He's much stronger than I am. He pratically drags me down the sidewalk. I'm running, but I still lag a good few feet behind him. "Slow down!" I say, a smile present and loud in my voice. He slows to walk, a light blush stains his cheeks. He's trying to hide his heavy breathing with a smile. "Awe. Is someone tired?" I ask. He gently squeezes my hand, "I just thought that the sooner we get there, the more time I can spend with you,". I smile and tip my face to the ground, fighting back a blush. He tips my face towards his, and leans down to my ear. "I don't think I caught your name, beautiful," he whispers. I can't help but blush as his warm breath tickles my ear. He pulls back and looks in my eyes, expecting an answer. My breath hitches in my throat as I open my mouth to answer. 'Just tell him your name. It's not that hard,' I think.
"Um. Danella, but you can call me Dani," I say. "I'm assuming that you know who I am, Dani," he says, I nod. When my gaze meets his again, his eyes are bright and his smile is as beautiful as ever. I don't know what it is about him that makes me so nervous, but it's driving me insane. We just stand there, on a sidewalk, in the middle of Hollywood, staring into each others eyes. I notice his eyes start to dart from one section of my face to another, as if he's trying to memorize every inch, every detail. Like he's trying to figure out my secrets, my past and, my future all at once. It's easy to get lost in his eyes, mesmorized by his smile, hypnotized by his voice. We earn multiple looks, both good and bad, from people passing us.
He still doesn't speak, just slowly tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. A smile slowly finds it's way to his lips, and a blush creeps up his cheeks. I look for something to fix, any tiny thing out of place, but there's nothing. Nothing to fix about his hair, his face, or his clothes. There's not single imperfect thing about him. He takes my hand again and we continue our journey. Hopefully this cafe won't be the end.
********
"What do you see that's making your mouth water?" He asks, when we can see the menu. I lift my hand to my chin. He lets out a soft chuckle, that only I can hear. "I was kidding Dani," I playfully slap his arm. "You're so mean!" Enter fake, playful pout here. He reaches out and awkwardly hugs me from the side, "I'm sorry." I can't help but smile, he's just adoreable. "It's okay," I say and he let's go; all to soon. We walk up to the counter and the girl's eyes light up.
"Well, hello there. What can I get for you sir?" She asks, all to politely. He looks to me, she turns reluctantly in my direction. "What do you want?" she snaps at me. "A little less spit." he stifles a laugh, "But, a mocha latte will do. Please," I say, she rolls her eyes at me. She turns back to him, admiration and fangirl in her eyes. "And for you handsome?" It's my turn to roll my eyes. She sees me, I might want to check my latte before I drink it.
He leans down and presses his nose to my temple. "Why don't you go find us a seat?" He whispers, I shiver lightly as his breath hits my ear again. He pulls back from me, and turns the the glaring cashier. I obey and find an empty table. I sit down on one side of the table. 'Calm down. He's just a normal person. He's just like you,' I think. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, in an attempt to calm down. I open my eyes to him sitting across from me, making me jump. "You okay?" He smiles, knowing he scared me.
"Fine," I say, with mock confidence. "You don't seem fine," he says, genuine concern fills his eyes. I shrug, his smile disappers. "What's bothering you?" He reaches under the table and interlocks our fingers. "Well, it's just," I trail off, not knowing what to say or how to say it. "It's just. You're Connor Franta, I'm just Danella. An average girl, with the classic sob story life. I mean, I'm even that pretty. I'm have so many holes in my face that people think I'm unstable. I guess, I just don't understand why you chose me, rather than a vivacious LA beach babe," I say. He looks at me. A cocktail of happiness, shock, and confusion spins in his eyes.
The confusion fades as he works out what I said, and the shock changes to concern soon after. "You say that you have the 'classic sob story life', but I can tell that there's more. There's more pain and anger in your eyes than you showing. Why?" I don't know if he truly cares anymore, or if he's just trying to be nice after what I just told him. "Please, tell me," he pleads. "I'd rather not talk about it right now," I say quietly tears threathening to escape my eyes. He nods and hands me my latte.
