If The Stars Could Reach Us - Lance Stroll

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

❝ Lᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀs ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀʀ. I ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ  ❞

・・・・・・・・ ō͡≡o˞̶

𝓜𝓪𝔂𝓪'𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓿

March 11th 2024, London, United Kingdom

I was fooling everyone by pretending I am doing just fine.

Even Christopher thinks everything between Lance and I is going perfectly well, he hadn't even had doubts when I took up on his offer to have dinner with him.

He flirted with me per usual and brought me to Lance's apartment complex. I had walked inside to make my lie even more believable, but as soon as he was out of sight, I called a cab to take me to the hotel.

And now, I am walking towards that building again. My feet feel heavy, almost refusing to walk any further.

But I manage to get to his door, to knock and wait for him to open it.

"Hey," He says and smiles softly stepping aside to let me in.

"Hi Lance," I say, and return the smile.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Lance turns to the kitchen and I follow his lead. "I have the pumpkin gratin still in the oven, but I think it's ready in a few minutes."

I follow him, the kitchen smells amazing, "You cooked... dinner?" I ask in disbelief. I did not expect him to cook a full meal for us, I had been okay with take-out too.

"I did, I took your dad's recipe for the pumpkin gratin."

Words escape me, so I just stare at him in a bit more disbelief. He had actually looked up my Dad's recipe for my favourite gratin.

"White wine or did you drive here?"

"Uhm," I smile, regaining my ability to speak. "Wine is perfect, I am here with a cab."

Lance nods, "Wine it is," He goes to the wine cooler and grabs an unopened bottle. "Please, take a seat. I will serve you."

"You don't have to do that, Lance."

"I like to do it. Please, take a seat," He repeats himself and gestures to the chair. The table is perfectly set, with two candles burning in the middle. It gives the table a romantic glance.

My heart sinks, it is still hurt by Natalia's accusations, but I can see the effort Lance puts into it. And I genuinely cared about him when he called having a panic attack, I know first-hand how difficult they are.

"There you go," He gives me the glass, and then quickly turns to grab the pumpkin gratin from the oven. It smells just like old times when my Dad used to make them. He made it perfectly.

"It smells fantastic," I admit, taking a sip from the wine. "I hope it tastes as great as that."

"I hope that too," He starts to cut the beef, and I grab a spoon to divide the pumpkin gratin over our plates.

Dinner happens in silence, the gratin even tastes as delicious as I can remember. And I visibly enjoy the taste of Lance's homecooked dinner.

"You did very well, thank you for the dinner," I say and drink the last bits of wine from my glass.

"It was no problem," He follows my lead in emptying his glass of wine too. "And I should be thanking you for even coming over, for accepting my call last week. You could've easily ignored it."