Page 1 of My French Love Affair

Chapter One

Poppy

The thing about springtime in London is that it tricks you.

The sun beams down like it’s mid-July, convincing you to ditch your coat and wear that cute sundress you’ve been eyeing since February. But five minutes later, the wind slaps you across the face, reminding you that this is still England, and optimism is for tourists.

Hence why I’m currently standing in Hyde Park, questioning all my life choices.

My dress flutters pathetically in the chilly breeze, and I suppress a shiver as I clutch my iced latte - a poor decision, considering my fingers are practically numb. Across from me, Noah - my boyfriend of nine months - smiles at me in that dreamy, adoring way thatshouldmake my heart skip a beat.

"You look like a sunflower in the breeze," he says, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “My little petal.”

I physically stop breathing for a moment.

Petal?!

I try to smile, I really do, but it comes out as more of agrimace.

"That’s...sweet."

"Well, you are!” Noah beams like I’ve just proposed to him in front of a live studio audience. “Bright and beautiful and delicate. My precious little flower."

Abort mission! Abort mission!

I take a very large sip of my coffee to avoid saying - well,anything.

This is the problem. Noah islovely. A genuinely kind, soft-hearted man. He’s the type who sends me good morning texts with excessive emojis and insists on walking on the side of the pavement closest to traffic.

I should be swooning. I should behappy.

But instead, I’m internally cringing so hard I might pull a muscle.

Why am I like this?!

I shake off the thought, trying to focus on literally anything else.

Like the fact that my classes are officially over - at least until September - and Ifinallyhave time to pour into my fashion design portfolio.

I’ve already sketched a mini spring/summer collection and posted a few teaser designs on my socials. My following is small, but it's growing fast, and with enough work, I might be in with a chance of landing an internship with a proper fashion house by the time I graduate next summer.

“Poppy?" Noah nudges me with his elbow. "Where’d you go just now? Daydreaming again?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Just thinking about uni stuff."

"You work too hard,” he sighs, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “You need to relax more. You’re like... like a swan. So graceful on the surface but paddling furiously underneath."

I blink at him.

"Did you come up with that yourself, or did you read it on an inspirational meme?"

His cheeks turn pink. "...Maybe."

Heaven help me.

* * *

We stroll through the park, his arm around my shoulders and my body as stiff as a mannequin.

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