as it is || harry styles au

nine

h a r r y

     The last thing I expected on a Tuesday night after the showings at the drive-in was a text from Dena Henderson.

     Hi, Harry. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but I'm worried about Ivory.

     My breathing seemed to completely cease as I texted out my response and waited for a reply back.

     What happened?

     Don't be sorry.

     "H, I'm gonna close up the screens," I faintly heard Isaiah call out.

     "Do it without me," I called back.

     I heard something that sounded like "was planning on it" in return, but I couldn't focus enough to comprehend.

     Sienna called out at the diner and Ivory is closing by herself while I watch Jamie. Do you mind swinging by in a bit and making sure she's alright? Make sure she gets to her car okay?

     I thought about how safe a town Camden was and how bizarre it was for Dena—whose daughter closed the diner all the time when she was working there at seventeen—to worry about her making it to her car.

     Of course. Is she expecting me?

     Oh thank you so much honey. I appreciate it. I'll text her and let her know.

     I checked the time and saw they'd closed over an hour ago.

I'm gonna head over now.

I asked myself about a million questions on the short drive to Dena's Diner, all of them different variations of the same notion—what the hell was I getting myself into? Ivory James Henderson held so much mystery and uncertainty that I could legitimately declare her a danger to my health with the way my stress and anxiety were constantly shooting up and dropping down.

...

i v o r y

Sienna called in sick for her night shift, so I was stuck closing at eleven o'clock at night after I got into work at eleven in the morning. To be fair, she sounded pretty ill when she called, but it still sucked that I was missing yet another night with Jamie. I hadn't had time to eat since the morning being I was the only server for the dinner rush. Beyond that, I was trying to not think about the fact that I was closing. Alone.

The kitchen closed at nine, so the cooks were out no more than thirty minutes after that, and I wasn't going to ask them to stay another hour and a half while I did all the side work typically meant for two servers.

I have my pepper spray on me, and I parked not too far from the door. I'm in Camden, Oregon. Not Boston. It was a mantra I repeated to myself all night long.

I locked the back door, ensured for the fifth time that the coffee machines and grills were off, then ticked off the lights one by one. I gripped my pepper spray and keys in hand and headed for the front door.

A figure stood right outside the door and my body reacted in reflex. I deployed the pepper spray and screamed at the top of my lungs. My scream cut short when I saw it was Harry who was doubled over in pain and letting out winces and groans.