Fire (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 9

It was about ten when we pulled up to the breakfast deli. The windows revealed that it was fairly desolate inside. Harry and I sat in the front of his gleaming black Range Rover. I felt his eyes on me, although did not directly see them. I turned around to meet his inevitable glare that I’d quickly grown accustomed to. His eyes never failed to dazzle me. They shone an emerald green, with such unimaginable depth.

“Ready?” He asked, reaching for my bag that I’d put in my foot well. I replied with a simple nod and a smile. I turned to open the door, but it was locked. I heard Harry’s door slam as he walked around the front of the car, obviously to retrieve me. I was puzzled as to why he had locked it. I wrote it off as an innocent mistake, or perhaps a safety feature of the car. Harry opened my door with relative haste and took my hand in his, pulling me out and on to the road.

We casually walked around the car, hand in hand. I wasn’t completely comfortable with him, and there was no way we were in any kind of relationship, but I didn’t want to put a label on what we had. I felt like the very first person Harry had ever opened up to, I felt special. We approached the deli, Harry placed his hands on the glass door and pushed it open, standing to the side and encouraging me in. I smiled at him as I walked under his arm.

The deli we walked into was almost empty, housing only one patron who sat underneath one of the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. The building looked old, almost Tudor. There were three men stood behind the counter, each one engrossed in their work. The man at the register was broad and handsome, but nothing compared to Harry. He was counting out the money that was stored in the till.

“Violet, why don’t you take a seat?” Harry said, peering at the man on the till. I looked up at him quizzically. He stood behind me with a protective arm around my waist. I didn’t question him on it; I simply sat at the nearest table and stayed quiet. Harry walked to the counter, never taking his eyes off the cashier. The man put down the notes in his hand and turned to smile at Harry. His expression quickly disappeared as he saw Harry’s angry glare. I have no idea what he was so pissed off about, I didn’t particularly want to, but Harry’s face gave nothing away other than the fact that he held a grudge.

Their conversation was inaudible over the clatter of cooking implements coming from the kitchen. All that I saw was Harry’s gesticulations and the tall mans submissive pose. I noticed Harry calm down after a couple of minutes, his eyes softened and his demeanour became more welcoming.

After throwing the worker one last glare, he came to sit with me. He walked over to me with a meagre smile on his face, trying to cover up the fact that a major dispute had just taken place.

“What was that?” I asked hesitantly. He had sat down on the feeble red chair opposite me; his fists were clenched on the table as he stared into my eyes, begging for me not to ask. I raised my eyebrows as his refusal to answer the question lingered. He pursed his lips and shook his head, not willing to tell me. Instead he grabbed my hand that was stretched out on the table and mouthed the words that he’d used last night: ‘trust me’

I had no choice but to leave the conversation at that, a comforting look from Harry quenching my desire to know more. His hand squeezed mine, trying to enhance my comfort, it worked. Harry seemed to uncover this thing inside of me…I couldn’t explain it. It felt like a desire, not specifically a desire for Harry, but it only occurred around him. It was a desire not for him, but a desire to love someone, anyone. The fact that Harry was the only one that I wanted to love happened to be merely coincidental.

An unfamiliar waiter came to our table and delivered 2 coffees and a white packaged box.

“Thanks.” Harry said without averting his gaze from me. He stood up from his chair, offered me a hand, which I accepted with a smile, and pulled me up. He picked up the coffees and the box while escorting me out of the door, throwing a ten-pound note at the tiller, who had made a mysterious disappearance. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking: What was Harry’s problem with that man?

Sorry, I know this chapter is pretty boring but I needed to introduce the 'mysterious tiller' to get the story going...keep reading...