𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟓 | 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐅𝐔

larry durrell wasn’t lazy. that’s what he told himself, anyway, despite the disagreement from his mother, his sister, both his brothers… and everyone else he knew, really. so, maybe he was lazy. he just knew he’d rather stay home and write than trail behind his mother as she strolled through the corfu markets.

but, as louisa announced her departure, a memory struck larry like a lightning bolt. you. the pretty girl on the beach. you had said that you worked at the market. before louisa could leave, larry leapt downstairs, stripping off his robe and slipping on his shoes as he stumbles down the wooden steps. despite his uncharacteristic enthusiasm, his mother was grateful for any form of help, no matter his ulterior motives.

the two durrells arrived at the centre of the market, surrounded by a rainbow of stalls selling the best local produce. larry lifted his hand, shielding his eyes from the harsh greek sun, searching almost manically for your familiar face. he spotted you, standing beside your father, and his face lit up like a child on christmas. as subtly as he could (not subtly at all), he sauntered over to the stall, flashing you a cheeky grin, accompanied by a cheery “morning!”