The Vacation

Chapter Three

After 14 hours in the air, the plane landed at LCY airport in London, England. It was 8:40 in the morning there, prime time to fly apparently, because it was quite a crowded airport. We stopped at customs to show our passports to the officer and he asked us what we were travelling for. Dad said work and I was taken aback so I think I said something along the lines of “I'mwithhimmydadhehasworkhere!”

The customs officer looked at me a little strangely, but he let us on through without delay. Next, we stopped to pick up our luggage from the carousel. While I was waiting for my two bags to come through, I curiously looked around the airport. The mental list of curious things I saw looked something like this:

British flags EVERYWHERE.

Oh, cute guy!

Nope, he just kissed that unfortunately gorgeous blonde.

Hmm, tourist family? Yep, definitely tourist family.

The tourist dad is wearing an atrocity! Khaki shorts with tall socks and Chacos! Oh, kill me now!

Although, his wife looks more normal…odd...usually touristy atrocities with legs all look the same.

More British flags!

Cute boy, cute boy, cute boy, oh DEFINITELY NOT cute boy. Hun, have you ever heard of maybe tweezing your eyebrow? Unibrows don't befit skinny white boys like they do tall NBA players…

Ugh this carousel is taking forever!

I wonder what our flat will look like…

And so it went. Yes, I know, I think boring thoughts. But those boys were really cute...hopefully I'll be seeing them again around London while I'm here…

“Jay,” my dad was snapping his fingers in my face. “Jay, your bag is coming. I see it down on the end. You looked like you were lost in your own world, so I thought I would tell you.”

“Thanks, dad. Do you have your bags? I'll just run and get this and then we can be on our way!” I say cheerily. He really was a lifesaver; he grabbed my other bag along with his own while I must have been thinking.

I grabbed my heavy white and gray suitcase and pulled the handle up, taking my other bag in my left hand from my dad, while my dad did the same with his. We started walking towards the exit, looking for a sign that read “Mr. Adams and Daughter.”

When we finally found it, the man -- or should I say young man -- holding our sign was absolutely drop dead beautiful. And I don't mean handsome, oh no, he was way, way past that stage of description. He could only be described as beautiful, with medium length "fluffy" dark brown hair, eyes that from my distance looked like all pupil, glasses, and completely going against the unwritten law of chauffeur dress code of a nice crisp tuxedo-or, less formal, a freshly starched white button down and an expertly tied bow tie-by wearing jeans, flip flops, and a salmon polo. The only way I could associate this unorthodox style with the most gorgeous face I've ever seen was by assuming that his personality was something of a stereotypical arrogant CEO’s kid.

As I got closer, I noticed a few things that surprised me. One, he was wearing a handwritten name tag, of all things. Alessio, I think it said. Weird. What kind of a name is that? Two, his glasses frames were actual wood frames! And three, his eyes weren't actually all pupil; no, they were a dark smoky gray.

“Hello,” The boy said. I refuse to admit his accent was dreamy. Although it didn't sound like most of the accents I had heard from England thus far, strangely. “You must be Mr. Charles Adams. And, tesoro, you must be Miss Adams. I'm Alessio, but most people call me Ali.” The boy shook the hand my father put out and proceeded to take mine and kiss my knuckles. I have to admit, at first I was thrown, but his lips were softer than I expected and it was a strange, gentlemanly thing to do and I kind of liked the chivalry of this new European. It was certainly more present in this boy than in the boys at my school in Dummerston by 100%.

With introductions out of the way, Alessio led us to his car, and opened the door for both my dad and I in turn. I sat in the back, as I expected, but he put my father in the front passenger seat! No Uber driver or even private chauffeur in America would ever think of doing such a ghastly thing! Ugh, the nerve of this boy!

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Hey! So sorry it took so long to update. I had been out of town and I didn't have any time. Anyhow, thanks so much for reading!

Love ya,
~hannah~