My little Squeaky Toy Pt.2

It had been three months.

Three months since you saw him in London. Three months in which he hadn’t written or phoned you.

But what did you expect? He was famous, a celebrity. He surely didn’t even remember your name. And, of course, he had better things to do than dealing with someone he had merely given directions to.

But you remembered everything. His legs, his hand lying gently but dominant on your lower back, his incredible fair eyes underneath the glasses, the freckles you had just barely been able to spot.

It had been three months and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him for more than one second.

Despite your embarrassment you had somehow hoped that he would have called, or sent a short message, or asked if you had arrived at the hotel.

You had told your friends about your experience and your encounter with Tom, although you hadn’t mentioned his surname, because you had known exactly that they would have laughed. That, they had done anyways, but at least they hadn’t scolded you for not recognizing him and for not asking him for a selfie or an autograph. However, you were certain that, even if you had known who the man had been, you wouldn’t have asked for something like that. After all, you were too shy.

The only thing you had hoped, wished for, was a small text, a call, anything.

But what did you anticipate? You had to scale down your expectations. You should have done that way earlier. But somehow your heart didn’t want to listen to your head. It kept looping around the first time you had met him, in which you hadn’t even recognized who the person standing next to you really had been. You had been falling for him before you had actually identified him. Since then you hadn’t been able to wipe that stupid grin off your face, let alone your thoughts which had been circling continuously around the freckles, and the smile, and the legs… oh, jeez, those legs…

It hadn’t only been his body that had attracted you almost instantly, but also his character and pure and polite behavior.

You let out an exhausted sigh. Being enamoured was sort of stressful. Although you had to admit that your urge to draw had increased since you had met him. The only problem now, was your lacking inspiration.

Earlier that week, you had heard about an art gallery in London and, of course, you just had had to buy a ticket almost immediately. On the one hand because you would be able to maneuver your thoughts to something else than that ridiculously wonderful man, on the other hand because you knew there were going to be beautiful paintings, and therefore, a lot of inspiration to finally draw again.

Although it was one of the closest art galleries, you needed over four hours to arrive via train. You had gotten up early to be there at the opening time, so that you would be able to use the whole day for spending your time in the gallery.

Of course you hadn’t forgotten to bring your little squeaky toy. A new one, naturally. Somehow you had to control your swearing, at least. But you had to admit that you weren’t as fond of the new one, as you had been fond of the old one. However, you kept reassuring yourself, that Tom was taking good care of it.

There had been some problems thanks to your terrible sense of orientation, so the idea to depart earlier had revealed itself as a pretty good one.

Just shortly after the gallery had opened, you arrived there and, thankfully, the line wasn’t that long. It was a modern exhibition, so you weren’t the only younger one to be there, which eased a bit of the tension off your shoulders.

You had to show your ID and let your bag be controlled and, of course, you got weird glances as the security guards spotted your squeaky toy. Besides all your fears, they had just put it into your bag again and had given the latter back to you, so you could finally pass them.

Once in the building, you had to leave your bag in one of the lockers in the hallway, which wasn’t a problem since you could easily put your mobile phone and your anti-stress toy into the pockets of your light jacket. You had dressed up, even had put effort into your hair. For the first time in months you actually felt like you looked beautiful. It scared you a bit, that newly developed self-esteem. But not because you didn’t like it, no. It scared you because you didn’t know where it came from. You had been insecure for a long time of your life and now, all of a sudden, you wanted to shout out how happy you felt, for all the world to hear.

The gallery was amazing. You couldn’t tell which painting fascinated you more. That was until you stopped in front of an impressive painting of a woman in a blue dress. The blue a piercing colour that caught your eye almost immediately. It was a royal blue that emphasised the natural curves and the fair skin of the woman. You didn’t know what exactly it was that made that painting so mesmerizingly stunning, but you just had to stop and admire it, agape and nearly frozen on the spot.

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?”

You hadn’t realised that someone stood beside you. The deep baritone made you jump slightly. You would recognize that voice everywhere. But how? How was that possible?

“The blue makes it all the more beautiful, don’t you think?” He smiled, definitely, you could literally hear him smirking.

Maybe you shouldn’t have chosen the light blue summer dress that didn’t even cover your knees (it wasn’t that short, though, but now you felt like it was). You felt your face flushing and you continued to stare at the painting, unable to move or react in another way.

“Am I allowed to say that you look rather lovely today?”

That didn’t help you with your blushing at all. Thanks to that you were sure that your skin must have turned as red as a tomato, or as something in an even darker shade.

“Thank you.” You finally mastered to look at him. But momentarily you wished you hadn’t done so.

In the broad daylight that shone through the large windows of the gallery, he looked even more beautiful than the last time you had seen him in person. He wore a cream-coloured suit with a white button-down shirt, which fitted his slim figure more than perfectly. With the better lighting you could easily spot the light freckles you adored so much. When your gaze finally travelled up to his face, you nearly forgot to breath for a second or two. His hair and the beard hadn’t changed but his smile left you weak and in awe.

It still was a miracle to you how someone could look that good.

“Still on vacation?” After fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, he put his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Actually…no.” You smiled awkwardly and averted your gaze. “I’m hoping to get inspired by some of the paintings here, to be honest.”

For a brief instant, he remained silent, focussed on the artwork in front of the both of you again.

“And? Did it work?”

“That I don’t know yet.” You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Are you an artist?” A soft warmth filled your chest due to the genuine interest he showed. It made him all the more adorable.

“No… I mean, not really. It’s more like a hobby.” You bit your lower lip as you felt his gaze on you again.

“I like what you did with your hair, it looks rather nice. One can see your artistic giftedness through that.”

You hadn’t known that it was possible to blush even more. But you did.

“Sorry. Did I go too far?” Tom hurried to ask, obviously insecure himself now. Though you weren’t sure about that. It could have been his natural gentleman like behaviour as well.

“No! No, it’s fine, really… I…” You stumbled over your own words and paused to collect yourself again. “Thank you.”

“(Y/N), right?”

Oh god, he remembered your name! After three months he still knew how you were being called.

He strolled down the corridor in a slow pace, so you could easily keep up with his tempo. Considering the height difference, you still had to run.

“You are remembering my name.”

“Of course, I am. After all, I got this utterly beautiful anti-swearing squeaky toy from you. Which, I have to admit, is rather useful from time to time.” He didn’t tease you, quite the contrary. His voice sounded honest and candid.

“Is it really?” Your instinct told you to be careful about instantly believing in what he had said, but your heart nearly burst at the compliment, pounding too fast and loud in your chest.

“Yes, it is!” There it was. The excitement you had seen on him only in some of his interviews so far. Slightly childish, but in an absolute sweet and cute way.

“Don’t you get weird glances by your colleagues when you carry it around?”

“Sure. But that doesn’t matter. It’s important to keep on doing things that help you and that are good for you. That is why I don’t think that a squeaky toy that helps you deal with an urge to swear is in any way something strange or odd.”

At first you didn’t believe a word he said. No one (at least no one you knew) had told you something like that until that moment. Tom really was up for a lot of surprises.

“You’re the first one to say something like that. Usually everyone thinks I’m just odd.” Fumbling with said toy in the pocket of your jacket, you smiled when you both came to a stop in front of another painting. Sadly, your whole focus lay on Tom, now that you had finally met him again.

“Well, if they are defining odd, what is normal, then?”

A soft chuckle escaped you when you heard Tom say that. You thought of a witty response, but none came to your mind, so you stayed silent and observed his profile for a while. His perfectly shaped nose, the sharp outlines of his jaw, his Adam’s apple…God, that man was ideal.

Eventually, he did notice that you were staring at him and shifted, looking a bit nervous all of a sudden. You could tell he wasn’t uncomfortable by the way he slightly turned towards you, even leaning down a bit, and returned the look, a hint of amusement reflecting in his eyes.

You viewed the rest of the gallery in a peaceful silence, just here and there exchanging a few words about the paintings and your thoughts about them. It was amazing. You had never experienced something like that, even though you weren’t talking that much. For some strange reason, walking next to each other and relatively close to each other, felt really intimate at that moment.

“So, when are you leaving London again?” He turned around to face you, as you reached the exit of the art gallery.

“Today, probably.” You couldn’t cover up the slightly depressed undertone that was evidently audible in your voice.

He nodded, clearly fumbling for words.

“I was wondering if you might want to meet again? Maybe for dinner?”