the fifth day i saw her was good.
it was late again, around 11:30. i had my notebook open on the table with a peach scone in my other hand.
fleur was tiding up again. she looked tired.
"you okay, fleur?"
"hmm? oh yes, i'm okay. bit tired"
"i can go-"
"oh no don't. i need to tidy anyway"
i had practically fallen in love with her voice. it was so sweet and delicate.
fleur carried on clumsily cleaning the coffee machine. i felt a pang of guilt.
"at least sit down if you need. or make a coffee for yourself"
that seemed to to it for her. she slouched over and dropped beside me, onto the small couch in the corner i was sat on.
