Two Of Us ⎯ Paul McCartney

13. Well, Aren't You Judgmental?

September, 1968

The restaurant we were sitting in was pretty loud and bustling for two in the afternoon, and various people kept coming up to our booth either to say hi to Paul or ask for his autograph. As soon as one of them would leave, he'd apologize to me, but I just waved it off. I really didn't mind, I knew it came with his job. And it always made me smile a little.

I wasn't doing anything that day, so Paul had offered to take me to lunch at a place a few blocks down from EMI before he had to go back to work. I guessed it was supposed to be the date I'd said I'd go on with him, but he'd been so smooth about the whole thing that I didn't realize that it was a date until we were actually sitting down together.

"You okay?" Paul asked, drawing me away from my thoughts.

"What?" I looked up at him.

"You look a bit down," he said, giving me a small smile. "Am I really that horrible of a date?"

"Well, aren't you judgmental?" I popped a forkful of food in my mouth. After scanning the menu a thousand times, I didn't know what to order, so Paul had taken it upon himself to order me steak and kidney pie. It tasted nothing like pie, but it wasn't bad. "I'm fine. This is marvelous," I added, trying to do an English accent.

Paul laughed and reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "There you go. You look pretty when you're happy."

"Gee, thanks." I felt myself blush a little, but I was half-expecting someone to interrupt us again, so I couldn't help but glance around. "You, uh, you haven't told anyone about this, have you?" I found myself asking after a moment.

Paul let go of my hand as he looked around, seemingly trying to see where I'd been looking. "No. The only ones that know are the lads, really. And that engineer."

"God. Don't even remind me." A few days earlier, we'd gotten a little carried away with our kissing in a supply closet, and we'd been walked in on by who must've been an engineer intern, because he couldn't have been over fifteen. I'd never been more embarrassed in my life, but Paul didn't really seem bothered, just laughing it off and telling the lad that he'd appreciate it if he didn't go running to the tabloids.

"People know that I've been seeing someone, though," Paul said, continuing what he'd been saying. "I think they can just tell, y'know? I reckon you're good for me, seriously."

"That's literally the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"My pleasure."

I smiled at him, leaning my head in my hand. "So... you're like – free to flirt with me now? 'Cause I don't remember you flirting with me all that much last week."

"I didn't want to scare you off," he admitted. "I wanted you to like me, but I didn't want to put you off."

"Well, I've always liked you. As a person," I added quickly. "You're always willing to talk with me about a song or an album I'm obsessed with."

Paul winked at me, making me stifle a laugh. "You've got good taste in music. And the fact that you have a pretty face doesn't hurt."

My face reddened. "I'm really not – "

"No, seriously, you look like you should be a model." He reached over and brushed a piece of my hair away from my face. "And I'm very lucky that I get to go out with you."

That made me smile. "Y'know, I like going out with you, too."

"Hey, you're Paul McCartney, right?" A girl's voice snapped us both out of the daze we'd both been in by looking at each other, and I was suddenly reminded that we were in public. A blonde was kneeling next to us wearing a sweater and a collared shirt as she tightly clutched a notebook. "I work for the Daily Mail," she said, smiling widely. "Could I just ask you a few questions?"