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frootyrooties · 10 months

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chances

CH 3: TIT-FOR-TAT

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she’s presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I’m Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn’t know is how much trouble she’s about to get herself into with the group’s beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: moody eric, eric’s love for food :3, feisty leah, venting, consoling, first mention of eric’s divorce, first date!, whole lotta fluff

a/n: After spending one month in Europe, I finally found inspiration to write this chapter. I had the pleasure of visiting Mr. Stewart’s pride and joy, Strawberry Recording Studios. I was over the moon! I am still in disbelief that I went. But enough about that, everything I’ve written so far is almost historically accurate based on interviewing a few individuals who know the boys personally (so grateful for that opportunity). Spending a few weeks in England, including one week in Stockport where this lovely tale takes place really brought on some much needed inspiration into writing this chapter. I’ve also been cooped up in my feelings lately so I really poured my heart out into this one. Cheers!

“You know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left the studio that night.”

It is morning. The past couple days have been such a whirlwind, I haven’t got a clue what time or day it is. The telephone on the nightstand rings unmercifully loud, waking me from my deep slumber. My eyes feel heavy, and I can only manage to open them halfway as I struggle to sit up to answer this call. I turn to my side and lean on my elbow as my other hand reaches for the phone. I bring the device up to my ear.

“H-hello?” my voice is soft, with undertones of confusion and anxiety as I await to identify the caller.

“Hi. It’s Eric.” the man on the other line is curt. I sense tension in his voice.

Understandably, given the amount of people I’ve encountered these past couple days, I struggle to remember who this “Eric” is.

“Eric? Oh dear..I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong num—“

“I am speaking to Miss Leah Walker, yeah?” The man interjects, his tone now growing slightly irritable. It suddenly hits me like a freight train. A wave of embarrassment crashes into me the moment I realize who it is. It’s Eric Stewart of 10cc.

“Oh, Eric! Hello..I..Christ, I am so sorry I didn’t recog—“

“That’s alright, no need to explain yourself.” He says this matter-of-factly. He sounds aggravated. But, what about?

I sit dumbfounded in silence and wait for him to supplement his response.

“Right. Anyway, I’m calling because a young man hand delivered your pictures to me last night just before I left the studio and I thought I’d give you a call this morning to talk about some thoughts I have about them.” Oh dear..am I in trouble?

He now has my full attention and I am properly awake. I finally manage to sit up against my pillow, clutching onto the phone. I twirl the cord around my finger to ease my anxiety as I mentally develop a response.

“Of course, absolutely..I’m all ears.”

“Hmph. Well, I thought I’d let you know how atrocious these pictures turned out. There’s too much exposure in most of them, you can hardly see our faces! We look like the bloody ghosts of Christmas past! And for fuck’s sake, do you even know how to get your point of interest in frame?! I’ve done photography for years, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how to get your focal point in center view. You know, for someone who claims to be a seasoned photographer, you’ve made some very amateur mistakes here. Perhaps, it would behoove you to take a refresher course.”

I can feel my blood boiling. I don’t think I have ever met anyone so irreverent, so condescending, so..unnerving.

You little arrogant son-of-a-bitch! Just who the hell do you think you are, talking down on me like I’m an imbecile?!

At this point, my temper has reached its peak and I decide to give him a piece of my mind. I struggle to maintain composure.

“Eric. Mr. Stewart. Perhaps it would behoove you to give those photos another look. My work has not faltered me, and I am confident that I captured your group’s pictures with great finesse. If I am wrong, feel free to reach out to me again and I will rectify my mistakes. Oh, and might I suggest that you be a little less rash towards people who are doing you a favor? Then perhaps people wouldn’t find you so unlikeable.”

I said the word unlikeable through almost gritted my teeth. I slam the phone down with such force, I can feel the nightstand tremble.

I am fuming, absolutely livid. That might’ve been the very first proper insult I have ever received from a client. I suppose I’ve been spoiled with how mild Americans are with their insults compared to these Brits, but I was not expecting this degree of aloofness from anyone I would meet here. And especially not from someone like Eric Stewart.

God, where is a cigarette when I need one? After only recently having smoked one cigarette for the first time in my life, I am already finding myself craving for another. I should bear in mind the addicting properties that cigarettes have. Most people in my family smoke, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise just how easily people get addicted. I feel my anger beginning to subside as I preoccupy myself with this random thought. It is too early in the day to be stressed, to be flustered, to be worked up about a man who otherwise seems..just..so wonderful, so wonderful. I ought to call him, Mr. Wonderful.

I roll my eyes and sneer at this utterly ridiculous deviation in my thoughts. He’s probably got a girlfriend..or worse, a wife even! Stay out of other people’s turf, Leah. You’re here to work with clients, not sleep with them. I give myself a gentle reminder that I shouldn’t meddle with what belongs to other people.

I jerk slightly as I hear the phone blaring once again. Hmph. It must be that bloody arrogant bastard again..I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I make a presumption about who is calling. I let the phone ring a few more times before answering. You’re going to have to wait for me to pick up, your highness. What an annoying little thing this Eric is.

I finally decide to reward him for his patience.

“Hello, this is Leah Walk—”

“Hi.” A familiar voice interjects.

“Hi..erm..may I ask who is speaking?” Playing possum. A smirk breaks across my face.

“Oi, have you forgotten all about me already?” Eric stifles a laugh at my response.

Oh why do you have to be so gosh darn adorable? Makes it hard to stay mad at you.

“Oh it’s just you..” I speak sarcastically American.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah..it’s me, your favorite person.” Eric says with such overinflated confidence. The nerve. The audacity. After relentlessly insulting me, he hits me with ‘it’s me, your favorite person.’

“How can I help you?” I am curt with him. My tone quickly switches to one that is rather business-like. I am not here to play games with you, Eric.

“Leah, listen..I—” he pauses briefly and I hear him sigh deeply on the other line, “I am sorry to disturb you again but I just wanted to apologize for how irrational I was on the previous phone call.” Oh? It’s impressive how quickly an epiphany can occur to someone.

I listen quietly as I await for him to finish his soliloquy.

“Erm..I know you’ve just met me but..I have just been so desperate for some form of consolation from anyone, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this but..I feel like I can comfortably express my feelings to you without fear of judgement. I feel that I can trust you enough to keep this conversation between us. Have you got a free second? May I vent a little?”

My heart sinks at his willingness to be vulnerable to me. Our working relationship is only in its embryonic stage, but that certainly doesn’t mean that I cannot sympathize with him. I refuse to be cold-hearted. It makes people feel uneasy around you when you’re cold. It makes me feel uneasy at even just the thought of being cold. I devote to giving him my full, undivided attention at this very moment. I sense pain in his voice. I want to know more about you, Eric Stewart.

“Well carry on, I’m listening.” I sound a bit whimsical, I hope I am not coming off aloof.

Just for this moment, I would like to forget about our professional relationship and be a friend to him with open and patient ears..to be a shoulder to cry on.

“Right. Erm..where do I even start?” he lets out a nervous laugh. There are undertones of frustration in his voice. A damsel-in-distress

“Start wherever you feel comfortable, Eric.”

“Right. Okay, thank you..” he sighs deeply then continues his monologue, “I’m just one man, Leah. Yet people that I work with, the same people that use the studio that I’ve put my blood, sweat and tears in feel that it’s alright to toy me around. They expect me to function as if I’m made up of five people. If I could clone multiples of myself, I would. To keep these people happy. They all know very well how hard I work at recording and producing music, and they’ve used that to their advantage. And even after all my efforts and all that I’ve done for them, I’m still not good enough. Not a single ounce of acknowledgement from any of them. Pity, isn’t it?”

I sense bitterness in his voice. I attempt to process all that he’s said to me so far. That angry feeling I had for him has now been lifted. Or perhaps he’s just trying to gain my sympathy so I can forget about how upset he made me this morning. Eric, whatever you’re doing it’s working.

“Are you still listening to me, love? Or am I boring you to death?” he lets out a soft laugh. Am I allowed to swoon a little?

“Yes Eric, continue. Please.”

“Well no, I don’t think you understand how this works. You see, I speak my mind then you’re supposed to validate my feelings.”

“Oh, is that right? So you’ve called me up just to get a free counseling session? You know I oughta charge you extra for this.” Again, sarcastically American.

“You best believe I will pay you however much quid you wa—”

“Eric, you know I’m joking, right?” I chuckle as I interrupt him, “okay, so let me get this straight..it sounds to me that you’re not getting along with your band mates, yeah?”

“Sure seems that way.”

“Right so, I don’t know if I am the right person to be giving you advice on how you can rectify your situation as I am not a licensed psychologist, however do you think it would benefit you and the rest of the group to talk it out?”

“Well you see, that’s what we’re struggle with at the moment. All four us—myself, Graham, Lol and Kev usually have these ‘truth sessions’ throughout the day while working in the studio. These are opportunities for us to take a break from songwriting and recording and talk about our strengths and weaknesses as musicians. What we like and don’t like about our progress on a record, for example. But lately, it seems that these sessions have become less..frequent. I don’t understand it, I mean why the sudden change in routine?”

“I see. Well in that case, have you tried to initiate these sessions?”

“No. I don’t know if I want to. I’m just—”

“Afraid of rejection?

He remains silent for a brief moment then produces a response.

“Yes.”

“Tell you what. From what I observed during our initial encounter, you seem very competent in your musical abilities, Eric. Do you agree?”

“Yes, but—”

“Hm. See? There’s the problem. You’re full of doubt. The word but says to me that you are doubtful about your abilities to create initiative. Not even as the leader of the group, but just as an equal member.”

He is mute on the other line.

“Eric? You see, the way this works is that I give you my two cents, and you give me yours. Tit-for-tat.”

“Tit-for-tat.” He chuckles.

“So..?”

“What are you doing right now? Are you free?” Funny how he changes the subject.

“Well let’s see..it’s 8:30 in the morning and you’re lucky you’ve caught me during my day off so to answer your question, yes I am free. Why do you ask?”

“Erm..I was just thinking..would you mind if we carried on this conversation in person? I’m not really fond of long telephone calls, you see?”

My goodness, bossy AND primadonna.

“It’s gonna cost ya.”

“I’ll pay for breakfast. Please say yes?” He’s ignoring my sarcasm this time. Begging, are we?

“Fine. You’re only getting an hour and a half out of me. Two hours if you’re well behaved.” I smile through my words.

“Hm..I promise to be on my best behavior.” The bastard’s probably smirking right now. Bet you’re proud of yourself. Jerk. He’s lucky he’s cute.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. I’m about one block away from your studio. 11 Alberta Street. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know Alberta Street. Give me 10?”

“Great. See you in 10.”

“Fantastic. See you soon. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” I hang up and I don’t quite know what to do with myself at the moment. I feel happy, giddy even. A date? With Eric Stewart of 10cc? However, I do not consider this a date as I am just helping to console an emotionally distressed client.

For some strange reason, I feel I am doing something wrong agreeing to go out with a client. However, this man seems like he is in peril and is in need of a friend to comfort him.

“Gosh, what do I even wear?” I mutter to myself as I get myself sorted.

It seems as though we will blessed with lovely weather again today so I settle for something more casual and weather appropriate. I dig through my closet to find my yellow sleeveless sundress and scoop it out. I stride over to the mirror and lean the dress against myself, mentally critiquing whether this will be a good fit. I smile as I gander at the mirror, picturing myself with the dress on. This should do.

I slip the dress on and flatten out any wrinkles with my hands. I take another look in the mirror and not meaning to toot my own horn, but this dress looks rather fetching on me. What will he think of it?

I quickly apply some mascara and a little cherry red lipstick for good measure. My hair has maintained its curls from the day before so I decide to leave it be. And just as I am finishing up with the beauty works, the doorbell rings. My heart begins to pound. I snatch my purse then make my way downstairs and open the front door slightly at first to make sure it is who I think it is. I proceed to open the door all the way to ogle at the Adonis that’s standing right before me. I scan him from head to toe—black button down shirt, a navy blue suit jacket, denim bell bottoms and a pair of light brown platforms. He could be doubling as a runway model!

“Hi, Eric.” A teethy grin spreads across my face as I look at him in his eyes.

He examines me from head to toe, his eyes pausing briefly at my bust (eyes up here, pal!), then our eyes collide.

“Hello, Leah.” His voice is soft. It’s so comforting. “You look really lovely.”

“Why thank you sir, you don’t look too bad yourself.” We both stand in silence for a brief moment, then simultaneously chuckle at our unspoken banter.

“So are we just going to stand here, then? I’m a hungry boy. I need fuel.” He rests his hands on his stomach, indicating his need for food.

“Well show us the way then, sir!” I chirp.

“Aren’t you going lock your door?” he looks at me with a boyish smile.

“Oh, you’re right. Where’s my mind?” It’s all your fault for being so uncanningly attractive. It’s so distracting.

“Would you like me to lock it for you? After all, you’ve done more than enough for me thus far this morning. It’s the least I can do.”

“Erm..if you insist, go right ahead.” I smile as I hand him the house keys.

“Right..er..” he swipes the keys from my hand and somehow correctly selects the key to the front door. He proceeds to close and lock, then hands me back the keys.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” I curtsy in front of him.

“Pleasure is mine, my fair lady.” He bows, then just before he straightens up, he takes my hand and plants a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

“Shall we, love?” He stands erect, smirking at me.

“Please, lead the way.” I gesture to the open road in front of us.

“Yes, madame.” He links his arm with mine and we proceed to stroll towards the alley way leading to the main road.

The smell of his cologne lingers against my nose. It’s gentle to the sensitive nose—a fresh clean linen scent, so it appears. I pat his upper arm gently as we continue to pace.

“So where are we going?” I smile up at him.

“The Red Bull. It’s this pub just around the corner from the studio. Me and the guys usually go there for lunch but I like to go there for breakfast as well on the days I’m working in the studio. Their full english breakfast is to die for!” he says those last words with such enthusiasm.

“So I take it breakfast food is your favorite kind of food?”

“Well I don’t discriminate when it comes to food, love. Breakfast, lunch and dinner food all sound appealing to me. I’ll have you know, I’m a bit of a foodie. Food makes me happy.”

I giggle at his vivacity in discussing food.

“Well then you wouldn’t have any second thoughts about finishing my leftovers? In case I don’t finish my meal this morning?” I raise an eyebrow at him, a girlish smile broadening across my face.

“Say no more, love!” he widens his gaze at me, leaning his face into me.

I chuckle at his playfulness. I admire his quirky tendencies. I take note of how he hasn’t peeled his gaze off me. I feel my face growing warm. I look at him from the corner of my eye then tilt my head slightly as I gaze up at him.

“Eric, why do you keep looking at me like that?”

We take a brief pause in our walk. He looks at me earnestly.

“Like what? Like you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen today?” he lets out a tiny smile, maintaining his gaze on me.

I gaze up at him dumbfounded, my mouth ajar.

“Erm..” I can only manage to let out a nervous laugh as I am at a loss for words. I feel my face growing warmer.

We lock eyes with each other, not saying a word. He smiles at me meekly.

“You know, I was once asked how I would define the word ‘beauty’ and I simply said ‘woman.’ So pardon me for saying this but, I think you’re the most beautiful woman I have seen in a long time. And believe me, I’ve seen plenty in my lifetime. I think I’m entitled to that opinion.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too early for this kind of talk?” I bite my lower lip as I attempt to stifle my smile.

“Right. We’re stalling and I’m hungry. You must be hungry, too.”

“Not as hungry as you, Mr. foodie.”

“Well let’s quit larking about and get a move on!”

We quicken our pace through the alley way, then he grabs my hand as we turn right and make our way towards the crosswalk. We both look left and right to gander at oncoming cars, and clasping his hand with mine, we run across the street. Just from that short excursion, we’re both now filled with exhilaration and adrenaline.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he catches his breath.

“You alright?” I look at him a bit perturbed.

“Yes..” He responds breathlessly, “I’m..just..out of shape.”

“Ah, that means less food, more exercise for you, young man.” I tease him.

“Oi, keep it up you’ll see what happens.”

“What are you going to do to me, hm?” I smile at him girlishly.

“I don’t think you want to know my answer to that.” He smirks.

I playfully smack his arm. “Eric!”

“Oi! What was that for? You ask a guy a question like that, you will get a guy answer.” He says matter-of-factly.

I shake my head at him, chuckling. “Unbelievable..”

I begin to walk ahead of him, leaving him behind.

“Hey! Where are you going?!” he runs up behind me.

“I thought you were hungry? I’m growing hungry myself with all this stalling we’re doing.”

“Ah, we’ve got to feed the girl then. Come on.” He snakes his fingers through mine and he leads the way to the pub.

We climb the steps that lead to the front door and enter the abode. From first glance, I only see a couple sitting in the corner and eating their meal in silence.

“There he is! The man of the hour!” A voice echoes through the pub in that sing-songy Mancunian accent. A woman with long, flowy strawberry blonde hair gracefully walks towards Eric and I.

“It is I indeed and today I have company.” Eric snakes his arm across my shoulders and pulls me closer to him, smiling at me.

“Ellie, this is Leah our talented photographer. Leah, this is my good friend Ellie. She runs the pub and the kitchen. Power woman, she is.”

“Oh, you stop it.” she giggles at Eric’s remark and extends a handshake to me. “Lovely to meet you, Leah.”

“Lovely to meet you as well, Ellie.” I shake her hand, a tiny smile breaking across my face.

She smiles at me briefly then turns her attention back to Eric.

“Table for two, is it Stewart?”

“Right on, El.”

“Well go on, you know where to sit. Are we doing the usual brekkie, Stewart?”

Judging by the way this woman talks, she knows Eric like the back of her hand. I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a history together. I want to roll my eyes at the thought.

“For me, yes. And for the lady..” Eric turns to me, prompting me to respond with my food order.

“You mentioned you were getting the full english breakfast, yeah?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Then that’s what I’ll have. Please and thank you.” I turn to Ellie, smiling meekly.

“Right. Eric knows where to sit. Make yourselves at home. I will bring you your breakfast shortly.”

“Cheers, El!” Eric chirps.

He weaves his fingers into mine and leads us to an isolated corner booth adjacent to the window.

“After you, madame.” He gestures for me to sit in the booth.

I slide into the booth and he follows suit. He rests his arm over my shoulder then gazes at me with admiration.

“What do you think?”

“Of this place?” I take a second to glance at my surroundings. “I like it. It’s quite cozy, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. One of the reasons me and the guys love coming here. And the workers here are all just lovely.”

“Hmph..I bet they are.” You don’t say. You seem to get on well with little miss blonde there.

“You alright, then? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”

I gaze up at him and study his eyes. “Eric, can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask me anything. It seems I’ve been doing most of the talking this morning, I think it’s time I hear from you.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

He chuckles. “Is that what’s got you worried? No, love. I’m single. Divorced.”

What? Divorced?

He leans into my ear, seeing the deer-in-headlight look on my face. “That may be a story for another time. Today, I just want to get to know you more and to pick up where we left off in our conversation from earlier.”

“Okay. Sure.” I smile at him modestly.

“As I was saying earlier—”

“Eric, listen. You’ve got to stand up for yourself and show that you’re more than just a man with all these tricks up his sleeves. People will continue to take advantage of your good work ethic and kind heart. Sometimes, it’s good to let people know what’s on your mind so they understand you better.”

He gazes at me with a demure smile. “Now where have you been all my life? Where were you when I was at my lowest?”

I lean into him. “Quit doubting yourself.”

“Right, you two. Make way for brekkie. Leah, I made this just the way Eric loves it. I think you’re going to love it as well.” Ellie deftly slides our breakfast platters in front of us. I can see our food steaming. Now I’m hungry.

“Thank you, Ellie. So lovely of you to do that!” I smile at her broadly.

“Cheers! Right, drinks. Eric, would you like your Guinness this morning?”

“No, thanks. I would like to take it easy today. Thanks, El. Perhaps Leah would like one?”

“Oh no, thank you. This is too early for beer. A glass of water would be nice.”

“Make that two, El.” Eric adds.

“On it!” Ellie scurries off into the pub then quickly comes back with a couple glasses of water and places them in front of us.

“Are you sorted now, then?” Ellie inquires.

“Sorted. Cheers, El!” Eric proclaims.

“Cheers! Enjoy breakfast, you two.” Ellie smiles at us both briefly then hurries back into the kitchen.

I take a gander at my plate and decide where to start. Everything looks delicious. Two hearty looking sausages, over easy fried eggs, baked beans, juicy red tomatoes, fried mushrooms, two slices of wheat toast and two dark patties that I’m assuming are what the English call ‘black pudding.’ I take a tiny scoop of the baked beans and nibble on them. Perfect. Just the right amount of flavor in the sauce. I proceed to slice into a sausage and take a bite. Mm..delightful. I turn to Eric who’s almost halfway finished with his meal.

He looks at me. Face stuffed with food like a chipmunk. Brilliant.

“Wait. Don’t move.” I snatch my smaller back up camera from my purse then snap a picture of him, giggling.

“Oi!” he groans through his food. He swallows his food quickly. “I’m going to get you for that one!”

“Your face..it looked cute. I couldn’t help it."

“You just can’t help yourself sometimes, can you?” His smile is demure again. He examines my face. His drops his silverware onto his plate then proceeds to caress my face, tracing my jawline his thumb.

“You know I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left the studio that night.” His tone has become more gentle, more vulnerable. Not aggravated, and rash like he was over the phone earlier.

“Is that right?” I’m imploring.

“Listen, Leah. The main reason I called you again was to apologize for being so harsh on you earlier. I went on a deep dive with my emotions this morning for you to understand why I may have acted the way I did. I’ve just had so much shit to deal with lately and not enough guidance. Regardless, it was not right of me to act that way towards you. Please, forgive me.” He’s genuine in his apology I can tell. But there’s more here that I don’t know about. I will let him decide when he feels comfortable to open himself up to me. When he’s ready. For now like he said, we should just try to get to know each other.

“Eric, I’ve already forgotten all about what happened this morning. Please, eat up. I love watching you eat. The joy on your face..it’s priceless. The delight of my day.” I place my hand against his rosy red cheek and I feel the full weight of his head as he rests his head against the palm of my hand. He plants a kiss on my palm then turns to me with a boyish smile.

“May I ask a favor from you?”

“Hm? And what does this favor entail?”

“Will you come to the studio again and do another photoshoot of me and the guys? I’m not going to tell King about it. It’s just for us as a group. For keepsake. I am willing to pay ext—”

“On one condition.” I interject.

“Eh? condition? what condition?”

“I get front row seating to one of your upcoming shows. I want to see you and the guys perform.”

He grins broadly at me. “Well that’s easy enough, love. Consider it done! We will be in London next week. We’d love to have you there. Me especially, I would love to see you again. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

A sudden wave of excitement and elation crashes into me. “Eric, you’re kidding! You mean you’re serious?! I can come to one of your shows?!”

“Am I bluffing, love?” he smirks.

Without hesitation, I scoop him into me, embracing him like he’s a lover of mine who’s been away far too long. And without hesitation on his part he returns the favor, embracing and almost melting into me. It quickly occurs to me that this may have been a very bold move on my part so I peel away from his hold.

“Eh? You alright, love?” he sounds concerned.

“Yes..er..I hope that wasn’t too forward. I’m just so ecstatic to be seeing you all in concert. This may be one of the few I will have gone to since seeing the Beach Boys back in my teens.”

He chuckles. “Well not to burst your bubble, love, but we’re nothing like The Beach Boys. A few of our songs may have that sort of sound, but overall it’s like apples to oranges.”

“Sadly, I do not listen to The Beach Boys as much as I used to. I’m all grown up now and it’s the 70’s. The music is hip, and bands these days are all just far out!”

“Far out!” he says mockingly in his best midwestern American accent. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?”

“You know you could pass for an American with that accent. It’s pretty darn good!”

“Well you see, that’s the way we do it out here in good ‘ole midwestern America.” he says maintaining his pseudoamerican accent.

I fail to stifle a giggle at his little commentary. “Talented. Mr. Stewart. It’s as simple as that.”

“Eh, I was really enjoying our hug. May I have another one?”

My smile is demure this time and without hesitation, I scoop him into my arms again. We sit in this silent embrace. Feeling each other’s warmth. In this booth. In this pub. In this glorious place called Stockport. Life can’t get any better.

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