Author’s Note: In honor of Valentine’s Day (and the glorious blog hop hosted by Heather Webb), here’s a retelling of one of my scenes from London Streets– A Love Story. Comment and enjoy!
He walks over, “What’ll you have?”
“The strongest shit you’ve got,” I say. My hands are still shaking.
He moves behind the bar– no more questions, no raised eyebrows. I look up for the first time since walking in: tall. dark hair, crew cut. He looks at me and– blue eyes. Wow. I hear the glass thunk on the counter; neither one of us watch to see if it’s landed on the coaster.
“What is it that you’re running away from?” He asks.
“I thought Brits had better grammar than Americans. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to end your sentences with a preposition?”
He just smiles quietly without showing any teeth. “That’s an incredibly nice defense mechanism you got there. You alright?”
I shake my head. It’s too soon. Not now. I have suddenly taken great interest in my drink. Not bad– strong.
“You’ve got a nice battle scar there,” he says, pointing to the hand that’s holding the glass. The skin on my knuckle is cracked and chapped. A ring of dried blood sticks in the cracks. “Give me a sec.”
He comes back with a towel full of loose ice. “Hand down,” he directs, and places the makeshift pack on my hand. I’ve inadvertently made him curious. I really look at his face: his eyes stand out against dark hair, a symmetrical face, and straight teeth.
The dark shadows in the London streets seem a little farther away. For now, anyways.
Here’s the full story: https://meganhennessey.wordpress.com/2012/12/18/london-streets-a-love-story/ Be sure to let me know what you think!