Saudade | ✓

memories

AUGUST 1962.

"So yeah, I went to school as an exchange student in Spain. The best way to learn a language is through immersion." He shrugs. "Then after that, Morocco, in Tangier."

I stare at Dean, wide-eyed. He's been to all these beautiful places I've yet to go to. I've only been an FA for five months now. And I actually wanted to stay longer in a place overseas. I wanted to be an exchange student back in college, but we couldn't afford it. I wanted to stay longer in a place that's not home. And while my job provided slivers of joy akin to that of being away from home, I still can't help but want more.

"I'm jealous," I admit, propping my chin on my hand.

"One of these days, I'll take you there."

He says it so easily, without hesitation, that it sends warmth running on my cheeks. I laugh instead. "Well you better keep that promise or you'll have to buy me a ticket to Andy Williams' concert."

He raised a brow. "I'd do that either way anyway."

I grin, knowing it was true.

Over the past month, when time permitted, we spent time together, from frolicking on Photography Exhibits in England, to hiking the Amazon in South America. Right now, we were at the Krügen - a creperie near the Catacombs of Paris.

After that, he took me to a newly opened club. We had twenty four hours before our next flight. Dean ordered two glasses of Whiskey for both of us. We're both seated on the middle of the club where in front of us a live band was playing. From the corner of my eyes, I was Dean smiling at me. My body filled with warmth. I loved the feel of his eyes on me.

And how despite the numerous beautiful women around us, and how glitzy the entire place is (which is a sight for my eyes which had seen the horrors of poverty before I landed this job), they're only fixed on me.

The golden boy raised in wealth and privilege only had eyes for me.  Me. Anastacia Locroft. The antithesis of a Stepford Housewife which Dean was probably born to breed with.

"Here. Eat this this first before you drink," I said, placing a potato wedge on his mouth.

He didn't argue and popped it on his mouth.

"You never fail to remind me," he said, sounding amused.

"Ofcourse. What am I here for but to make sure the golden boy doesn't pass out and have his face drawn with penises by his coworkers?"

He burst out laughing. "God, little fox. You never fail to make me laugh."

My train of thought is suddenly interrupted when the live band starts playing a rendition of Paul Anka's Put Your Head on my Shoulder.

"Oh. This is my favorite song. Dance with me!" I gasp.

"Is every song your favorite?" Dean smiled.

I grinned, biting my lip. "I'm really not picky when it comes to music. Every music sounds good to my ears."

He tucks a stray hair behind my ear. "I love how appreciative you are of the little things."