About (Harry Styles)

13.

She thanks me before taking off as I watch her skip ecstatically back to her family's vegetable stall. She seemed really happy about my simple gesture, one that I rarely ever do. And to be honest, seeing her smile because of me, makes me feel good.

I haven't felt this way in a long while.

I remember my father would do the same thing back then and I wondered why he would do such a thing because we would be losing money. Business is all about maximizing profits not losing money. But now I understand.

"Cute sign."

"Thanks," I respond back immediately to the man in front of my stall. From my view, his face is obscured with the hat he's wearing as he delicately observes the organized layout of my bracelets on the table.

"Umm...How much for one?" His accent isn't from around here. It sounds like ... British, almost.

"Five dollars, sir."

He nods to indicate his understanding before he reaches for one in the center of the table. He looks at it, turning it in around to evaluate my craftsmanship.

"You sure these are worth five dollars?"

"Excuse me?" I try to ask as politely as possible. Am I supposed to not take that into offense?

"You made these?"

"Yes, I did," I answer a little more sternly. Somehow the stranger in front of me is getting more aggravating by the minute.

"They're very beautiful." At the same time as he finishes his sentence, he takes off his hat and he looks up at me, the iridescent green of his eyes causing me to stare in awe.

"You again?" We ask in unison.

He's sporting a Green Bay Packers hoodie with black skinny jeans and his long curls are tied on the top of his head hiding in his hat.

"What are you doing here?" I beat him to the punch of asking. My voice is more than a whisper but less than a yell.

"You live here, Bubb--I'm sorry, I mean, Ellie was it?"

"I do, yes. And it's Elaine. But you haven't answered my question."

He ponders my question for a second before answering.

"I heard the farmer's market was a very popular place here so I decided to give it a look," he innocently answers.

"Since when do you go to farmer's markets?"

"Since ... You want me to be honest?" He asks, puzzling me a bit. "This is my first time."

"I'm not surprised," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?"

"Well, it's a good thing you came early or else you would be mobbed by now," I say.

"Strangely, it hasn't happened yet."

"Don't jinx yourself now," I tease.

"Yeah," he slightly chuckles. "I hope you won't reveal my whereabouts to anyone just yet."

With careful intentions, I purposely look to my right then to my left, indicating to him that I had nobody to tell his secret to other than air.

"You got it," I say half heartedly.

"Promise?"

Promise? Harry Styles does promises?

"Sure," I reply.

"Thanks."

I keep quiet for a bit, unsure of what to say next. I can't put my finger on it but I'm always acting like a fool in front of him. Calling myself bubble wrap, getting involuntarily drunk, indirectly having him to take me to develop my photos and then the switch up that happened. The golfing incident. It's like a repetitive pattern of foolishness every time we meet.