Harry was late opening up the coffee shop. He had rolled out of bed, tangled in his white sheets a half an hour late, which left him rushing out the door, his unruly hair still in a matted bedhead. Running down the street, one shoe barely on, his keys jingling in hand, he made it to the front door by 7:47, nearly an hour after his usual arrival. Breathing heavily, he began to prepare for the customers that regularly visited the small establishment. He worked efficiently, serving the variety of people that came in the door while preparing a fresh batch of bagels. All while he listened to his favorite, Saturday morning playlist. Eyes capturing the sunlight and reflecting like thousands of glass shards scattered among emerald.
Harry always smiled while he baked, he enjoyed it more then anything. The only thing that Harry was better at than cooking was being kind. In the dead of winter, he would go out on cold nights and hand out fresh baked bagels, croissants and muffins to the homeless downtown and always volunteered at the local shelter at Thanksgiving. Now that it was spring, he tried his best being a helping hand in his community, whether it was helping Mrs. York garden in her backyard or even just helping a young man with his paper route, Harry loved to make people happy. Even on drizzling, cloudy day, if you headed into Harry's coffee shop, he was sure to put a smile on your face.
Today was no exception. As Harry gave back change he always handed out sincere smiles that to him were, complimentary. At about around 3 pm, after the lunch rush, thing began to slow down which allowed poor Harry to take a break. He sat at one of the tables close to the counter, biting down on a sandwich on rye bread he had packed for his early dinner. It tasted so good and once again Harry grinned from ear to ear. He got half way through his small meal when the metallic ring of the bell above the front door went off, signaling the arrival of a new customer. Harry pursed his lips, wiping the bread crumbs off himself, his white t-shirt, and apron. Hurrying back behind the counter, when he lifted his head to greet the stranger, he froze, mid smile.
His eyes were the first thing he noticed, reflective pools of crystal blue waters. He was just a little taller then Harry but even then he felt like he towered over him. One hand stuffed in the pocket of black skinny jeans, the other tucked in his coat. The only expression on his face was a slight tug on the boy's lips, a smirk. his blonde hair was flat, hidden in a toque. In a thick Australian accent, that reminded him of a melody that his ears could not help be captivated by, asked for coffee. While Harry prepared the coffee, the boy pursed his lips, then began to whistle. Tapping his foot anxiously, Harry studied the way the boy seemed to slump, his broad shoulders dipping in. His head bowed slightly, His eyes lifted to settle right on Harry and in that moment, Harry's heart went cold.
Because, well, Harry wasn't looking into the eyes of the boy, but a barrel of a gun.
