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London Skies	By : SarBrook Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 2745 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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London Skies

by

SarBrook

London Skies
By Jamie Cullum
Paint a picture,
Clear cut and pale on a cold winter’s day,
Shapes and cool light wander the streets like an army of strays,
On a cold winters Day.
Will you let me romanticize,
The beauty in our London Skies,
You know the sunlight always shines,
Behind the clouds of London Skies.
Patient moments you chill to the bone under infinite grays,
Vision hindered mist settling low like a ghostly ballet,
On a cold winters Day.
Will you let me romanticize,
The beauty in our London Skies,
You know the sunlight always shines,
Behind the clouds of London Skies.
Nothing is certain except everything you know can change,
you worship the sun but now,
can you fall for the rain...
Will you let me romanticize,
The beauty in our London Skies,
You know the sunlight always shines,
Behind the clouds of London Skies.

Chapter One

Some people, especially in other countries, thought that it only rained in London. That was not that case. Rather, every time Sierra Collins went to London the sky may have been overcast, but she didn’t remember rain. She did remember that time in Bath, when it rained and hailed on and off for an hour or so. Then it was sunny for the rest of the day. She smiled at the memory. Being from New England, the weather was none too surprising for her. She loved the correlation between the old England and her New England.
She might be American, but her heart always belonged in England. She dreamed of it when she was in middle school and lived it for a week her senior year of high school. Since then, seven years ago, Sierra thought about London constantly. She lived silently in her dreams, taking comfort in the knowledge that maybe someday she would live in the country that had captured her heart. American through and through, there was still something intriguing about England. The language, the traditions, the fact that one could quickly say to family, “Oh, ho hum, I saw ANOTHER castle today. And five cathedrals that all looked alike.”
Sierra looked out the window of the airplane. She tried to etch the sight of London in her mind’s eye. Her heart beat excitedly. This time, her stay was…extended. She didn’t know when she’d be going back to America. She didn’t know if she’d be going back to America. The thought made her smile, but her heart clenched ever so slightly. This was it. The beginning of something new. Something beyond what she had ever done. She left everything behind. With only a few personal possessions, not counting her entire wardrobe, she packed up and moved her life.
She still remembered the crushed looks on her friends’ faces. Being an only child, her friends had always been important to her. Too important sometimes. She needed to do this for herself. Being trapped in a job she didn’t particularly like—a waitress in her best friend’s café—and memories of a relationship that ended badly, she felt suffocated. She needed a change. She craved it.
She found her answer in a song. Jamie Cullum, her favorite artist, crooned about the beauty of the skies of London for most of the flight. When she heard that song, just a short time ago, she was overcome by a feeling she didn’t understand. Longing. She knew, deep within her soul, that she could find herself in London.
Her friend Will had helped. William Smyth was actually from England—Canterbury to be exact. He moved to America three years ago, promptly joining Sierra’s group of friends. Alexis Martin had fallen madly in love with him. They had been together ever since. Point being, Will’s grandmother, who had lived in London, died a few months back. The flat was left to Will, who had little intention of moving back to England. He had a solid job in America.
He was the first to push the issue of Sierra moving. She would have to pay little rent, as Will owned it and had enough money to be her landlord. It would give her new breath, a reason to begin again, after the disturbing breakup only a year ago.
So there she was. Landing in Heathrow. The flight was over. The plane stopped. The flight attendant wished her a good stay in London. People dragged themselves from their seats, murmuring and elbowing each other, trying to get out of the metal prison that had held them for seven hours. She hadn’t slept the entire time. Her adrenaline had run too fast for her to even think about sleep. Yet, now that she was finally there, she didn’t stand, didn’t prepare to leave. She sat, momentarily overwhelmed by the choice she had made. It was one thing spending some time there. It was a complete other to move her life there. To basically tell everyone she loved to fuck off, because she was going to England. It seemed selfish all of the sudden. How could she do this to her friends and family?
Piss off, she thought, smiling ironically. Her choice now filled her with complete happiness. With a stifled giggle-scream of delight, she yanked off her seat belt and pulled her carry on out from above her. She elbowed her way into the aisle, overcome with need to get off the plane and start her life.
Sierra navigated her way through the airport with surprising ease. The line—or queue, she thought happily—for customs was longer than she could stand. Her fingers drummed impatiently on her leg the entire wait. She forced herself to ignore her watch, as thinking about it would only make it worse. The only thing she allowed herself to notice was that she had listened to her playlist of favorite solo artists, ranging from Jamie Cullum to Gavin DeGraw to John Mayer to Jack Johnson, from beginning to end by the time it was her turn. That was a lot of music.
She happily cleared customs, and then wrestled her luggage off the belt. She wheeled her life down the corridor into the waiting area. She smiled at the people gathered there, waiting for loved one and tour groups. She smiled at a group from America. They looked as excited as she had been her first time here.
She stopped before she exited the building. With a deep breath to cleanse herself, she walked outside. Tears gathered in her eyes. She was back.
~~***~~
One second, Sierra tried to balance all her luggage at once. The next, she was flat on her butt, her luggage thrown about her. One burst open and littered the ground with none other than her undergarments. She sat in shock, unable to believe her not-so-sexy panties were out for the world to see.
The trip to the flat was uneventful until that moment. She had gaped at the city that before had been fuzzy memories and dreams. She made the cab driver take the long way to her new flat, so she could see Big Ben. Pointless and expensive, yes, but worth it.
Right now, though, she wondered if it would have been more worth it to go straight to the flat. Maybe then, she would have NOT walked right into someone exiting the building where she will live and thus her pink panties would NOT be on the stranger’s head.
HER PINK PANTIES!!!
“Oh. My. GOD!” She gaped. “I am so sorry!”
She scrambled to her knees, and squatted in front of the man. He sat at the bottom of the stairs, arms on his knees. His shoulder’s shook as he tried to conceal his laughter.
“It’s okay, love,” he said. He peeled the lace off his head. “I’m used to women throwing their pants at my head.”
She wanted to die. She wanted to climb into a hole and just die.
“Besides,” he went on, standing, brushing his pants off. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“No, no, it’s my fault! The whole balancing luggage thing was stupid.”
The man looked down at her and smiled, offering her a hand. She fell to her butt and could almost feel her jaw hit the ground. Her luck was the weirdest luck in the universe. Orlando Bloom was sitting in front of her laughing, and holding her laciest pink panties. She recovered quickly, utilizing the acting power she once tried and failed to make money from. She placed her shaking hand in his. With a firm grip, he helped heft her up.
“Thanks,” she murmured, pulling her hand out of his quickly.
He stooped down, and began picking up her discarded undergarments. Sierra thought her face was going to combust from her blushing so hard. She did not want to think about what could possibly be going through his mind at the moment. She quickly grabbed the garments from his hands and shoved them into the betraying suitcase.
“Someone please kill me now,” she muttered.
“Now then,” Orlando said. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”
She furiously stuffed everything back into her suitcase, praying the last few moments had not just happened. But it did. As she glanced back up at Orlando, she spotted the pink panties dangling from his fingers. He kept them, the bastard.
“Would you like these back? Or do I get a souvenir of this event?”
Kill. Me. Now!
She grabbed for the panties, but he stood, and held them high above her head, making her stand. She suddenly did not care who he was. She had the brief image of kicking him in the pretty little face.
“Can I have a name to go with these knickers first?” Orlando inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Flabbergasted, she realized he was flirting with her. Orlando Bloom. Flirting with her. Her head reeled at the thought. “Um, Sierra. Sierra Collins.”
He smiled mysteriously and handed her the panties. Their fingers brushed. He made the exchange linger. “Nice to meet you, Sierra. Would you like help with your luggage?”
She pulled the panties roughly out of this grasped and shoved them into a suitcase. “Not until I learn your name,” she found herself saying. She didn’t know why she said it. She obviously knew who he was. He had to know she knew. At the same time, though, she imagined he might like some semblance of normality. She had a brief period where people recognized her and thought they knew her, so she had an inkling of what he went through.
His smiled brightened, somehow becoming more genuine and kiddy. She had a feeling she passed some sort of test. “Orlando,” he held out his hand to shake. “Bloom.”
She grinned at him. “Fitting last name, eh?” He did not get it. “My panties falling on your head. Last name Bloom. Kinda like bloomers. Another name for…panties…” she trailed off. Her joke was lost on him, though she found the pun funny. “Nevermind. And yes, I would like some help, thank you.”
He grabbed a few suitcases, grunting at their weight. “How did you manage to carry all these?”
She shrugged. “I’m awesome.” She dug the keys out of her pocket.
He noticed this and asked, “Are you moving in?”
She nodded, picking up the remaining bags. “Yeah. Friend owns it. Letting me live here.”
The walked into the corridor. There were two doors and a staircase. She hoped she would not have to walk upstairs. Rather, Orlando stood against one wall. “That one,” he motioned with his head to the door across from where he stood. 1A. Her new home.
She placed the key into the lock, but paused. Dropping the bags, she turned to Orlando. “Weird question, but can you wait out here a moment? I kinda want to experience the atmosphere of my new home. Alone.”
He gave her a strange look, but quickly recovered with another smile, this one she was sure she had seen in magazine articles. She knew she was strange, but to know a guy actually had to ACT to be around her…
Shaking her head, she opened the door. It smelled like old lady. That distinctive, weird smell of cabbage, roses, and…just old. Her nose wrinkled at the smell. The kitchen had not been updated since the 1950s, but it at least had a dish washer, a gas stove, and an old style refridgerator. The countertops were white speckled with gold, with a breakfast table and two chairs to match in the center of the room. The cabinets were white, with outdated hardware. Lacy curtains hung on the windows, yellowed from age.
She dropped all her bags in the kitchen to explore the flat better. The living room, or lounge, she reminded herself, had a faded moss green carpet and a green and brown sofa with a doily. A doily. Obviously, when Will’s family had taken Mrs. Smyth’s personal effects, they did not bother with the lace. The TV stand had lace. The end tables had lace. Sierra made a mental note be remove the lace and possible burn it. When she entered the bedroom, she added the note to redo the flat to her liking. Will had given her permission to do what she thought acceptable to the flat, since she would live there more than he ever will.
The bed room had lacy blankets on an old looking canopy bed. The floor was covered in brown carpet, which did not look soft at all. The blankets did look washed, though, for which Sierra was relieved.
She startled when she turned to see Orlando standing in the doorway. He leaned against the door jam, arms crossed. “How do you like it?” he asked.
Sierra sat on the edge of the bed, testing it. Firm and bumpy. She added a new mattress to her list, if not a new bed. But, her funds were limited, so she knew she was have to wait until she got a job.
She looked up at him and giggled. “It smells like old people,” she said.
Orlando laughed loudly. “That’s the first thing I thought.”
She stood from the bed, suddenly awkward. She started to leave the room, and he moved out of her way. She brushed past him, heading for the kitchen. She began opening cupboards, accessing what she would and would not have to buy. Orlando followed her.
“Where would you like the luggage?” he asked.
She took her head out of the empty cupboard. More mental notes to buy dishes and the like. “Um,” she thought vaguely. “I can take care of it. Thank you.”
He had already lifted three bags. He blinked at her. “Are you sure? I’m in no hurry. And I’d like to help my new neighbor settle in.”
She stared at him, shocked. Though the area was not poor in any sense of the word, it was not a stuffy neighborhood for the rich. They, if memory served, lived closer to Notting Hill. And that place with the distinguished name she could not remember where the flats cost more money than she could dream of having.
Treading carefully, she said, “You live here?”
He put the suitcases down. “Sometimes.” His eyes dared her to say what was on her mind.
So she did. “I figured you lived in, like, LA or some rich part of London.”
Orlando sighed. “I have a place in LA,” he admitted. “But I when I’m in London, I stay here. It serves its purpose. It’s not expensive, it’s a nice living space, perfect for someone who travels a lot.”
She smiled bitterly. “The life of a movie star.”
His face darkened. Changing the subject, he picked her suitcases back up. “The bedroom, yeah?”
She nodded. “Thank you, Bloomers,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. She heard him laugh.
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London Skies