Song: “I Think I Love” par Jamie Cullum, from his album, “The Pursuit.”


    “Gwen, come on,” Morgana complains, pulling her friend par her hand towards Merlin’s piano bar.
    “What’s the big bloody hurry? Arthur doesn’t care what time we arrive, just as long as we montrer up,” Gwen answers, jogging now, trying to keep up with her friend’s longer stride.
    “Tonight, he does.”
    “Why? Because it’s my birthday?”
    “Don’t ask questions,” Morgana says, pushing the door open.
    “About time,” Merlin greets them with their drinks when they sit at a small table, tableau near the piano.
    “Talk to this one,” Morgana points at Gwen, raising her cheek to receive his kiss. “Dragging her bloody feet.”
    “That’s all right,” Merlin says, looking around. “His royal highness is taking his time, as usual.” He scans the club, looking for signs of Arthur. Seeing none, he shrugs and walks away, mumbling to himself, undoubtedly complaining about his best friend.
    “God, it’s just my stupid birthday,” Gwen remarks, playing with the candle in the middle of the table.
    “It is not just your stupid birthday,” Morgana says crossly, pushing Gwen’s drink at her.
    “Fine…” she sighs, lifting her drink to her lips.
    Arthur saunters out then, bottle of water in one hand and the last bite of a cheeseburger in the other. Gwen’s face turns in his direction as if she has radar alerting her to the exact moment he appears.
    He sees her, winks, and pops the rest of his burger into his mouth before casually wiping his hands on his trousers and sitting at the grand piano in the center of the room.
    Gwen couldn’t help but notice that Morgana chose a table, tableau that faces Arthur when he is at the piano. Gwen can see his face and he can see hers. He gazes at her a minute as the chatter subsides, and her cœur, coeur races a little. As it usually does.
    He launches into a slow introduction, one Gwen has never heard before. She angles her head, interest piqued.
    Arthur sings, his eyes not on the keyboard, but locked on Guinevere.

I think I love
Ev'ry single little crack on your face.
I think I love
Even our most casual embrace.
toi don't have to try,
'Cause I've made up my mind:
Baby, I think I l’amour toi today.

Remember that time
toi threw a can of bière at me like a stone?
You'd drunk too much wine
And threw up in the taxicab on the way home.
It looked like a mess,
But I must confess:
Baby, I think I l’amour toi today.

    Arthur raises his right hand from the keyboard, still comping with his left, and he beckons her vers l'avant, vers l’avant with one finger.
    “Go,” Morgana shoves her, and Gwen shyly stands, sitting beside Arthur on the bench as he scoots over slightly to make room for her.
    He goes to the bridge, chant only to Gwen.

When I think what we could do,
If I could only say to you,
Yeah, all of these things,
Well, do I dare?
And would toi care?

'Cause I think I love
Ev'ry time toi honor me with a kiss.
And I think I love,
Well, there were just a million things I could list.
Should let toi know,
But maybe tomorrow.
Baby, I think I l’amour toi today.

    He stops singing, and while still playing the ending, leans over and kisses her, softly capturing her lips with his, and her eyes flutter closed. She holds on to the bench to keep from tumbling off, dizzy with embarrassment mixed with l’amour and desire.
    “Happy birthday, Guinevere,” he whispers, his forehead against hers, as the normally cool crowd in the darkness of the bar erupts with wild applause.