the first time i met fleur was on a wet, cold autumn night.
her cafe was the only one i could see, it's warm yellow lights pooling onto the damp street were the only ones on at this late time.
i remember stumbling and stuttering through my order as she giggled. but who could blame me? she's gorgeous.
i asked for a take away cup because i realised if i sat in to eat, i wouldn't be able to do anything but stare at her.
she didn't tell me her name at the time. but gave a small nod and curl of her lips when i told her mine. she wrote it in scraggly letters over my cup.
once i left, i was met with a cold whip of wind. part of me wanted to sit down inside and order everything on the menu, so i could stay in the warmth and stare at the pretty girl more.
but i knew that was a terrible idea.
