❝So, what are the first signs of love?❞
❝Well, one of them is when your heart starts beating uncontrollably in front of the person you admire dearly and deeply.❞
. . . .
In which Chris Evans is...
The second the tyres screeched to a halt in front of the bar Naomi was at, Chris killed the engine almost immediately and practically ripped his keys out of the ignition before stumbling out of the car he rented. Dashing across the parking lot, he hadn't even bothered to lock his car because the only thing on his mind at the moment was Naomi.
With his keys looped around his index finger, Chris pushed past the bar's rickety doors and was immediately drenched in the bar's dim lighting. There were only a few people in the bar; a couple whispering away in one little corner, a group of girls and guys talking about the day they had and an elderly man sipping slowly on his mug of beer.
Frantically, he surveyed the entire bar before his worried eyes landed upon a petite figure that was hunched over the bar. Naomi. From where he was standing, he could distinctly see just how shattered she was because she looked far worse now than she had these past two weeks.
He knew something was clearly bothering her to no end, eating away at her and occupying the entirety of her mind but it honestly looked as though the thing that was bothering her had completely disintegrated and crushed her from the inside out.
She was trembling---her entire physique was shaking so violently that the sight of it sent an instant and gut-wrenching pang right to the centre of his heart. She was crying. She was crying and she was even trying her best to do it discreetly, and it pained him to see her like this.
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With his heart weighing like an anchor, he jogged over to where Naomi was seated but just as he was about to gently place his hand on her back, the bartender stepped up to prevent him from inching any closer to the petite woman.
"You Chris?" Gerard asked in a gruffy manner with his arm still stretched out.
"I am," Chris responded immediately with a nod but the bartender didn't seem too convinced. He didn't blame him because at least he knew that Naomi was in good hands before he arrived. "You texted me through her phone," he gestured towards Naomi's still trembling figure, "saying she's had way too many drinks when I kept calling her repeatedly."
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