Abstract

Chapter 11

It's freezing when I wake up in the morning, and I don't want to get out of bed when my alarm sounds. 

The window closest to my bed it wide open, and it must have rained more while I was asleep, because the floor nearest the window is soaked. 

I get ready, eager to find a job. I've been low on both cash and groceries, so I'm in desperate need of a way to make money. 

It's only seven o'clock, but I will probably stop to get breakfast on the way there. The giant mound of tangled blonde hair stresses me out, and it's barely able to be combed. I'm finally ready to straighten it when I hear footsteps walking down my hallway. 

"Good morning," Harry smiles. I can already tell that he's trying to get something out of me. 

"Morning," I say, selecting a strand of hair and running the steaming iron over it. 

"Would you like to go to breakfast?" He tries to look nonchalant but I find a hint of desperation in his eyes. 

"Yes," I reply, and he looks shocked.

"Really?"

"As long as you're nice." 

He blinks once in agreement, and I look at him for the first time. A loose tank top is covering his shoulders, and his hair is halfway standing up, and halfway across his forehead. He's barefoot, but he did manage to put on black skinny jeans in his sleepy state. 

"I'll try," He teases. Instead of finishing flattening my hair, I pull it into a ponytail. 

He grabs his shoes from upstairs, running down to meet me. I laugh when he nearly falls, but he shoots me a look and I try to stop.

"Motorcycle." He says, climbing on first as I follow. 

I sit behind him, my body pressed softly against his. My hands wrap around his stomach like I did last time, and it's nearly natural now. 

We drive quite far, but it gives me time to watch the sights. It's a beautiful feeling, holding tightly onto Harry as we pass by the Eiffel Tower. He drives slower, giving me time to observe the scenery. I find my head resting against his upper back as I watch the sunrise over the buildings. He leans into me, not shied by my affectionate gesture. 

Eventually we pull in and Harry walks with me. He chooses to sit outside, and I'm nearest a rosebush while his back faces the street. I'm lucky I brought my jacket, but Harry doesn't seem phased by the cold.

Through the speaker from inside the restaurant, I hear my favorite song play. I tilt my head, listening.

"You like this song? La Vie En Rose?" Harry questions.

"It's one of my favorites." I tell him. It's hard to pick an exact favorite song. 

He studies me. "Why do you like it?" His tone isn't harsh, it's more curious. 

"I like the meaning." I state. 

He rubs his lip with his thumb, thoughtful. "What do you think it means?"

I look past him onto the street. "It's about falling in love. It's about how somebody can change your life completely, even though they might just be ordinary people." 

"And why do you think that?" He looks me straight in the eyes but I quickly look down. 

"At one point, Edith Piaf says, 'He whispers words to declare me his love, words of the everyday, and that does something to me.'  I think this means that even though what he says has no value to somebody else, it is meaningful to his lover."