Freefall ✓

22 | fly

Take my hand, we'll be fine

—shawn mendes

▬▬▬ ♫ : ▬▬▬

Simple- Florida Georgia Line

▬▬▬ ✦ ▬▬▬

AUDREY

I frowned faintly at my reflection in the hallway mirror. Grey leggings, a pair of casual Nike sneakers, and a pastel coral hoodie with the word serendipity spread across it in script font. I was wearing absolutely no make-up, save for the glittery raspberry-flavor lip balm I'd applied for the mere sake of my chapped lips. 

I readjusted (for about the fifth time) the straps coming out of my messy bun, which I'd secured with a velvet scrunchie. I knew I had to stop this foolish fuss: It was getting to the point where the simplicity of my outfit lost its meaning — I found myself actually putting in a substantial amount of effort for it to appear the right extent of effortless. 

"Didn't you say it's not a proper date?" My Mom's lightly amused voice tickled my ears from behind.

"I did."

"Why are you so nervous then?" My back was to her, but I could bet a million dollars to you that she was smirking.

"I'm not nervous," I pronounced one of the most classic lies in history.  

Shaking her head at me, she stepped nearer to ruffle my hair. "Don't!" I ducked, dodging her threatening hand. "You'll mess it up."

She rolled her eyes at me. I heard the ding-dong sound of our bell. My eyes shot wide. "Is it six already?!" I whispered.

She took me by my shoulders. "Honey, you're stressing over it again. Just relax. Breathe. You're going out to have a good time, remember? " I nodded, taking a deep breath in. "Okay?"

"Okay," I pecked her cheek and dashed towards the door. I thought I had collected myself, but my palms were sweaty when I pressed onto the door handle.

Cam appeared before my eyes, a confident smile playing on his lips. He was wearing khaki beige jeans and an indigo sweatshirt and holding out an appealingly flamboyant bouquet of white, pink, and purple flowers. Their subtly sweet aroma deluged my senses. 

  Dahlias. I smiled. It was him and those little things again. 

"Thank you, Cam — they're marvelous," I said in awe, accepting the bouquet.

"Just like you," he came out with, completely nonchalant about the color bomb he'd just exploded inside of me. And I haven't even stepped out of the house yet. I wondered how my nerves were going to deal with today. 

"How are you doing, Mrs. Olsen?"

"Just Nichole," she reminded him, sweet-tempered. "And I'm very well, thank you. I'll go put those flowers in a vase with water before they wilt."

"Yeah, please," I handed them to her. She eyed the two of us waggishly before turning to go. "You return her back to me in one whole piece before ten," she pointed at Cameron.

"Sure will," he asserted, with a single nod. She exhaled, satisfied. 

"Very good. Have fun you two!" she called as I walked out of the house, throwing her a smile and tugging Cam along.

He held open the passenger's door for me—per his usual noble manner— and we drove in silence for a couple of minutes, until I cut through it:

"Where did you manage to get scented dahlias?"