— 2004.

"George? I'm home," I call out, as I step through the door. The house is completely silent, which is out of the ordinary. "George?"

Tossing my bag and jacket onto the sofa temporarily, I search the house for him. In the bedroom; the kitchen; even the hallway. He's nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had some business to attend to — although, normally he tells me before he goes, just so that I know where he's going for the day.

"What's he playing at?" I question to myself rhetorically, sliding my mobile phone from my pocket. He hasn't tried to call or text me. "Hm," I murmur to myself, as I click on his contact to try and call him instead. It rings over and over, but with no response. "Seriously, George ... "

Giving up, I head back into the kitchen. This time, however, I notice some sheets of paper on the breakfast bar; so I head in the direction of them so I can see what's written on them. It could be a note from George to tell me where he is. As my eyes scan the sweet scrawl in black ink, my brows furrow slightly.

I guess that cupid was in disguise,
the day you walked in and changed my life
I think it's amazing,
the way that love can set you free

"This is so poetic," I comment under my breath, as I acknowledge the words.

"Hey — don't look at that!"

My head whips around faster than I can process, as George finally makes his presence known. "Oh, there you are. Where have you been?"

"In the garden," he explains, rushing over to the breakfast bar where I'm stood. He swipes the sheets of paper from the countertop, folding them messily for the sole purpose of fitting them in his shirt pocket. "I was out there clearing my mind."

"Clearing your mind? Why, is something wrong?" In concern, I rub his arm lovingly. "Because you can talk to me if there is. You know that."

"No ... nothing is wrong, I promise." He works quickly to reassure me, presenting me with a genuine smile. "I went out there to, um ... Well, to try and empty my head of thoughts other than you."

"Why's that?" Even if he didn't mean it in a sickly-romantic sense, it's difficult to interpret it in any other way.

"So that I could write better. Look ... I wanted it to be a surprise, but you've seen the lyrics now." He scratches the back of his head, seemingly a little shy — very much out of his character, particularly around me. "I'm writing a song for you, sweet. About you. About the way you changed everything. I ... I wanted the song to be perfect for you, so I wanted my mind completely clear so I could focus just on you. So I could focus on the way you make me feel and write about it in the most accurate and beautiful way I could."

"Oh, George." A huge grin spreads across my face, as I move forward towards him to give him a kiss to show my appreciation. "That's the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me. Thank you."

"It seemed only fair. After all you've done for me, I felt as if it was only fitting to do it. I mean, after all, I write my songs based on my life. And you are a part of my life." He shrugs, as if the way he writes such exquisite musical poetry is no big deal at all.

"So ... do I get to hear it?" I tease, tugging at his cheek with my fingers playfully. "Or do I have to wait until you actually release the album in two-thousand-and-never?"

"Actually, it's not 'never' — it'll be quicker than you think. I'm making good progress. All I have to do is finish this song, and tidy up some of the other songs. I want it to be a good record ... can you blame me?" He raises one brow, as if to say, 'You have no way of arguing with me on this'.

"I suppose not." Folding my arms, I lean my back against the countertop. "So, do I get to hear this song that's literally made for me?"

"Well, I guess. Although I don't have the instrumental arranged yet. I have the ideas in my head, but ... I need to get it out of my system once I get to the studio." He starts to walk out of the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow him. He leads me to the living room, where his acoustic guitar is sitting near the fireplace. He isn't the best guitar player — but he's of a level of skill which enables him to sing unplugged renditions of some of his favourite songs without it sounding terrible.

He grabs the instrument, slipping the strap around him to keep it in place against his body. After starting the fire roaring, he takes a seat on the footstool, using his lap to lean the body of the guitar against as he finds the right chord to begin with. He looks to me, nodding his head once at the sofa to tell me to sit. I oblige, resting my head in my hands. Finally satisfied that I'm ready to listen, he begins playing the strings.

As he sings, I'm left in awe — not only of his creative genius, but also by the way that the soft yellow glow of the fire gently caresses his mature, greek face. The glint in his eyes is reminiscent of sweet fireflies dancing around in the dark; the subtle smile that plays on his lips between lyrics is breathtaking.

My heart was broken, I was not open to your suggestion ...
I had so many questions, that you just kissed away ...

He pauses briefly, a chuckle is audible which indicates nerves — not at singing, because he's done that countless times — but at how I may potentially respond to this masterpiece he's created for me.

Tell me, I guess that Cupid was in disguise,
The day you walked in and changed my life ...
I think it's amazing, the way that love can set you free ...
So now I walk in the midday sun,
I never thought that my saviour would come ...
I think it's amazing ...

I think you're amazing ...

He concludes, giving one final strum to the guitar; before he looks back up at me to catch my reaction. His amber eyes hold my gaze in anticipation, so I give him the answer he's been waiting for.

"That was beautiful," I comment, still stunned at what I've just listened to. "I love it. It's beautiful George. Thank you."

He sets his guitar back down on its stand, before rising from his seat. He approaches me, taking the spot next to me on the sofa. Coiling his arm around me, he plants a kiss upon my lips.

"You changed my life. The happiness I feel now, I owe it to you. And what better way to express it, than to do what I do best?" He leans his head against mine, closing his eyes as he draws a breath in, "I could write a thousand songs for you, and it still wouldn't be enough."

"You're so lovely," I respond. "And I love you so much."

He laughs a little, as if to suggest that he already knows his next comment will be worthy of an eye-roll. "Not as much as I love you. I think you're amazing."

~~

Ahh, how sweet is George! Hope you enjoyed this little story! xx