Dangerous [Bradley Simpson] Sequel to On the Floor (novella)

Chapter Twelve - Voice

                "Coffee, please." I smiled at our waitress.

                "Cream or anything?" She asked.

                I shook my head, "Just black."

                As she took Brad's drink order, I looked around at the quaint little diner he had brought me to. It was hidden away in the busy streets of London, often overlooked by passersby, myself included. It was a shame, however, because it was the most comfortable restaurant I had entered in all of my days in London, and it smelled like sticky syrup and fresh coffee. The walls were a dark gray, and the white tile on the floor stood out against the black booths. Our waitress was at least sixty, but she kept a cheerful grin on her face, even when she left our table with a skip in her step.

                "How did you find this place?" I asked.

                He shrugged, "It's not hard if you look around. I get sick of all the places around here with too much ambiance. Here, it just feels like a place to eat. I like that."

                I smiled at his simplicity, noting that as one of probably many changes he had gone through in the past six years.

                The waitress returned quickly, giving us our drinks, and taking our order before leaving us alone again.

                "Still love coffee, then?" He asked.

                I nodded, taking a sip of the hot liquid. "You can't take the coffee out of this girl."

                He grinned, then began to change the subject. "So, Con said you were a teacher back in the states."

                I nodded, "Elementary music teacher, nothing too exciting. It was mostly tying shoes and comforting the criers. My lesson plans came premade in a book, so I really didn't have to do much at all. The pay was good, though. What about you? What have you been doing since the band split?"

                He shrugged, "I've played a few gigs here and there, mostly for fun. But the money we got when The Vamps were still together was substantial enough, none of us really need to work, so we don't."

                "That must be nice," I chuckled. "Although, I've got to admit, I miss having something to distract me for at least eight hours of the day."

                "You could always get another job here," he suggested.

                I shook my head, "I never planned on staying here after I found her. I never even planned on coming here, actually."

                His face fell into a look of remorse that he corrected quickly, but not before I noticed.

                "It's just really hard for me to learn how to assimilate in a different country now." I explained quietly. "I'm not like I used to be."

                "I think you're selling yourself short." He said.

                "Maybe," I murmured, letting the conversation die as our waitress put our plates of food in front of us.

                We ate mostly in silence, other than the occasional praise of the delicious food, or an inquiry about what we had missed out on in each other's lives.

                After the waitress brought us our bill and took our plates away, Brad let the small talk dissipate once more.

                "Listen, Charlotte." He mumbled, grabbing my hand. The feeling of his calloused fingers grazing over my palm was a welcoming comfort that sent a shiver down my spine. "I don't want this to be weird. We've never had an awkward moment in our entire relationship, even when we were just shagging."