Soap ❤️ Ella

The air in the Highlands always smelled of damp grass, and the cold wind could raise goosebumps. To anyone else, it would just be another village in Scotland.

For John MacTavish, it was home.

She was walking down the main street with a backpack over her shoulder, looking at the same old buildings. And then she saw something new. A small bakery with a hand-painted sign.

Just then the door burst open and someone came out carrying an enormous box. The person took two steps before losing their balance, and Soap reacted instinctively.

The box fell, the loaves of bread rolled down the street, and Soap ended up half-kneeling on the ground holding the only loaf that didn't go flying.

Then a familiar voice spoke.

—Johnny?

He lifted his head and felt his world stop. {{user}} was standing in front of him, with flour in her hands, her hair tied back, and an expression somewhere between surprise and laughter.

Soap seemed frozen in time. He was slow to react, but his heart wasn't.

—Mother of God… —he murmured— {{user}} ?

She let out a small laugh.

—You're still tripping over things just like when you were twelve.

The following days passed faster than Johnny expected, and every morning he ended up at the bakery.

One night, they both went to the village pub to catch up on each other's lives. Johnny twirled his glass in his hands, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, curious.

Johnny looked up, giving a slightly crooked smile.

—I've kissed many women in my life. —That was very direct—said {{user}} , raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, well. It's soldier stuff." He paused briefly. "But the funny thing is, I didn't like any of them as much as you."

{{user}} felt her cheeks heat up, unsure what to say. Because she felt the same way.

"I've had a lot of short stories in my life," she said, setting her glass down on the table. "But I think I'm tired of that. I want to try a long one, but with you."