I've Just Seen A Face - The Beatles
ISABELLA
Harry. The way his name rolled off his lips had been a beautiful melody to my ears. Harry. The name tasted sweet on my lips. Harry, Harry, Harry. I couldn't help but repeat it to myself.
I stood still at the front and observed him. This was absolutely creepy. It had to be; an unknown American girl staring at the British adonis before her. His hair was in a perfect quiff, each chocolate curl in it's right place. It had an edge of messiness, yet it was neat. Clearly he was an artist and his hair was his canvas. Those green eyes, that had seemed to pierce right through me with one quick glance, were in complete concentration on the yellow stained pages before him. The vibrancy of his evergreen eyes were enhanced by a simple smudge of black. Was it eyeliner? I couldn't tell. But whatever it was, it brought a bit of punk to his overall features. His brows were furrowed in concentration, while his pink lips mouthed silently as he read. His skin was another blatant example of his artistic endeavors. Black ink swirled along his forearm up towards his bicep only to disappear beneath the cap of his black sleeve.
Where did this guy come from?
It was strange to see someone as young as Harry walk inside this old bookstore. From the past two weeks I have been coming here, only middle age women have come by. I couldn't help but wonder where he is from and why he was here. Was he aimlessly walking around the streets and stumbled upon it like I did? Was he an avid classical literature fan too?
Is he single, my little subconscious asks.
No, it doesn't matter. We are not here to date. We are here to live, I retort.
But! A sexy British guy would be quite the adventure. Just think of all the foreign things he could teach you in bed. It was clear my subconscious, the sassy vixen that she is, was in dire need of some... satisfaction, if you will. I mentally roll my eyes at her and continue to focus on the reports in front of me.
It was a good thing that I was a business major. Robert clearly has no idea how to file and write financial reports that, well, make sense. Bless his old soul.
As I look at the inventory from last month, a deep voice startles me. "Izzy." My eyes instinctively look up from the jumbled mess in front of me, and are met with those same piercing green eyes. The way his husky accent says my name sends a wave of chills down my spine. "I'll get this." Harry passes me the same used copy of Tom Sawyer that he was looking at earlier.
"Good choice," I give him a little smile. Harry doesn't smile back but instead smirks. Not a smug smirk, but a panty-dropping smirk that has my sex deprived self foaming slightly at the mouth.
"R-right. Um," I cough. His smirk increases once he catches on to my growing anxiety. "That will be 4 dollars... I mean pounds." Come on Izzy. Get a grip! I mentally slap myself on the side of the head and scold my stupidity. He is just a guy. Snap out of it.
"Here you go." He passes me a fiver. I quickly give him his change and place his written receipt inside his book. I slide the book towards him. "What? No paper bag?"
"Shit. I mean. Right, yes. Hold on." Smooth Izzy. So smooth.
"It's okay babe. I'm only teasing." His once panty-dropping smirk quickly changes into an amused one.
"Here." I pass the book towards him and pray to any god that is up there that sexy Harry doesn't come back. At least give me a week to mentally prepare myself so I don't look like a buffoon, I reason.
Harry's calloused fingers brush against my own sending a wave of electricity to shock through me. I can feel my face automatically flush. "See you around, Isabella."
"It's Izzy." I quickly correct.
"I like Isabella," he winks. Harry quickly walks out the door, leaving me in a jumbled up mess on the floor.
-
"He was beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking in a James Dean meets Mick Jagger kind of way. God. And here I am, stumbling over my words, dropping books on my feet and looking like an absolute idiot."
Nat stares at me through the small box that Skype provides, with a look of total amusement. The blues of her eyes glisten as she holds back her squeals and giggles. "This guy sounds like a babe. Have you seen him since?"
"Yes! He's been in every day." Ever since that day that Harry first walked into the bookstore, he has been back ever since. We don't talk much. I can barely make coherent sentences whenever he is near, not like he converses with me anyway. He comes in, goes towards the same aisle (classical literature) and stays there for hours just reading. The store is thankfully not busy, giving me lots of time to sit near him and read too. With each moment that we sit there, in a comfortable silence, reading, I feel like we are growing closer. Is that weird to say? It's as if there's an unspoken closeness that has grown with each moment we are together in this complete solitude of literature.
"This guy is clearly into you." Nat bluntly states. I am quick to shake my head in denial. There is no way this gorgeous adonis with the perfectly swept hair would be interested in me. This isn't because I don't think I'm not pretty enough or anything along those lines. It's more like I couldn't see it. I'm a little American girl who likes to read books and doesn't know what she's doing with her life. I am not the most ideal girl for guys.
"I don't think so, Nat."
"This guy is going to the store every day to just sit and read. Either he is really hooked on phonics or he is interested."
I think about what she says. Perhaps there is a small chance that he is interested? I know for a fact that I am intrigued by him. There was no denying that. It was undeniable how intrigued I am by Harry.
"Maybe."
A muffled sound comes from the other side where Nat sits. She strains her head to respond to whoever it is that is talking to her. "Listen, Iz. That's mom. I have to go. It's midnight and apparently I'm being too loud for her. She lives on the other side of the damn' house." She rolls her eyes and I laugh. That sounded like our mother. God, I'm so glad to be out of there.
"It's okay. Thanks for listening to me, Natty. I need to go anyways. The bookstore awaits me." She gives me a knowing smirk in which I only roll my eyes in response. "Don't say it."
"The bookstore awaits you? Or do you mean Harry awaits you. True love awaits!"
"Goodbye Natalie."
"Goodbye Isabella." She gives me a goofy grin making me give her an equally wide grin back. "I love you kid."
"I love you too."
The call ends and I am left with a small stinging feeling inside of me. Homesickness. I didn't think I'd feel this any time soon. I was almost worried that I wouldn't feel any sense of homesickness, yet one Skype conversation and I am feeling alone. I missed my family, that was slowly becoming clear to me. Even though I didn't think I would miss them, I do.
-
We sit in a comfortable silence. He is holding a copy of Wuthering Heights, while I read The Catcher In The Rye. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as he reads each word. I find my eyes glancing over in his direction every few minutes. I am in complete awe of this man, even though I don't know who he is. I find myself curious. Absolutely curious as to who he is. Was this normal? Not once have I felt this deep need to know someone as much as I am with Harry.
"Are you even reading?" His words break me out of my trance. My cheeks begin to heat up once I realize that he has caught me staring.
"Yes. I am." I quickly look at the pages that are open before me, soon realizing that I have been on the same page for the past twenty minutes.
"Doesn't seem like it." He smirks.
"Well, I am." A small smile breaks out on my lips. I quickly move my long hair so that it covers the blush that has kissed my cheeks.
-
It has been four days since I've met Harry. Four days of sitting in the store, in a comfortable silence, and reading.
However, it has been a few hours since the store has opened, and Harry hasn't shown up yet. I can't help but wonder if this stunt of showing up every day has come to an end. A tinge of disappointment eases into my heart and breaks it. I cannot help but hope that he comes again. Even though we haven't actually talked to one another, I enjoyed his company. It made the quiet days at the shop seem easier.
A layer of books are spread out in front of me. According to Robert, these were a new shipment of a new teenage fiction that all the kids are interested these days. Apparently if we start selling these books, our sales will skyrocket. From what I can tell, it's nothing but another attempt at a Werwolf love story. When will authors realize that these stories are overdone? What happened to a simple love story. No supernatural forces. No corrupt love story between a young girl and a fictitious werewolf or vampire. Just a boy and a girl who meet and fall in love. Were these stories no longer appealing to young people? It breaks my heart to think that this may be true. What would Jane Austen say if she heard about this?
I grab a copy of the book and begin to read the back cover. I physically cringe at the storyline. It is completely typical. "Really? 'Fur Bite'? I didn't peg you to be a wolf girl."
I jump at the sudden voice. "Oh gosh!" My heart beats rapidly against my chest. Harry has a smirk plastered against his face. I'm beginning to question why I thought that smirk was attractive. Each time I am acquainted with it, it becomes less endearing and more annoying. "When did you get here?"
"Doesn't matter." He laughs lightly. "Now, are you really reading this shit?"
"No. But apparently teen girls will."
He scoffs. "This is a pathetic excuse for literature." He inspects the novel, his brows furrowing is displeasure as he reads the back. "Complete shit."
"Well, welcome to the twenty-first century."
"I can hear Charles Dickens rolling in his grave." He retorts.
"Are you planning on reading again today?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. He looks around the bookstore. His hand goes to the back of his neck, scratching it lightly.
"Yep." He answers simply.
"Why do you come here? If you don't mind me asking."
He looks at me, studying my eyes. I am suddenly feeling self conscious at his intensive stare. "I like it here. It's quiet." He simply answers. I only nod, understanding completely. There was something about this place that was calming. Truly something special. Yet I couldn't help but hope that he liked coming here for me too. I know that I liked seeing him around.
"Well you can go and read then. I have to put these away." I motion to the books scattered about. He cringes slightly but gives me a curt nod.
An hour has passed and Harry is still seated in the back corner. He is still reading Wuthering Heights. After checking the time, noting that it is finally time for a break, I make my way over to where he sits. "Is this place taken?" I lightly ask. He mutters a small "yup" and I sit down beside him.
He looks over at me. His brows are scrunched together. He studies me once again. My skin crawls with goosebumps. A chill shivering through me. I bit my lip and run a nervous hand through my hair. The ends suddenly becoming fascinating.
"You're not from here." He states bluntly.
"You are correct. Haven't we gone over this already?" I answer lightly, a small smile on my face.
"Yes." He continues to look at me. "Why did you move here?"
I turn my body so that it is facing him fully. I pull my legs up, bringing my knees close to my chest. My hair falls to the side. Bringing my fingers up, I brush it to the side and tucking the loose pieces behind my ear. "Change," I say.
"Change?"
"Yeah. I was tired of New York."
"The big apple? How could one get tired of the big apple." He sarcastically remarks.
"Easily." I look up at him. His green eyes piercing right through me. "I was tired of the high life. I was tired of high society and living under my parents eye. I needed to get out of it all. To see the world. Experience life. Life in Manhattan was too stuffy. Everyone knew your business. If you weren't wearing a designer dress or drove a fancy car, you were frowned upon. It's ridiculous. I hated it. I hate everything that my parents standsfor; everything that society stands for. I wanted to figure out who I am, away from the country clubs and the snobby people that I was surrounded by. I am twenty-one years old and a university graduate. Real life has finally hit me and I am not at all ready for it. So that meant London." I stop my ramble and self consciously run my hand through my hair.
"You ran away." He simply says.
"What? No. I didn't run away." I defend myself.
"Sounds like it to me, Isabella."
I look up quickly. My defenses out. "No. I was tired of my life and wanted to experience life outside of the damn country club." My voice raises slightly.
"Calm down," he laughs, "No need to get your panties in a twist." He runs his hands through his curls and looks at me. "I'm just saying that it sounded like you were running away from it, but that's not a bad thing. Money ruins people's lives. It can swallow you up and you get lost behind it all. But how the hell do you expect to find yourself here?"
I look down at my hands, contemplating what to say. "I don't know that yet. I graduated university but I don't want to follow my parents footsteps. I left the comforts of my parents plan for my life to make my own."
"You work at a shitty bookstore but you have a degree? That sounds like a stupid decision to me."
"I like it." I smile shyly. "I don't know. It's different from what I know. I can't explain it but I like it here. There's something about this bookstore." He slowly nods.
"I get that."
"Why are you here?" I ask him back. Quickly, his whole demeanor shifts.
"Reasons."
"Reasons like?"
"None of your business Isabella." He harshly says to me.
"You really have to stop calling me Isabella. It reminds me of my mother."
"Whatever." Harry gets up and throws the book that he was holding onto the chair. He grabs his leather jacket and throws it on.
"You're leaving?" I quickly ask.
"Yup."
I internally smack myself. Smooth move, dimwit. Smooth move. "You don't have to go! I'm sorry for intruding. It's none of my business."
His face softens slightly as he looks over at me. "I, uh, have to go. My - friend - needs me." I don't say anything as he walks out of the bookstore.
I can't help but hope that I see him again, that I didn't ruin whatever this was. Talking to Harry was easy. He listened to me talk. I liked that he questioned me. Sure it was frustrating, but it made me think. It made me think about why I decided to move here. His questions linger behind and I am now left wondering if this was a bad idea. Am I running away? Did I run away from the luxury of home?