British Rose

3. Breakfast and Beaches

H's house - West Hollywood, LA - Sunday morning

Harry woke up after a night of deep sleep, something that hadn't occurred to him in quite a while. Sleeping on the tour bus was okay and far better than not sleeping at all, but not the same as his own bed, in his own house. A deep, dreamless slumber had fallen upon him  the second he had gotten into bed, his exhausted body and mind surrendering to the whirlwind of emotions the end of tour had caused. Despite his insides being in a turmoil, he had really enjoyed the last two days. And now, three months of sweet nothing were awaiting him. An occasional meeting here and there, but for the most part, he was free to do whatever he pleased.

7.30 am, the display of his phone told him. He decided to relish in the feeling of the black silk bedlinen for a few more minutes. The sun was already up, but still behind the hills. Her light painted the room in a faint golden colour, softening any edges.

Eyes closed, Harry took a moment to silently meditate for a few breaths and give thanks for his life. And to himself, for achieving everything he never dared to hope for in his solo career. For the first time in months, his heartbeat lowered to a RHR that would be considered normal and healthy for a man of his age and physique.

Then he remembered he had a guest. Excitement washed over him as he got up, put on some comfy clothes and made his way to the kitchen.

Charlotte had slept as good as never before in her entire life. If the bed in his guest bedroom was this comfortable, what would his own be like? I imagine like heaven, but better. Because he comes with it. Maybe she would find out soon? Her phone told her it was a few minutes before 8 am, so she decided to quietly get up and maybe fix herself a cup of tea and watch the sunrise from the terrace, if Harry was still sleeping.

Harry heard her careful footsteps approaching as he was just about to put on the kettle. Smiling, he took two cups from the shelf and placed them on the counter. Seems she's an early riser as well.

"Morning, love." A warm smile spread across his face upon seeing her in her pajamas (well, technically his, he had brought her a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants that were too small for him down to her room when she had been in the bathroom since she hadn't brought any clothes from the hotel. Apart from her bikini, which she didn't need yesterday. But maybe today she would.)

"Hey", Charlotte answered, her voice hoarse from not being used since she got up. She had reached the counter and her eyes roamed over the kitchen space. It looked different than yesterday, mainly because of the lack of people present.

"Did you sleep well?" Harry had taken two bags of English Breakfast tea, put them in the cups and now turned his body and his attention fully towards her, leaning down on the counter on his forearms.

"Yes, the bed feels like sleeping on a cloud. Haven't slept that good in ages. How about you?" Charlotte mirrored his position. The proximity of their bodies this early in the morning already made her mind go places.

"Same. There's just nothing that beats sleeping in your own house, in your own bed. I'm glad your bed is comfortable, have never tested it myself." While he was talking, the kettle boiled.

"You're good with English Breakfast?" he asked.

"Of course. Best tea in the world," Charlotte reassured him of his choice. She sat down on one of the bar stools in front of the counter and watched Harry pour the tea. Why did all of this feel so domestic? It's just tea.

They took their two cups and went out to the terrace through the glass door in the living room. The air was crisp and traces of pastel clouds covered the sky. The surface of the pool laid motionless and calm.