Muse (h.s.)

CH1 | 01: Excuse me, a green tea?

A BASHFUL SMILE tugged at the corner of Harry's lips as the pretty brunette he couldn't keep his eyes off met his stare over the rim of her wine glass. Unbeknown to him, she had been aware of his not-so-subtle glances from the moment she sat down. It wasn't until now, with two glasses of wine running through her system, that she had the confidence to acknowledge him.

His already reddened cheeks grew warmer as she boldly held his gaze. The inquisitive look in her eyes had him resisting every instinct to look away and save himself from any further humiliation. She tried to convince herself that his flushed complexion was a result of the restaurant's humidity or the glass of expensive whiskey he is harbouring in his left hand but something in the back of her mind knew (and hoped), she was the reason for his flustered state.

"Excuse me, a green tea?"

Their intense interaction was interrupted by a petite waitress holding a tray of multiple tiny, matcha-coloured ceramic mugs in front of her. She blinked out of her hazy daydream and peered up at the young girl. 

"I'm not sure I'll like it," She admitted hesitantly, embarrassed to reveal she'd never tried green tea before.

"It's delicious, V...really refreshing," Her friend, Maeve, was already helping herself to a second cup. She took a small sip before thrusting the mug in her friend's direction, "Give it a taste,"

She pursed her lips to the side, studying the pale green liquid for a couple of seconds before taking the mug into her own grasp, "Just a little taste,"

As she rose the cup to her lips and took the smallest of sips, she glanced across the table again at Harry who was watching her just as intently as before. Her face twisted in distaste as the bitter drink overwhelmed her tastebuds. A deep chuckle bubbled in Harry's throat as he witnessed the dissatisfaction take over her otherwise gentle features.

"You don't like it?" Maeve asked, sounding marginally disappointed.

"Not in the slightest," She shook her head. Her hand reached for her wine glass, eager to counteract the bitterness with the sweet tang of her wine. She came up disappointed when she realised the glass consisted of nothing but a faint lipstick mark on its rim, "I'm going to get another drink from the bar,"

Without waiting for a response, she stood from the table and headed for the small bar situated at the far end of the restaurant. Her forearms rested against the wooden bartop and she was pleasantly surprised to find they didn't get welded to it by some sticky residue leftover from spilt drinks.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" The bartender asked, tucking the white rag he was using to polish a whiskey glass into the back pocket of his formal trousers. He was young. No older than thirty-five if she had to guess.

"A large glass of your cheapest red wine please,"

"Coming right up!"

He turned his back to her as he reached for a polished wine glass off the top shelf. She took the time to scan the set of tables to the left of her, admiring the people that occupied them. She always had been a people watcher. Too nosey for her good as her grandmother would tell her. A fond smile graced her lips as she thought of the memory.

"Not a fan of the green tea?"

She flinched as an unfamiliar but somewhat recognisable voice spoke next to her. It was deep with a hint of a regional accent not local to London. Her head whipped round to discover the voice belonged to her admirer from across the table. Yet this time, his pale eyes weren't burning into hers, they were scanning the laminated drinks menu that had been standing on the bartop. Her throat dried up as her mind tried to catch up with the situation. Despite the intimate eye contact between them a mere five minutes ago, she hadn't expected him to initiate any form of communication with her. She was fully aware of who he was and presumed that exchanges with strangers didn't go further than bouts of unavoidable small talk and short-lived fan interactions.