Temporary Secretary

Part 6

22 November 1980

11:30am Saturday

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After a five hour train ride, it was a relief finally arriving in Edinburgh. It'd be a night here, then back to London Sunday morning.

It felt great standing up again. Paul grabbed his bag, handing you yours, then you got off the train.

"Pretty nippy, isn't it?" Paul said huddling in his coat.

You pulled your cardigan around yourself. You nodded.

"You know," Paul continued, "They used to not put wheels on these things. Had to carry them! Beats me how they didn't think of't."

"Such a pensioner you are, Paul." You said. "I forget at times."

He scoffed.

"Pensioner?"

There was a car waiting for you at the station. You both got into the backseat quickly, happy to be out of the cold. Paul swung the door shut behind you.

"Hell." Paul mumbled.

You shivered as you got used to the warmth, regaining feeling in your ears and nose.

Paul shook as well, playing up the theatrics more than you were. He suddenly grabbed both your hands, blowing air on them. You'd made the foolish choice of not bringing gloves.

"Better?"

"Suppose," you hushed under your breath, eyes flitting to the front seat. "The driver...Paul."

"You've got little hands." Paul hissed back. "If I don't warm them up, they'll fall off."

He snorted.

"Who'll type up my notes then?" He said through his low giggling.

You curled your fingers shut sharply out of instinct from the thought of them freezing off. That made him give another laugh.

You groaned at him. Suppose it was his turn to embarrass you in transit.

He brought them up to his mouth. You jumped as they made contact with his relatively heated lips.

---

Thankfully, Paul didn't go for a quickie in the car. It pulled up to a hotel, an older one by the looks of it.

You got out and the driver took your bags out of the trunk. You thanked him for the ride.

Paul held your arm as you walked in, the warm air from the lobby hitting your face. You made your way to the reception desk as you tried to get feeling back into your fingertips.

"Hello, could we have the keys to our room?" Paul said. "It should be under McCartney. I called earlier...yeah,"

Room...singular?

The receptionist dipped under the table, sorting through the various keys. He pulled one out.

"Could I see some sort of ID? And the card the reservation's on?"

"Yeah, hold'on." Paul shot him a smile, his cheeks bunching up. He rooted through his pockets, pulling out his wallet.

The receptionist looked them over, seemingly satisfied.

"You're all set. Have a good day." He said, Paul's friendly demeanor rubbing off on him.

Paul grinned back, taking the key with a wink. Was it a tick or something Paul had? He shot you a grin as well.