Something Great

Chapter 7

Natalie's P.O.V.

At exactly 1:30 pm on Tuesday, I'm dangerously close to losing my mind. After a tumultuous morning of getting a grouchy Emily ready, making the 45 minute drive over to my mother's house, and then rushing home through mid day traffic, I barely made it back through the door by one.  Now, with my hair still dripping wet from the shower, I'm ransacking my closet like a woman possessed.  I fully understand the gravity of my outfit selection. Too revealing and it looks like I'm trying too hard.  Not sexy enough and I look like I'm not interested. I'm on a quest for the perfect balance of casual sexiness, and I'm starting to panic. Spotting my new soft gray cardigan, I breathe a sigh of relief. Paired with a white, scoop neck tank, dark blue skinnies, and gray high-heeled booties, I'm set. Besides, the booties add some much needed inches to my 5 foot 2 inch frame...and these jeans make my ass look fantastic, an added bonus. I rush to get myself ready, blow drying my hair into soft waves and throwing on some light make-up, then grab my purse, phone, and keys, and hop in the car.  Here goes nothing.

Thankfully, traffic is on my side as I head to the Las Vegas strip. I decide I don't want to walk five miles in these heels, so when I arrive at the Palazzo, I go directly to valet. After a short stroll through the casino, I get to the coffee shop with five minutes to spare. I know I'm early, but my eyes still dart around nervously, half expecting to find that he beat me there.  By the time I order a drink, and find a table, nestled discreetly toward the back, away from the coffee shop windows, I'm convinced I'm a twitching, nervous mess, and that he's gonna run screaming in the other direction.  However, I don't have much time to plan my escape route before I see him walk in the door. Sunglasses and phone in hand, he still has a gray hoodie pulled up to avoid detection.  Watching his thighs flex underneath the dark blue skinnies he's wearing makes my mouth water, so I quickly take a sip of my latte to play it off. 

Finally, he spots me and we make eye contact. I realize, belatedly, that I should've done more to mentally prepare myself, as the dazzling smile he throws my way makes my knees wobble.  Out of politeness, I struggle to stand up as he approaches the table.  Reaching my side, he puts his hand on my waist to pull me in and kiss my cheek.  His hand travels around to my back, sinking to a point just low enough to set my pulse racing.  He uses his new leverage to draw me in a bit closer than absolutely necessary, close enough to whisper in my ear roughly, "you look lovely and you smell fantastic." I have to reign myself in, and fast.  Straddling him in the middle of the cafe would definitely send the wrong message.

Harry's P.O.V.

I look her up and down, deliberately toying with my bottom lip. Her eyes zero in on it immediately. I smile knowingly, admittedly taking a bit of pleasure in her discomfort. I can't help it - she's cute when she's flustered!  To up the ante, I move my chair so I'm next to her rather than across from her.  A small intake of breath gives her away.  I start to laugh, but hide it with a cough. Casually, I begin taking inventory: pupils blown wide, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the fact that she keeps sneaking glances at my mouth...I don't miss any of it.  The urge to lean over and taste her is strong. Woah. Slow down Harry. "Don't move!" I tell her, and rush over to the counter to get a drink.  While I'm waiting, I take a moment to survey the place. Currently, it's not very crowded, mostly businessmen and middle-aged tourists grabbing their afternoon brew. I really hope it stays this way, for I'd like to get to know her.  Hard to do that with fans shoving their cameras in your face for a selfie.

Returning to the table, I set my coffee down just in time for her to quip cheekily, gesturing between the two of us, "You know, people are going to think we planned this..." It's then that I notice we have almost matching outfits on - gray top, dark blue jeans. I chuckle and smile gratefully at her, knowing that she took charge of dissolving the nervous tension, unintentionally saving me from having to do it.  With the ice sufficiently broken, we spend the next hour just chatting, about anything and everything.  She talks about her daughter, and how much joy she gets from her.  I decide right then, that watching her face light up is my new favorite thing.  She tells me a little bit about growing up here. She tells me funny stories from the salon and some of the ridiculous clients she gets, even convincing me at one point to let her trim my hair. I agree, mostly because I'm a guy, and I know that when she washes my hair in that special sink, her boobs will be in my face. Sue me.  Based on her prompting, I go on to tell her about my life back in Holmes Chapel, why I wanted to be a performer, etc. I notice, at one point, that she doesn't ask me about the band at all.  I know she's at least a bit of a fan, something I deduced from our time in the elevator, so I'm a bit surprised. She also has given me her undivided attention, and appears genuinely interested in what I have to say. She's not looking around for cameras, checking her phone, or fixing her make-up. She doesn't care about what's around her, she's only focused on me. When's the last time somebody has done that? I choose not to spend too much time thinking about the answer to that question. Throughout the conversation, we seem to be drawn to each other, like magnets.  I have an overwhelming compulsion to be closer to her, and we just gradually drift nearer to one another.