Back To Reality
She didn't want to go back, back to reality. She wanted to stay in the quiet, peaceful town.
She knew she could afford not to work for a four months, while paying for accommodation. She'd fly home, pack up, let her landlord know, quit her job and move the money in her trust fund.
Now she had to find a place to live and everything that went with it.
She was unhappy where she was and she felt happy here even if she had only been there for a couple of days besides J.P Morgan had said 'The first step to towards getting somewhere is to decide you're not going to stay where you are'
Within a week she was back packed up home, her parents waiting for the go ahead to ship her things over. Most she had with her, stored in her hotel room. She rented a storage unit for everything else as it crossed the ocean.
She'd need a job, a house and a new car.
The car came first. Then she began the search for a house.
One night to toast her new life she ended up in a cosy little pub. The next morning she was wrapped in the arms of an Irish/American stranger.
Bits of the night drifted back to her, clasped hands as they came together, peppered kisses and feathered touches.
A nose nuzzled her neck. The stranger was waking, she slipped out of his embrace grabbed her clothes and left. As he stared bleary eyed her before going back to sleep not to sure if she was really there or not.
A few weeks later she settled in. She had a house – well a cottage. The job hunt was going slow but steady. She had a part time job in the hardware store doing couple hour shifts and a few shifts at the local café. Wasn't much but enough. Well she figured out what she really wanted to do.
She had been a journalist back home but her boss was a bitch.
She loved the writing and the response from the readers. She'd been there for three years and she was still writing assigned pieces. Plus she was treated like dirt on everyone's else after a year, sometimes six months got to write whatever they wanted to as long as it was in relation with their columns. But after three years Gabriella didn't have that luxury.
Now she just hoped she find a paper over here that would give that opportunity.
Her new reality, new life was turning out to be better than her old one in America.
Even when she had the guy from the pub knocking on the door in the pouring rain.
That was defiantly different from her old life because never in her old life did she have men pounding on the door in the rain and soaked muscles hugging t-shirt.
"Who is it?" she called.
"Come on Becks open the door," he called.
Had she told him her name was Becky. She shrugged and headed to the door. She stole a look in the mirror and groaned. Grey sweatpants tucked into white socked botties, white vest and long sleeved pale pink top. This was a good as it was gunna get.
She opened the door.
"Your not Becca," the guy said.
"No I'm not," she answered.
"Where's Becca?" she asked.
"Did she live here?" she asked.
He nodded.
"She moved a couple weeks ago sold me this place," she answered.
"I'm why didn't she tell me," he said.
"I don't know I don't know your relation to her," she said.
"Doesn't matter. I'll call her. I'm Troy," he said, offering his hand.
"Gabriella," she answered, shaking his hand. "Do you want to come in you look a little soaked,"
"Yeah thanks," he answered.
The door was shut and Gabriella grabbed a towel from the cupboard.
"Did we met at the pub last week?" asked Troy.
"Um yeah," she answered.
"Aha you were my morning sneak out," he said.
"Um yeah," she answered, coming back with a cup of tea for him. Before shifting from foot to foot and tucking a curl behind her ear.
He sat down on the sofa, propped one leg over the and took a long drink from his cup.
"So what's your strong sweetheart?" he asked.
Gabriella sat on a chair. "Making a new reality," she answered.
"Away from family, boyfriend?" he asked.
"You should love what you do right?" she asked.
He nodded.
"I'm a journalist well I was and I loved what I did just not where and after staying here three days. I loved it," she answered.
"So you moved," he said. "Despite everything you know and everyone being across the Atlantic."
She nodded. "You?"
"Moved here five years ago never looked back," he said.
They talked late into the night and when Gabriella woke in the morning, she woke to a delicious smell drafting though the house.
She padded into t he kitchen rubbing sleep from her eyes to find Troy.
"What you doing?" she yawed.
"Making you breakfast," answered Troy.
Gabriella looked to see two plates of full English,
"If you hadn't of ran out this is what you would have had," he said, placing it on the table.
"Bon Appétit," he said.
Gabriella glanced at the clock.
"Oh crap I have to get to work!" she exclaimed.
She jumped up knocking her juice over the table.
"Sorry," she shouted.
She reappared minutes later trying to put on her boots with a tooth brush hanging out of her mouth.
"You work around the corner right?" asked Troy.
"Yeah," said Gabriella.
"You start in what twenty minutes?" asked Troy.
"Five," answered Gabriella.
"Well I'm going past I'll drive you," said Troy.
She wrapped a scarf around her neck.
"No it's ok. It wakes me up," answered Gabriella.
Troy turned of the oven and hobs and headed out after her.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
"I'll let you know," she answered, locking the door.
"Yes," she thought, as she ran down the drive this new reality was shaping up quiet nicely.
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Gabriella Somerfield