Beautiful Thing 1989

Joe Jukic leaned against the counter of Cafe Algarve, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he stared into his cappuccino. โ€œYou know, Nelly,โ€ he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia, โ€œI still remember that yellow dress you wore at Sister Helenโ€™s sock hop back in โ€™89.โ€

Nelly Furtado, seated across from him, raised an eyebrow. She stirred her tea with deliberate slowness, her curiosity piqued. โ€œThe yellow dress? Really?โ€ she asked, a playful smirk forming. โ€œWhat about it?โ€

Joe chuckled, leaning back in his chair. โ€œIt was unforgettable. You lit up the room. I didnโ€™t know how to dance back thenโ€”still donโ€™t, to be honest. But I remember making eye contact with you before I chickened out and went outside to smoke those Pop Eye candy cigarettes. You know, the ones that made you feel cool even though you werenโ€™t.โ€

Nelly burst out laughing, her voice echoing through Cafe Algarve. โ€œJoe, are you serious? Candy cigarettes? You were trying to be a rebel with sugar sticks?โ€

Joe shrugged, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. โ€œHey, they were the height of cool for a 12-year-old.โ€

Her laughter faded, and her expression turned serious. โ€œJoe, youโ€™re not still smoking, are you?โ€

He hesitated, his smile faltering. โ€œWellโ€ฆโ€

โ€œJoe Camel,โ€ she said, narrowing her eyes. โ€œYouโ€™re being targeted for termination.โ€

Joe blinked, caught off guard. โ€œTermination?โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s right,โ€ Nelly said, her tone firm. โ€œAt the Invictus concert autograph signing next month, Iโ€™m breaking every single one of your cigarettes. You hear me?โ€

Joeโ€™s grin returned, this time with a defiant edge. โ€œCome take them, then. Molon Labe.โ€

Nelly leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. โ€œOh, I will. And when Iโ€™m done, youโ€™ll thank me.โ€

Joeโ€™s laughter filled the air, a mix of amusement and challenge. โ€œAlright, Nelly. Letโ€™s see if youโ€™ve got what it takes.โ€

Cafe Algarve buzzed around them, but for a moment, it felt like they were back in 1989, two teenagers trading playful jabs at a sock hop. Only this time, the stakes were higher, and the laughter was seasoned with the weight of years gone by.

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