OVER AGAIN

FREED

 Sometimes change is good, Weston thought as he emptied his office's desk drawers. Always alone, Weston needed his day job to connect to the world.

Things were different now after the Tilda Gate.

Weston did not turn into a sex symbol overnight, but he intrigued the public. People wanted to know what was so terrific about the man who seduced Tilda Brentwood. No one denied his talent for writing. Still, they doubted it was this that made the woman fall in love.

Colleagues tried to take selfies with Weston or have books signed throughout his lunchtime. For the moment, everything was new and not too annoying.

At the same time, it was the end of an era; Weston's head trembled with stories begging for him to write them and Tilda to the point he found his day job distracting, if not to say a setback to both his inspiration and love life.

So, Weston resigned. He made enough money with his books and desired free time to be with Tilda when she was not running on talk shows and radios. The good thing about writing was Weston could do it everywhere, but Weston did not follow Tilda around like a groupie. He preferred to watch her on TV, where personal questions made her blush like a teenager.

Tilda had a few concert dates scheduled, and Weston's parents planned to come to London to see her. The singer made time running the stores with Weston to buy a few things despite her busy program.

The woman appreciated these moments where she did banal things like any ordinary citizen. Here, Tilda pointed at a few items, "what do you think of this mug, oh, and these towels?"

They were blue, and the man creased his lips, making Tilda shove Weston with her elbow, "come on, don't be such a prude, free yourself."

Free was how Weston felt in Tilda's presence. The man thought he could not be happier, but every day spent with Tilda proved the contrary.

They went on to buy a few groceries; "I didn't know you liked honey and cinnamon so much," Weston said, seeing Tilda pick them. The Internet did not give him this information; the web was not as efficient as he imagined. How did her followers miss this?

"Oh, ehㅡyeah," Tilda replied.

People smiled as they saw them pass, holding hands. The tenants in the area where Weston lived restrained themselves from stalking behaviors, asking politely for photos or autographs from either one.

The couple walked on the street leading to the apartment when a little girl in a red cloak and matching beret stopped them. The girl was seven, maybe eight years old, and she wore a long brown braid that stuck out of the beret. She also held a bright red balloon.

"You're beautiful," the girl said to Tilda, handing her a pin in the shape of a W. She then turned looked at Weston, "you're dazzling, sir, you shine like a star, can I give you a kiss?"

The two adults turned to look at each other.

"Eh, well, I need her permission first," Weston said, looking at Tilda, who already began to sulk.

"You may," Tilda said with the weeping voice of a baby.

Weston bent down, and the girl kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," the little girl said, and off she went skipping on her way.

"Are you angry?"

Tilda turned her head away, "no."

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

"Tilda, look at me when you say that."