Stolen Beauty (Harry Styles)

Chapter 2

I reached out and put my hand in your warm hand. Your hands were large compared to my small hand. You squeezed my hand gently, but you didn't shake it. You just held it and raised both of your eyebrows.

When I realized you wanted my name I said, "Valerie," a little too quickly.

You smiled as if that was information you knew already.

"Are your parents around?"

"No, they're supposed to be meeting me by the gate. I told them I'd hurry and grab a coffee. They should be wondering where I am soon," I said nervously.

A smirk played on your perfect lips, and another beautiful laugh came out. "When is your flight leaving?"

"Like forty minutes," I said as I glanced at the watch on my arm.

"Where are you headed to?"

"Paris."

You nodded with an impressed look. I smiled back at you. "My mother grew up there, and her parents live there," I explained. "We're visiting for the entire summer."

"What does your parents do?"

I gave him a questioning look and said, "My mom doesn't work, and my dad is the co-owner and head chef at some French restaurant back home. He is offered a job in Paris every summer. So that's the main reason why we go there."

I felt as if I was starting to talk too much, so I drank from my coffee to shut up.

While I was putting my coffee down, I looked at you, and your face looked a little damp, like you were starting to sweat. But I wasn't hot. There was an air conditioning vent right above us, and I could feel the air blowing down on us. You eyes were moving to everywhere around us. Moving to every direction except mine, making you seem shy. Which made me like you even more. But you still held a mysterious look.

"So," you said in a low voice, "are you the only child?"

"I wish," I laughed a little as I said that. "I'm the middle child."

"What other siblings do you have?"

"Older sister and younger twin brother and sister."

"Twins? That must be a handful," you said with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, I guess that's why my mother doesn't work," I laughed.

You laughed with me.

I was tired of talking about my family. I came here to get a break from them. They've been aggravating me all day.

I felt almost wrong for sitting there with you. But it also felt right. It felt like I could tell you anything. Maybe if I wasn't so nervous, I would have. As I often thought about it, I wish I would have just went back to my family right then. Wish it would have ended there. By me telling you goodbye, and my family and I could have spent our whole summer talking in French, like planned. But I didn't want to at the time. I was too intrigued by you.

I looked all around me. I thought maybe any of my family would have came looking for me. I already knew they wouldn't. They probably had forgotten where I went. They were probably all sitting near the gate, waiting for the plane to board. My mother was probably seeing about the twins. My father was probably refreshing on his French. My sister was probably making out with her boyfriend in a bathroom stall. But I looked around for them anyway. I noticed the coffee shop was now much fuller than when I first got here. People were swarming everywhere. There was a huge line in front of the order counter. Noises were being made in every direction. The coffee machine grinding. Screaming children. Other people's conversations around us. The minty smell of you was becoming stronger. I drank from my coffee.

Then I realized you were still holding my hand. I didn't know if it should still be there. When I looked down at our hands, you hurriedly removed your hand from on top of mine, like you didn't notice it was still there either.

"Sorry." You looked slightly embarrassed. But the twinkle in your eyes make me smile. "I'm feeling . . . quite tense."

You moved your hand again and put it back on the table. Very close to mine. Without much effort, I could have moved one of my fingers to touch it. I noticed you had jewelry on. No wedding ring, but you had a few rings on a few fingers. You also had a fancy looking watch on your right wrist.

"What do you do, then? You can't still be in school?" I asked.

It was kind of a stupid thing to ask but I saw it coming, his answer, I mean.

You sat back and gave a sigh. "I do many different things," you said. "I travel quite a bit and build . . . that sort of thing. But I'm not in school."

I didn't really understand, but I nodded like I did. I still didn't know why you wanted to be here, with me. You looked oddly familiar. I wanted to ask if I've seen you before. You were obviously a lot older than I was. But I was too nervous to ask. I didn't want to know the answer either, not wanting you to be weird. I felt almost grown-up sitting there with you. Maybe I looked older to you. Even though mascara and lipgloss was the only makeup I ever wore. Maybe you weren't as old as I thought. You looked out the window in front of us for a few seconds. I untucked my bangs from my hair from behind my ear. My dark hair fell over my face. I also bit both of my lips to make them redder.

Eventually, you spoke up. "I've never been to France."

"I go almost every summer. I'd love to go to a tropical country, though. Like Jamaica."

"Really? All those potheads . . . ?"

We both laughed a little, then I saw your eyes move to the hair in front of my face. You soon leaned across the table and retucked it behind my ear. You hesitated. When you brushed by my face I could feel my cheeks heat up and redden. Then you slowly moved your hand down.

"I'm sorry, I. . . ," you blushed a little, unable to finish. Then your fingers reached my chin. You pushed it up with your thumb to look at me, like you were studying my features. You really looked at me. Your eyes like stars. That's how you trapped me. There were wings fluttering all around inside of me. Butterfly wings. It was like you cast some kind of spell on me.

"Wouldn't you like to go to Alaska? In the cold," you said. "I love it there."

It sounded almost serious, which made me laugh. You moved your fingers away quickly after.

"Maybe." I shrugged, still breathless. "Who doesn't want to go there."

I still felt your touch, so I shook my head. You looked down, staying quiet. I wanted to hear more of your voice.

"Are you from England?"

Your accent was very attractive. It was rare to me to hear an accent like that. I waited for your answer. When I didn't hear one, I leaned over and tapped the side of your arm.

"Harry?" I asked. Obviously liking the way your name sounded.

Then your whole face lit up with your smile.

"Do you like being in snow for summer?" You asked.

Very confused, I answered with, "I don't . . . I don't know?"

"You'll find out," you replied.