We'll Always Have Paris - A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Gabrielle Moreau is a 19-year old French girl living in Paris, the “capital of love”. To most people she looks ordinary, but behind her high-built façade hides a girl that suffers. She tries to shut the inferior sides of her life out by doing the things she loves and letting her thoughts circle around something elsewhere—and she succeeds in focusing on the good things in life flawlessly.
When Gabrielle an early morning gets a call from One Direction’s manager, who offers her the opportunity of working with them on their summer tour in Paris, she immediately replies him with a yes. She doesn’t know it just yet, but within the next few months she will get to grow a close bond to each of the boys in the band—and particularly one of them. Before she knows it, Gabrielle has been thrown into something she this time won’t be able to pull herself out of … Will she finally start opening herself up to someone and let them in without any conditions? **Check out the trailer in the right sidebar**

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9. One of those awkward conversations

 

>>Gabrielle<<

 

As I open the door and step into the café, a fine aura is the first impression I get of the place. Crispy afternoon teacakes are showed in the different showcases around the cash register and the room is filled with a delicious, flowing smell of black coffee. The circular tables placed around the room each have a few brown chairs belonging to them and on their smooth, black, tree-made surface is placed a small glass vase, each one with a single rose placed in it.

I searchingly look across the room and find my dad sitting by one of the tables near the windows in the rather back of the shop. When he sees me standing in the doorway he waves gladly at me, and as on clue I walk towards the table and pull out one of the chairs to settle down beside him.

“Hi dad,” I smile at him. Taking a closer look at him I can conclude that today is one of his better days; by the way he adjusts his dark-brown hair every now and then and the crinkles by his hazel eyes when he smiles, I can tell that he’s feeling good. That today he doesn’t worry.

“Hi sweetheart,” he says and smile caringly back at me. “How are you?”

“Great, thank you. Rehearsals went good today, too.” When I think of what happened just before I left the arena, I hurriedly add a, “Really good.”

“It’s good to hear you’re making some progress in there. I’m so excited to see you in action on Sunday; I know how amazing you’ll be up on that stage.”

I had invited my dad to the premiere show of the tour as soon as I had gotten hands on my two free VIP-tickets (these I had been promised right from the beginning when I got the job), and I´m so happy that he´ll be there to see me playing live for the first time in front of so many people. Until now he had only seen me performing in my YouTube video covers or Sunday afternoons when I’d had the time to play for him, but now he will get to experience a whole new version of me.

“Ow, stop it!” I exclaim and shoot a look down at the blank table. “You’re making me nervous already.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled. “I know all of your anxiousness will boil down once you get onto the stage and start the show. It’s what you love to do, darling.”

My dad's optimism really inspire me. It’s like he always manages to look on the bright side of things, even when he feels like the whole world is against him.

One of the café’s workers stops by our table with two mugs of coffee in her hands. She place each of them in front of us and my dad takes out his wallet to give her a couple of euros in tip before she walks away and leaves us alone. “I don’t hope you mind I ordered?” he asks me, not really caring what if I have a comment to deposit. "What done is done!", as he always says. Don’t worry, I ordered your latte just the way you like it," he adds with a nod.

“Thank you for remembering,” I tell him as I look down into the mug. My eyes can easily spot the difference from a normal cup of coffee to mine: The most part of my latte is milk because I never really have enjoyed the bitter taste that coffee is known for having.

“You seem different today,” my dad notes as he takes a sip of the hot liquid in his mug. “Happy.”

“Yeah,” I say whilst fiddling with the handle on my cup. “It’s probably because I for once am.”

“And why is that?” he questions me.

I glance up from the cup of coffee in my hands to look at him. “Someone asked me out on a date today.”

My dad and I tell each other almost everything. There's barely not a thing we don’t talk about, and the fact that Harry has asked me out is defiantly not going to be the exception.

“Oh.” He puts down his mug, leans a bit forward in his seat towards me and lets a cocky smile slip onto his lips. “And who is this special someone?”

I feel myself flush, reluctantly. It’s clear that he notices my bright, blushing cheeks, because soon enough I can hear him snickering at me.

“You can know his name once I decide to introduce you to each other,” I tell him as a strict but hidden order of to not try and get Harry’s name out of me before I want to tell him about him by myself. "We haven't even been on one date. I can't just tell you for sure that you'll meet each other, you know?"

“All right, all right!” he exclaims and throws his hands up in defense. “But will you promise me just one thing?”

“It depends on what you’ve got to say.” I know my dad too well to just promise him something before I’ve heard and agreed to all of the following terms and conditions.

“Tell him that if he ever tries to hurt you, he has gotten himself a new enemy. And I can tell you, with this enemy after him he will have to look behind his back.”

I slam a hand across my eyes to shield my eyes from looking into his. Did he really just say that? Sometimes dads can just be so…

“Am I the awkward dad now?” he asked me with a hidden laugh in his voice.

“Yes, you are.”

“You know it’s only because I love you.”

With a flick of my wrist I remove my hand from my eyes. I let out a heartfelt sigh and force on a smile. “Of course. I know.”

This whole thing with Harry feels stupid. Cute, but stupid like the puppy love we are good on our way to revolving. It's like something clicked in my mind the moment he asked me out. Like I somehow throughout the few days I have known him have liked him a little bit more than I probably should. Like I from the very first sight loved that curly-haired boy a bit more than the others. 

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