The photoshoot between Billy and Natasha Thomas was, to some extent, what one might call a test shoot—fresh, revealing, and filled with close, intense gazes. Well-styled and impeccably made up, there were no real sparks between them; Natasha was rather indifferent. Yet, the way the photos were taken created a striking visual clash, a spectacle in itself.
-Now that the schedule is clear, you need to head to that restaurant you fought so hard to get into. We have everything set up for you to record a short video, take some pictures, and write about it on your blog, - said Michael Ocklars.
-Alright, let me get changed, - Billy replied, catching Natasha watching him closely.
It was seven in the evening—there was a good chance the night would turn into a party until dawn before they left for the next city.
-Want to grab something to eat with the team?- Billy asked, looking at Natasha, whose large, doe-like eyes studied him.
-I need to ask my agent, - she murmured with a hint of secrecy. But ten minutes later, she returned.
To his surprise, Connor was waiting for him with Spencer. They had decided to enjoy a private dinner. The whole city was still buzzing after Billy's concert—it had stirred people from all around, setting off an electric atmosphere in what would otherwise have been a quiet night.
-I think I can go, - Natasha said in slightly rough English. Though she was known for singing in English, speaking it was another matter—subtle differences always emerged under pressure.
-Then let's go,- Billy said, taking a deep breath, as if reading into the nerves and small tells people gave away.
...
-It's delicious, though I prefer Spanish food, - Billy commented.
Connor muttered something unintelligible, chewing on his meal—rye bread with cuts of meat prepared at different textures and angles, served with cabbage salads and a hint of Western flavors that originated in the U.S. but had become more common in Bavarian regions. The dish had been modernized, much like the soups that had traveled through Europe over the past thirty years. It tasted almost like nostalgia.
-Well, this place is popular, but not as much as you'd think... There are better spots; we could say the food here is a bit too modernized, - Natasha remarked.
Billy studied her.
-So, where would you say is the best place? - he asked.
-It depends. But there's a place that makes the best sandwiches in the city. They're exquisite. Then again, I might be biased—I had them a long time ago, - she murmured.
The photos were taken, and Billy had formed his own opinion.
-Maybe we should sneak out of here, go wherever the wind takes us. A good hat should do the trick. It's almost like the escape we need... Only time will tell if those sandwiches are as good as they say, - Billy mused.
She smiled.
-We could take a bike. Turns out I know how to handle those kinds of machines,- Billy said, stepping closer.
-We can't. That would be insane right now, - Natasha replied.
-Just do it. How else will we know if those sandwiches live up to the hype? I can almost taste that melted meat you mentioned, - Billy countered.
Natasha slipped away to fetch the keys to her friend's motorcycle. He hadn't noticed they were no longer in his jacket. A moment later, she returned, while Billy whispered in her ear—something about how people always thought in predictable ways. He could drive, and they could have an adventure before the night ended. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Connor.
She hesitated for a moment, then walked alongside him. Together, they slipped out through the back, climbed down the fire escape, and found themselves on an empty street. Billy pulled out a hat, adjusting it over his head as he zipped up his jacket. They got on the bike and disappeared into traffic.
-Let's stop at the next corner and buy another helmet, - Natasha said, holding onto his back. Billy handed her a card.
...
Connor received Billy's message—he'd be back in an hour. He only had to wait long enough.
-I'm afraid the music... - someone said nearby. He shut his eyes, feeling a strange stillness, a fleeting moment suspended between failure and reckless impulse. He took a slow, deep breath.
...
-It's pretty greasy,- Billy said, sitting on the bike, trying to form an opinion on the tender, perfectly cooked meat. The meal had that signature hit of salt and sauce. He sipped from his drink, watching Natasha as she finished. They were trying to blend in, to act like any regular people grabbing a bite, nothing suspicious, nothing that would draw attention. Even though some seemed to recognize him, it felt almost unreal. He just had to play the part.
-Better or worse? -She asked.
-Better in some ways, different in others. I don't have the palate to compare, but I like the taste, - Billy replied.
-We could go to my countryside house. It's a bit out of the way—about two hours from here. It's a good chance to do something more than just eat a sandwich, - Natasha said, as Billy took her hand.
He rode his bike, taking her exactly where they both wanted to be. It was his way of making things happen, of letting things unfold naturally. The rain started falling, drenching them as the cold air wrapped around them. But it was refreshing, invigorating.
When they arrived, the place was well-kept—a two-story cabin with a secure perimeter. Billy sent his agent his location before settling in.
They rested together in a spacious room, exhaustion finally catching up to them.
-So, what do you guys do?-
-You talk too much. Sometimes, you just need to be present. Silence matters too. When your mind is racing, and you keep talking and talking, it gets annoying, she said. - When you say too much, it's because you have too much to say. Slow down. Someone with your voice should only say what's necessary. -
-You're tough, - Billy chuckled.
She found him charming.
He pulled her close, holding her tightly. They fell asleep together, the night wrapping them in its quiet embrace.
...