Sunflower

70

CHARLIE POV

It's only been two days and so many people have reached out to me – long lost friends, family members I don't know, random Hero fans and the occasional potential business contact. Some have gotten my personal email address (did Kilee give it to them?) and so I'm swimming in emails, texts and Instagram DMs, with no idea how I'll ever catch up and get back to everyone. I guess this is why Hero has a publicist and a manager, I sigh enviably. You'll have plenty of time to get back to people when you're back in New York for the holidays, sitting in your old bedroom with nothing to do.

I'm sneaking away for a longer lunch today because Hero and I are going to look at a few flats and I'm meeting up with Jack for coffee. It's the first day of the West End theater project, the last of my projects before I head back to New York, and so the morning has been spent introducing Hank to the owner and mapping out how the mural will go up on the wall.

The front door of the theater opens and a chilling gust of wind gushes in, bringing Hero with it. I look up and savor the sight of him – I don't know if he'll ever be able to walk in a room without taking my breath away. He's wearing the same outfit he wore to Post Malone – black jeans, black tshirt and camo bomber jacket and tennis shoes. Today, though, he's also wearing a hunter green beanie on his head which makes his eyes even more intoxicating than usual.

"Hi there," I say, lifting up on tip toes to kiss him hello. "Hank and I were just taking measurements and taping everything off," I explain as Hero greets Hank.

"You good for a few hours?" I ask Hank who nods affirmatively. "Can I bring you back a coffee or anything?" He shakes his head and points to his metal thermos. "Okay," I shrug and pull my flannel on over my jeans and tanktop. Since we aren't getting paint out today, I skipped my schlubby painting clothes. "Ready?" I turn to Hero.

"Yeah, but that's all you're wearing?" he looks concerned as he points at my flannel. I nod and cock my head in question. "It's cold out there," he advises.

"I'll be fine," I brush him off as I open the door, about to brag about the many winters I've endured in New York. As we step out onto the sidewalk, a biting wind whips around my body and into every microscopic fiber of my clothing, and I decide now's not the time.

I stiff upper-lip it until the corner, where an even stronger gust nearly knocks me over, before Hero unzips his jacket, wraps it around me and zips it up, like I'm a toddler. "What about you?" I ask him, seeing the goosebumps break out on his forearms.

"I'll be fine; I have a woolly hat," he jokes and then says, "Here's our Uber." We climb in and I begin to unzip his jacket. "What are you doing?" he looks at me like I'm stripping down to my underwear. "Keep it on – you'll freeze."

"Well, so will you," I argue. He shakes his head and puts an arm around me, pulling me into him. I unhook my seatbelt to get closer.

Soon, the Uber stops and we pop out on a nondescript street in front of an equally nondescript 5-story building in Brixton; Hero clasps my hand and leads us over to a short, striking guy in a fitted dark suit standing in front of a black metal gate.

"Hero," the man formally greets us, holding out his hand before turning to me.

"Hi Daniel, this is my girlfriend Charlie," Hero says as I shake Daniel's hand. Daniel immediately launches into a description of the flat we're about to look at, noting the secure gated access and modern lines of the building. He punches a code into the metal box affixed to the gate and guides us into the building, continuing to wax on about the amenities – storage, off-street parking and more. So far, I'm not impressed. The clean lines he raves about hold no charm or artistry; frankly the place resembles a jail.