He Loves You

Chapter 7: A Pretty Bird, Indeed

Chapter 7: A Pretty Bird, Indeed

George and I walked down the steps out of the brownstone. I had his dark coat on. It felt exactly the same as it had that day in Hamburg.

We walked silently next to each other. I stared at all the darkly bricked buildings. Greenwich definitely wasn't the prettiest or wealthiest part of London.

"You really spooked us that day ya disappeared in Hamburg." George said, matching my pace as we walked down the streets.

I blushed uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, I should've left a note. I just needed to be somewhere that morning."

George breathed. His warm breath pushed a steamy cloud into the air.

"S'alright." George looked at me. "Just don't do it again."

I smiled up at him. "I'll try not to."

George quickened his pace down the sidewalk. Then stopped abruptly and spun around to face me.

His eyes were so close to mine. Along with his lips. He could've kissed me, I wouldn't have stopped him.

"Darcy? Do you wanna go somewhere really cool?"

George looked jolted and thrilled. Like he'd just won the lottery.

"Uhm...sure. Why?"

He smiled crazily. "I dunno I just feel like I could do anything right now. Like I could be anyone."

George shook his head. "It's crazy but I just, you're so foreign and gorgeous and maybe I'm insane but I feel really....alive. I wanna show you this place."

Before I got a chance to speak, George was firing up once again.

"Darcy, when I woke up and you weren't there, I thought, 'there's no way in hell I'll ever see that bird again', but here you are!"

I sat my hands at my side and laughed. "Here I am."

George stared at me. Examining me closely. "Are you even really there? It feels like something out of a dream."

I took my pointer finger and thumb and pinched his cheek.

"Ow!" George winced. "What was that for?"

"You're not dreaming."

George smiled wildly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

George grabbed my hand. My heart melted at the feeling of him touching me. We raced around the corner, George yelled, "taxi!", and a black cab came to a screeching halt out on the street.

George ushered me inside.

"Where to?" The Italian driver asked.

"Newburry Park." George said, leaning against the door.

The drive seemed to take a while. We passed what felt like millions of townhouses and brownstones, parks and places where people chatted.

Once the driver came to a stop, George paid the man with a few spare pounds in his pocket, and we both stepped out of the can quickly.

"Where are we?" I asked, trying not to sound worried or shaky.

"Newburry Park." George replied.

We stood in front of an old, wrought-iron gate. Petrified vines were tangled and winding up through it. It looked like it hadn't seen a person walk through it in years.

"George..." I started to say.

"Trust me." He said, grabbing my hand and pushing through the tangled brush.