He had simply come to Oxford to visit an old friend of his, he would’ve never thought he would find himself here, trying to keep the boyish grin off his face, listening to a girl making a whole accolade about him.

Since his friend, a professor, was busy with a lecture, John had decided to wait for him and get a coffee in the meantime, after the long week of meets and greets and book signings around England. One of his destinations had brought him very close to Oxford, so he had decided to drop by for a quick catch-up.

As soon as he had walked into the busy coffee shop, filled to the brim with students, his eyes had immediately fallen on the cover of one of his books, and the girl with her nose buried between its pages: you.

After ordering his coffee, he had the perfect excuse to sit down at your table, since there were no empty seats available; besides, he was very much interested in the book you were reading.

When he asked about it, you seemed to be clueless about who he was, thinking he was just a stranger that happened to like the book as much as you. He seemed to know a lot about it, perhaps because he had read it more than once, just like you. During your whole conversation, he had never mentioned his name, nor the fact that he was the very author you loved so much.

“I understand your point,” John chuckled, a low and warm rumble in his chest. “But don’t you think the writing is a tad pretentious?” He inquired, the question clearly a provocation.

You gasped, seemingly offended by his words. “What?” You countered, shocked. “It’s not pretentious, clearly it’s to make fun of French royalty! Perhaps you don’t understand John’s genius choice, but by using such a pompous writing style, he perfectly embodies the Baroque life he portrays in the book, conveying the utter ridiculousness of high society.”

John rubbed a hand over his beard, trying to hide the grin threatening to pull at his lips, hoping you wouldn’t notice him blushing at your praise.