Say you love me

Part 4

The Teapot, 1:45 PM:
The tea shop was like any other, but it was quite cozier than any that Chris could remember since leaving England. The shop had heavy oaken coffee tables paired with large chairs of chocolate brown leather that could swallow you up they were so soft. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, there was music playing softly in the background. The smell of cookies and muffins filled the air, the nutmeg scent of the muffins mixing with the chocolate scent of the cookies and being perfectly divine.
When they arrived, Christine immediately felt comfortable. The shop was relaxing and the heat from the ovens felt so good, like coming in after being out in the cold all day. After ordering two cups of Earle Grey, they sat down in chairs facing next to each other.
"It's so nice here," Christine said. "I could spend all day sitting in these chairs!" She sank down lower into the squashy leather. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back in Bouth, in the little café called Sam's, where she went everyday after school as a girl. She had so many conversations with her girlfriends, so many dates, so many memories there. It was one of the things she missed most about home.
"I've come here nearly everyday we've been here. I'm actually gonna miss it when we leave for the next city." Christine smiled and struggled to sit upright. The chair was trying to suck her in. Their tea arrived. Christine added cream to hers, John added sugar to his. The Earle Grey really was very good. They sat in silence for a few minutes, quietly sipping and swallowing. Then Chris realized: she never said anything about last night. What could she say? Oh fuck it, she'd say whatever came to mind first. She looked up from her cup and said, "I never thanked you for last night. It was really very sweet of you to help me." John was suddenly very embarrassed. He couldn't look her in the eye for whatever reason.
"You don't need to thank me. I did what was instinct. I'm glad I got the glass out quick enough..." He didn't mention what else had happened. Chris did. "You've got very nice hands."
"Well, yes they are pretty useful!" John laughed.
"They play your bass nicely. I've got some of your records back in my hotel room." Chris sipped her tea. "But that's really none of my business."
"Damn, now I feel like an asshole Christine! I don't even have one Chicken Shack album." John was embarrassed, Chris didn't understand why. Chicken Shack only had a few albums out, and they weren't quite popular; not nearly as popular as Fleetwood Mac. The headliner never really was.
"John, what got you into music?"
John placed his cup down onto the coffee table, as he faced Christine.
"Well, when I was a kid i really loved The Shadows. I started out playing guitar and I played their songs all the time with my friends, but then most of my friends started playing lead, so I switched to bass. I took the top two strings off my guitar and had my own makeshift bass," He paused to take a sip of his tea.
"How did you get into music? I'm surprised you're playing rock n' roll and not off in a concert hall somewhere playing Mozart!"
Chris shifted her legs, the leather was making them sweat and make her jeans uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and said, "My father was a concert violinist, a music teacher also, and he had me start playing piano when I was four. Naturally, I hated it! I'd go hide behind the couch when it was time to practice," she laughed. "But when I turned eleven I took an actual interest in it. I studied classical for a while, but my brother gave me a Fats Domino music book and ever since then I've loved rock n' roll."
"That's quite a change; from classical to rock! I bet your parents gave you a hell of a time."
"The hell they did! My mam tried to hide my songbooks in her dresser, she even put them in the oven one time, knowing it was my night to prepare dinner. Thank god I found them before I turned the oven on, or else I would've died."
John and Christine stayed at the café for another two hours, talking about their lives. They shared interests, told jokes, laughed alot. John even went so far as to grab Christine's hand a few times. Their hands intertwined effortlessly each time. Coincidence?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
John walked Chris back to the hotel, even though he was staying there too, but he didn't mention that little detail. While they were on a corner, about to cross the crosswalk, he grabbed Christine's hand. When she didn't pull away, he allowed himself to relax a bit. Her hand was small and warm and perfect, just like Christine herself. They walked the rest of the way to the hotel hand in hand, neither of them saying a word.