She

She sat down under her private arbor, a mug of freshly made coffee in hand. A blank page lay open before her, one of the last in her tormented notebook.

It had been raining all afternoon, a slight chill about in the air. Snug in her favourite orange and grey jumper she couldn’t be happier.

She watched back through the massive glass doors of the coffee shop as lovers grew closer and cups got emptier. It wasn’t every day that she could simply sit back and observe the happenings of her favourite place on earth. She felt as if she knew every inch of the building with intricate intimacy, it was a part of who she was.

Or maybe she was just thinking that because she was passionate about a cup of coffee.

If it weren’t for the coffee, she definitely wouldn’t be there.

Forgetting where she had left off with her writing, she began to flick through the previous pages in her notebook, holding her mug close while reading under her breath.

This notebook, tattered and torn, was one of many in her possession. It was the colour red, which �" by her colour coding �" stood for story in progress. Most of the notebooks she owned were red, as being able to give a story closure was not her strong suit.

Her eyes unfocused as her mind wandered, something moving behind the glass doors caught her attention.

Directly opposite her, on the other side of the glass, sat a boy about her age. Brown curly hair sitting unkempt to the side of his boyish face, a cream coloured scarf around his neck. His eyes looked around, admiring the courtyard.

He paused and turned his head to the side, flashing an older woman a warm smile.

“Prick.” The girl whispered under her breath.

She picked up her beloved felt pen and began to write at a fast pace, her small burst of irritation towards the cute boy was just what she needed.

After a few lines she stopped and re-read what she wrote.

It made little sense to her dulled mind, and reading it out loud only made it sound worse. For some reason today wasn’t working in her favour at all.

She looked back towards the curly haired boy, now intent on his phone. She bit her lip and thought a thousand thoughts about who he could be, waiting for something to trigger her creative juices.

And with that, she was off again. Writing at the speed of light, not knowing where she was going.

The problem with her writing was that it never matched the vivid images playing out like movies in her head.

She wanted to depict great scenes of romance, and poetic tragedy. But it always came out wrong.

She could never find comfort in her own words, and this frustrated her so.

 

“August,” a young girl snapped the writer from her trance, appearing at the table with visible nervousness, “there’s someone here to see you.”

The copper haired woman looked to the nervous girl and smiled warmly.

“Thank you Annabel,” she said, “I’ll follow you in.”

August glanced back to where the cute boy had been sitting; secretly disappointed to see his chair had been vacated.

She sighed and stood up, grabbing her half full mug for company.

August followed the girl down the arbor steps, over the cobbled courtyard, past the large glass doors �" sneaking another look at the table �" around a large hedge, and through an old barn door.

Through the barn door was an open plan kitchen, bustling with workers, happily chatting and singing as they cooked.

Colossal factory windows cast long shadows across the kitchen floor, the dreary rain not affecting the anticipation that hung in the air.

So thick you could almost taste it.

“Are we on track for tonight?” August asked enthusiastically, looking over shoulders to see the masses of heavenly food being prepared.

A collective shout of ‘yes!’ sounded from the team of busy chefs.

Annabel stopped before a set of swinging batwing doors, positioning herself behind the wall so she could spy between the slats.

August stopped in her tracks to giggle at the sight before her.

“Oh Annabel, what are you doing?” she exclaimed, bemused.

Annabel looked around sheepishly, “the man who wants to see you is scary, I don’t want to go out there.”

August put her hands on her hips.

“And how old are you again?” she asked playfully.

“Fifteen next month.” Annabel said with a meek smile.

August grinned; Annabel was the closest she would ever get to a little sister. Such innocence and beauty was something she struggled not to be jealous of.

Oh what she would give to be fifteen again.

She straightened herself up, pushing the long sleeves of her jumper above her elbows and adjusting her cuffed orange jeans.

This wasn’t the first time a scary, strange man asked to speak to her.

August pushed the doors open and walked through to the front of the shop, letting them swing shut behind her for dramatic emphasis.

The coffee crowd was beginning to dwindle off as the sun began to peep out from behind the clouds. However a sizable audience still remained, captivated by the ambience of the shop known as Little Chapel.

Annabel was right, the man did look scary: dressed in black, with scuffed white runners and muscles bursting out of his shirt, he stood well over the normal height… whatever that was.

All August knew was that he was tall, muscly and grumpy looking �" judging by the tightly matted eyebrows perched on his over sized forehead. Perhaps he didn’t appreciate the décor.

She took a deep breath and walked over to him, allowing the counter top to stand as a barrier between them. If he tried to hurt her she could always throw cake or a well-aimed olive to the eye.

“Hello.” She said politely, nodding to the man.

He uncrossed his arms and leaned in close to August.

“Are you the manager on duty?” he asked gruffly.

August pursed her lips for a beat, eyebrows raised before smiling forgivingly.

“Yes.” She said simply.

The man pulled out his phone from his pocket and flipped the screen towards her, revealing a photo of a brown curly haired boy, dressed in a dark jacket with a cream coloured scarf.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Have you seen this man?” he held the phone closer to her face, making it hard for her to focus on the screen.

August frowned, confused.

“What do you mean? Who is he?” she asked, intrigued.

“He is someone in my care who managed to miss all of his interviews with the press today, and was last spotted in this area.” The man said without blinking.

August pursed her lips again, looking at the man in disbelief.

“So?” the man barked, “have you seen him?”

August looked back at the picture, studying the face of the boy she had previously spied beyond the glass doors of Little Chapel.

Movement sparked her interest behind the scary man, at the beaded doorway to the reading room.

Only moving her eyes she looked beyond the phone before her to see the curly haired boy stick his head out the doorway and look directly at her.

His face went pale, eyes wide with horror.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip and feverishly shook his head at August.

She smirked, raising her eyebrows at the boy.

The man frowned at her and followed her line of sight.

“Ahem,” she quickly cleared her throat before he could completely turn around.

The curly haired boy quickly disappeared from view.

“Who is he?” she batted her eyelashes innocently.

“Harry Styles.” The man said bluntly.

“And why is he important?” August looked around impatiently.

“He’s in a boy band. They make a lot of money. Yada yada yada,” the man snapped, “listen girly you just give me a call if you see him, alright?” he threw his card down on the table, snapped his phone shut and stormed out of the building.

August turned around to find the batwing doors standing open and the entire kitchen staff huddled around, mouths agape.

“What?!” August exclaimed, going red in the face.

Annabel rushed forward.

“Harry Styles. In our shop!” she fanned herself excitedly with her hand, looking around to her coworkers.

“How do I look?” she asked, “Do I look alright?”

August sighed dramatically and pushed past the nosey workers.

She walked to the far end of the kitchen and paused.

“I don’t care how famous Harry Styles is, all that matters is that he is a customer of Little Chapel, and will be treated as thus,” she turned around to give everyone a stern look, “I don’t know how much a photo of him is worth, but it’ll cost you your jobs.”

She zipped an imaginary zipper across her lips and pointed at the room, playful yet threatening.

“Now back to work, we have a party to throw!” she smiled as she disappeared behind the barn door.

The kitchen staff looked at one another.

“She needs a proper day off,” A greying lady in a bright red apron said lovingly, “she’s wearing herself too thin.”

They all murmured in agreement.

August needed to relax.

“Oh and Annabel,” the lady cooed, spying Annabel trying to sneak out to the front of the café, “you can stay here and peel some carrots.”

Annabel’s face fell.

“But I’m on front of house today!” she cried.

“It’s okay sweetie, I can do that for you.” The greying lady winked, causing the kitchen to erupt in laughter.

Annabel tried to hide an embarrassed smile as she donned the greying lady’s red apron, disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to sneak a look at the Harry Styles.

 

August sat back down under her private arbor, taking a large stack of paperwork from her green leather briefcase.

She looked at the first page and sighed, already feeling the stress of prolonging the annoying task of administration. She really didn’t want to focus on this today, and the promise of a famous person in Little Chapel didn’t help at all.

Her eyes wandered back towards the glass doors, trying to be stealthy in her spying.

Two green eyes were already fixed on her, taking in her every move.

It was too late for August to look away, so instead in her panic she decided to stare back at the cute boy.

He held a mug of coffee in his hand, the cream coloured scarf now gone from his neck.

From this distance August could barely make out the grey patterned sweater that hugged his body perfectly.

But from what she could see, she was impressed.

She blinked a few times, shifting her mouth to the side in a contemplative manner. There was such sadness about the famed boy.

He looked back, without trying to hide it. Trying to study her face from far away.

He raised his mug of coffee to her, smiled and nodded politely, as if acknowledging her struggle to do paperwork out in the cold.

August raised her mug to him, a silent cheers to us taking place between two strangers.

Such a poetic situation caused August to feel the itch between her fingers she always got when she needed to write something down. To feel the pen smoothly run along the paper as her words fell freely.

He had inspired her without provocation. For this she was very thankful.

Out came the red notebook, leaving the horrid paperwork to the side; rejected. Procrastination was a great skill in her repertoire.

She wrote and sipped on coffee, occasionally glancing back up to the sad Harry that sat by the door.

He now sat and stared directly at his mug, unmoving, deep thinking.

This bothered August, but she continued to write, on a roll with her whimsical words.

She began to glance at Harry more and more, surprised to find no change in his behaviour every time. As the day grew darker, so did his thoughts; she could see it written all over his face.

“August,” the grey haired lady from the kitchen walked towards the arbor, jolly in spirit, “the food is done and we’re ready to prepare the courtyard.”

The lady beamed at August, proud with the work she had orchestrated.

“Oh my goodness,” August looked up to the woman in awe, “thank you so much,” a dazed grin spreading over her face, “I had no idea it was getting so late.”

The lady smiled softly down at August, love radiating from her very being.

August stretched her hand out to the lady, “I love you so much Alice,” Alice took August’s hand in hers, “you have done so much for me, for Little Chapel. Such an amazing woman.”

Alice blinked back tears of happiness.

August stood up, packing away her belongings.

“It’s been an emotional day for everyone,” Alice said sweetly, “it must be the full moon.”

August laughed through her swelling throat.

“You need to go home and get some rest,” she said to Alice, “I want to see you back here tonight at your finest.”

Alice beamed, “I’ll bring a bottle of my best red.” She patted August on the shoulder and turned to walk away.

“Before you go…” August stopped her, searching around in her bag frantically, “I have a little favour to ask.”

Alice turned around, a smirk playing across her lips.

“I should have seen this coming.” She laughed, resting her face on her hand as she looked lovingly at August.