Timeless |

01. April 5th, 1940

  Just to Clarify: It was April 5th, 1940 when he first saw her, she walked into the small, old corner bookstore dated back to the 18th century which is located in a small town in Austin, Texas. The store was small, some would best describe it as quaint. The bookshop only stores one or two copies of each book but it was enough.

Beaumont was stacking new covers of Ernest Hemingway's new copies at the time when the door bell of the shop jingles, alerting him of a customer. He usually turns in their direction to give them a gentle smile or a greeting, but when he turned his head, he was frozen.

His eyes took her in as if he looked away from this confident, vibrant beauty she'd disappear in a blink of an eye. He knew in that second that his life would forever be changed. He knew this wasn't love, he knows no one can't possibly fall in love at first sight but he definitely will try too.

Her golden brown hair was fallen naturally over her shoulders, a few curls in her hair to set a naturalistic look. Her eyes were most prominent to him, her dark greens accompanied by shades of blue to give that almost aquamarine colour that he got lost in. The high cheeked, perfectly smoothed skin was glowing in the spring shades through the glass window.

Her choice of clothing was next, so unusual, so vibrant, so perfect. It suited her. He wondered in that moment how a woman in this time be so confident in wearing this wild, colourful clothing but he knew. She found herself, not many could say that.

She wanted to be centre of attention, not in a snotty type of way but a way to voice a claim that you don't need to wear revealing, ordinary clothing to catch someone's attention. But you can be yourself, and be who you are. Her bright peachy corset sits perfectly on her chest, curving into her hips to show her toned body.

Her long dressed like gown was white with vibrant contrasts of pinks, blues, purple and more, accompanied by tiny laced butterflies along the edges. Lastly, her shoes was the most simplex about her look, so natural, so unlady like. They were brown leathered platforms with artistic designs on the heel and sides of it, almost as if she drew them on herself.

Beaumont surprisingly finds himself not faltering or blushing when the young female finally looks his way. Her aquamarine eyes meet his for the briefest of time. It felt like a lifetime to him, what about to her? He doesn't stray from her collecting, curious gaze as she tilts her head to the side as if she herself is taking him in.

His hand wavers in mid air when placing the final copy of Hemingway when his father walks out from behind the old cloth for a doorway. His glasses perched on his face as if he just hastily placed them on in a rush due to the sound of the stores bell. His gruffly voice is what turned both Beaumont's and the young girls eyes away from each other.

"You must be the Hawthorne family the Preacher has told us about." The tired, old aged voice spoke out with a small thin smile. His tone may indicate his age but the way Mister Mc Kinley presents himself in an old fashioned type of way tells you other wise. "From Ireland?"

His brown cotton suit, paired with newly polished black dressed shoes and lazily lose dressed shirt displays him off as a middle age male in his thirties. His face was perfection as if he spends hours in the mirror admiring his own skin to be able to get that perfectly smoothed, flawlessly appearance.

He does in fact does this and wants to show that even in old age, he still could look this good looking. Beaumont doesn't know to either give his father, a clap on the back or not for still wanting to get the older ladies and that he still has it in him.

The woman accompanying the young girl nods. Her hat dipping downwards slightly when she does. Mrs Hawthorne is different, she doesn't hold the same style her daughter wears. She does however wear bold clothing, this style is wanting to stand out in the crowd.

She has an oval face structure with fine bone structure, a wealth of brown curly hair which is a shade darker than her daughters, having a smoky, shadowy appearance. Her mannerisms are more deliberate, almost as though she is performing for her audience - a skill that comes in handy when she wants something.

"Uh, yes. I am Majorie and this is my daughter, Evelyn." Majorie spoke in a low, thrilling voice even if it's just an introduction.

She wants to be heard. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with a secretive expression, bright eyes but nothing like her daughters that causes Beaumont to subconsciously glance over at her for a split second.

There was this sort of singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," to draw others to Marjorie's voice. That men who had cared for her found difficult to forget. But Beaumont wasn't fooled he knew that there's something the older woman is hiding something and how automatic her stance was to greeting others.

Beaumonts father was the male in this situation, his eyes diluted slightly in an act of compulsion. He smiles softly, nodding his head in greeting, "Nice to meet you. I'm Richard, and this is my son, Beaumont. Beaumont?" Richard calls out, turning his head towards the book shelf.

Beaumont who was once hiding behind the book case had stepped down when he kept getting distracted from Evelyn's eyes. He felt if he didn't step down, he would've fallen of the step ladder. He appears behind the wooden bookshelf, smiling softly at the two women, specifically Evelyn.

This is when Beaumont knew he was in trouble by feeling addicted to these aquamarine eyes like a drug.

UNEDITED | Like. Comment. Follow.