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Lightning flashes outside, the sky filled with a bright light. Bryn sits at a nearby table. “I need a drink.”
“I'll get them.”
Pushing damp hair from my face, I order the beers and return to a still startled Bryn. My man, the gentle guy beneath the rough exterior exposing a vulnerability.
“I guess as you’re so tall there's always a risk lightning could strike you,” I say as I place the glasses on the table.
“That's not funny, Avery.”
“Sorry.”
We sit in silence for a minute, Bryn warily watching the storm outside. Eventually, he slumps back in his seat. “Five star hotel, did you say?”
We share a smile, laughing at the weird situation. I wipe the water that's dripped from Bryn's hair onto his face and kiss him. I'm sheltering from a storm in a small bar in rural France with a member of the most famous rock band in the world. Nobody looks twice at us. Out of context, he's an average guy and I'm his girl.
