Here I am again at Lizzy's diner. Lizzy is behind the counter like she has been since she was tall enough to see over it. I moved here not too long after she was born. Where here isn't important just that the sun shines three hundred thirty days a year. My seat next to the window has been warmed by the sun shining through it.
I know I will always be welcomed here with a bright smile from Lizzy.
I know she always brings me my cuppa how I like it: Earl Grey, two sugars, and a lemon wedge on the side.
I know she wonders who I am.
I know she went to England because of me.
I know I could never show her my London.
I know she always watches over me.
"Here you go sir," She says everyday setting my cup of tea down.
"Thank you," I reply roughly as it was damaged in the war.
"Apple Danish?" She always asks in the morning.
"Please,"
"Coming right up," she says with a smile.
Her smile could break any man's heart, too bad she uses it only on a man whose heart has been stone for so long.
She warms up the Danish enough to be warm but not enough to burn my mouth.
She cares enough to maybe to unhardened this old man's heart.
She places the pastry on the table with a quiet mummer.
"Prefect love," seeing her blush had to be the highlight of the day.
I watched her over the top of my book and smirked behind it as she fought her internal battle.
She finally moved back to the seat in front of me and I lower my book to look into her startling gray blue eyes.
"I'm Elizabeth," she says with one of her smiles.
"I know,"
"Do you have a name or should I call you Han?" she says.
"Call me whatever you wish," I say biting my lower lip knowing that I was flirting with the girl young enough to be my daughter.
"Ok Han," She smiled as one of the other girls brought another cup of tea for me and a cup of coffee for her. Leaning back into her chair with her hands wrapped around the mug; I studied her from her porcelain skin, to her stick straight white blond hair.
"Han, what do you do for a living?" She asks smiling above her mug.
"I inherited money from my parents, enough to never have to work." I tell her.
"Oh," she says getting the same look on my lovers face when he was confused.
"I was in the French Foreign Legion for awhile," I tell her unable to tell her of my real life. I had made up a story so that I could tell her of my life.
"Wow so is that where you got the scar on your hand?"
"This one?" I ask holding up my right hand.
"Yeah,"
"No, my aunt cut that into my hand when I told her my cousin had eaten all the cookies." I said and began to tell her of my life. It took me three days but I told her every detail within reason.
"Why don't you go back to England?" she asked me on the fourth day.
"Too many bad memories,"
"Memories are memories, good or bad they make us who we are," she said to me and went to go help the staff with the dinner rush. I knew her own history as I know it was not only me that pulled her to England but her blood. The same blood that ran through my love; I knew it was time to return home.