Time stands still as I watch him stood outside the airport, a bright splash of colour against an otherwise unremarkable, plain canvas. Even with a thunderous look of anger on his face, Chris is the most devastatingly beautiful man I've ever seen. He's debonair in a grey suit and pale blue shirt, oozing a classic confidence without an ounce of vanity or arrogance. Full lips puckered with frustration, he tenses his square jaw and keeps his attention focussed on the broken phone he cradles.
Before I can compose myself, or form a coherent sentence in my head, I run towards him, pulling my suitcase behind me as though it weighs little more than air. With his focus on his phone, he doesn't notice me until I'm jumping towards him, my legs enveloping his waist as my arms tighten around his neck.
