Nothing Good Gets Away

Chapter 6

HARRY STYLES

I fall down on my mattress on the floor and turn my head and stare the bed frame down, still in its extra-long box. I've had every opportunity to put it together already, but I keep finding reasons not to, and end up sleeping another night on the ground.

But tonight I got off from work a bit earlier than I anticipated, so now I really had no reason not to put it together. I tell myself that I'll feel better once it's done, and I can finally get rid of the box.

So I push off the mattress to get on my knees, and I hear a frantic, fast knock on my door. My ankle bones crack as I stand and drag my feet down the hallway, checking the peephole first. Rowan is standing there with her hand on her forehead, muttering to herself.

I open the door and she drops her hand down to her side. She's in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt with her hair in a bun. If I'm not mistaken, she either has flour or cocaine smeared on her cheek and nose. I'm assuming it's not the latter.

"Hey," I take a quick glance down the right side of the hall toward the lift. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah I'm fine," she clears her throat. "Are you busy right now by any chance?"

"No," I answer quickly, hopefully not too quickly.

"Okay," she laughs like she's exasperated. "So I'm baking a bunch of different things right now to try and decide which ones I want to have at the bakery for the opening, and usually I would call Sienna, but we're fighting right now because I called her boyfriend's friend an asshole before I called her boyfriend an asshole too, and also she doesn't eat carbs and sugar, so I was wondering if you could help me."

I feel my brows raise as she speaks almost faster than I can understand. "Um...yes I can help you, I'm just not sure what you need help with, exactly."

"Right," she takes a breath. "I was wondering if you could taste them and tell me which ones you like the most."

"Oh...yeah, I think I can do that."

"Great," she exhales and turns to head back to her flat.

I grab my keys from the hook I installed next to the door to lock my own place before following her. Unlike mine, which she has seen multiple times, this is the first I've seen hers.

There's a cream sectional couch in her living space with deep cloud-like cushions, decorated with earth-toned throw pillows and a heavy knit green throw blanket. A few thick books and unlit candles reside on her black coffee table, and her flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall between two white bookshelves filled to the brim. Some of the books are stacked sideways just to fit. It feels like a home, not like a flat.

"Sorry for the mess, and sorry for the monster," she refers to Scout as he excitedly jumps up on my legs.

"That's alright," I wander over to the island, where she has five different biscuits, five tarts with various fillings, four croissants, six macaroons, three pies, and a couple of little things that I'm unsure of. The whole place is dense with the scent of sugar.

"Okay, you can just have a seat," she gestures to the cushioned bar stools in front of me, "and I'll get you a glass of water."

I sit down and inspect all the different name cards for each dessert that she wrote out in a beautiful cursive script. "You made all of these today?"

"Yeah, I started at five this morning," she chuckles and places the water glass in front of me. "I only want three biscuits, three tarts, two croissants, four macaroons, and two pies, but the chouquettes are definitely going. I just wanted you to try them and tell me what you think."