanently) cold hand in his, instantly warming it up.
She wondered if they were going to talk about it, or if they were going to just let it be like this, which she didn't mind either.
In fact, she didn't know what there was to really talk about except for the fact that she felt intoxicated in a new way, and it wasn't the whiskey. In fact, she felt great. She felt as if she was glowing form the inside, and everybody could see it.
Even if what everybody saw was a beautiful young woman with a handsome man, and already there was some sort of unspoken power in that. Youth and power and beauty were an intoxicating cocktail, as long as one didn't get drunk on it.
"Coffee?" Milo asked her as they turned a corner in the West Village. This was an area she probably passed by here and there, but wasn't all that familiar with.
"You lead the way," Isabelle responded with a coy smile.
"Good, because we're already here," and he led her into a low key, but artsy coffee shop with a beautiful interior.
"Milo!" The barista exclaimed. Of course, Isabelle thought to herself, he's a regular.
"Hey Sherry, ho you doing?" Milo said effortlessly, and Isabelle marvelled at how good and at ease he seemed with people. Something she wished she was better at.
He ordered, and asking her what she wanted, she asked fort a skinny vanilla latte.
He paid the inflated hipster coffee shops prices, and while they waited for their coffees he smiled at her.
"You're my skinny vanilla latte," he said jokingly and he wrapped his big arms around her waist.
She smiled back at him and places her hands delicately on his forearms, marvelling at how strong they felt.
Then she slid her hands up over his, observing his artists hands. She was always so careful to see what kind of hands a man has, feeling as if they revealed some deep inner part of them. And his were beautiful.
"What are ou doing?" Milos asked her, looking at her looking at him.
"Gathering information," Isabelle said.
"And? Do I pass the test?" Milo asked, but Isabelle was thinking the same thing about herself.
She broke free form his embrace and turned around, smiling to herself: "You'll do."
