1964.

“Holy shit!”
“Paul, when did you become a housewife and start cleaning for us?”
“Is someone cooking? Quick, John, alert the media!”
Grace and Paul glanced at each other and, unable to contain it, burst into laughter. The rest of the boys followed the sound, (or maybe it was the smell of food) and wandered into the kitchen.
“Paul, what- oh! And who might this lovely lady be?” Ringo said, smiling.
Grace blushed, and her gaze flickered to the ground before meeting his eyes again. There’s the shy Grace again, Paul thought to himself before piping in.
“Lads, this is Grace Willington. Grace, this Ringo Starr, George Harrison, and John Lennon.” Paul said, going in order that the boys were standing in. She met each of their gazes with a friendly smile and a nod, saying kindly, “It’s very nice to meet you all.” Ringo and George smiled back at her, but John just stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed, as if trying to figure her out. She blushed again under his intense stare, and looked at the ground again, fidgeting a bit.
“I made dinner if you guys are hungry,” she said somewhat meekly, and all of the shifted to the table behind her. There was a sudden clambering of chairs, and soon everyone was seated, with John at the head of the table, Paul and Grace on one side, and George and Ringo on the other. While everyone was serving themselves, she closed her eyes said a quick prayer of thanks in her head, looking up only to see that she was once again the subject of John’s look. As their eyes met, she gave him a captivating smile, and looked away, for once not blushing. There was a sudden silence after their first bite of the food, but the look on the boy’s faces told her that it was fantastic.
“How is it?” she asked, giggling a bit at their expressions.
George spoke up quickly, saying with a mouthful of food, “Will you marry me?” Grace laughed, and John was taken aback by how beautiful it sounded. Like bells, he thought.
“It’s a little soon for that, George dear, don’t you think?” she said lightheartedly, which cause an eruption of laughter around the table. She smiled genuinely; she hadn’t been this happy in a long time. Serving herself a small piece of chicken and some pasta, the boys began to ask her about her life.
“What’s your middle name, Grace?”
“What do you do?”
“How old are you?
“Are you in University?”
“More importantly, do you have a boyfriend?”
Grace was flattered at their interest in her and said; “Hold on now, boys, I can only answer so many things at once! My middle name is Olivia, I perform on the West End, I’m twenty years old, I’m majoring in voice at the Cambridge School of Visual and Performing Arts, and no, I do not have a boyfriend.” She blushed faintly at the last question; she had never had a boyfriend, if she was completely honest. Her answers provided a whole new onslaught of questions-
“You’re on West End?”
“Ha! You’re officially the youngest!”
“Hey, we like to sing, too!”
“Can we come to one of your shows?”
“So does that mean you’re available?”
Grace laughed- she couldn’t tell who kept on asking about her love life, but it amused her, quite frankly. She knew that whoever it was, was joking from the tone of their voice, but it pleased her nonetheless.
“Yes, I’m on West End, and it’s the most incredible thing. I can’t think of anything better to be doing. Am I really? I guess I should’ve expected that. And yes, I am quite aware that you all like to sing- I don’t live under a rock, you know. And that’s funny; Paul already asked if you all could come! The next show is Friday night at seven, and you’re all welcome as long as you don’t cause a riot of screaming girls outside the theatre. And I guess you could say I’m available, I’m very flattered that you- whoever said that- asked.” Her witty responses evicted a laugh from them all. The boys were a bit surprised at how quickly she opened up to them- she seemed very shy when they first walked in. The conversation gradually shifted from her to other matters, but Grace was quiet during their conversations, only speaking to make a clever remark, or throw in her opinion here or there. She didn’t know much about what they were talking about, anyways.
Soon, all the food was eaten, and little George slumped in his chair, holding his stomach. “I’m never eating again,” he groaned.
“That was a really fantastic meal, thank you, Grace! We haven’t had something home made in ages.” Paul complemented her wholeheartedly.
Grace blushed, saying, “Thank you! It was my pleasure, really. And I guess that means that I should cook for you boys more often then?”
“YES!” they chorused in unison.
“And who’re you calling boys? We’re all older than you, Miss!” Said Paul, throwing out his chest in a comical, proud sort of way.
“Fine, I’ll cook for you men, then!” Grace said good-humouredly, standing up to collect the plates. They had fallen into conversation again, and didn’t even notice her cleaning up after them, which made her smile and shake her head. As she went to take John’s plate last, he looked up at her and captured her in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, with a type of sincerity that caught her off guard. She blushed, unable to tear herself away from his stare, and said softly with a smile, “You’re quite welcome, John.” She managed to look away, now carrying all the plates, and walked into the kitchen. John couldn’t help but love the way his name sounded on her beautiful lips, how she said it so gently, like she was caressing him. He shivered with the thought; the innocent word bringing to mind what if would feel like to have those lips on his, and to feel her small, delicate hands on his skin… He tore himself away from thinking like that. Grace was too good for that. Too good for him, he reflected bitterly. She was fragile, untainted. And then and there, sitting silently at the dining room table, John decided that he was not going to be the one to ruin that. Grace deserved more than him.