Seeking Haven // s.m.

Seven

Wren

I am a terrible, sick human being. I am going straight to hell, no question.

I could tell with each frequent glance from all three tables I was working, I could see him perfectly, sitting on the metal bar stool as he scrolls through his phone-- I could tell he was just fine. Harmless. Innocent.

Judging by how considerate he's been towards me since he's arrived back in town, and how he's never done anything to bring me harm in the past, I had every reason to have no fear or bad blood towards him in the slightest bit.

But the truth is, he made me nervous.

When he used to come around a lot, he was always with Haven. Every second of every day, their arms were looped together, their beings attached in some way. So when I look at him, it's extremely difficult to see him alone, kept to himself.

It's not like I actually truly believed all the rumors that are passed around about him. That he has a bad reputation, that he was the one who kidnapped Haven and committed homicide. I definitely didn't believe that last one. But the reality is, I'm not exactly convinced he had nothing to do with it.

That's why I'm sick. I mean, it's totally and completely plausible that he is just a normal twenty-one year old guy who fell in love too quickly and lost someone, just like I lost someone. Maybe he just wants to talk to me. Be friends. We do have that much in common, after all.

But still, there's that ping in my gut-- so tangible, so palpable, I couldn't shake it off so easily. His distant gaze was cold, I could see it from here. I could feel it, and that's definitely something, right?

I don't know. I'm not even sure of my own emotions. All I know is that things were a lot less complicated before he popped into my life, and now I think about her a lot more, miss her more, question myself. I just want him to go back to San Francisco so I can pick up where I left off.

Once the family at the last table finishes their food, I begin to clean up. I kind of felt bad-- it had been almost an hour and Shawn was still waiting patiently for me, fidgeting with his string backpack by the edges in a nervous haste.

I wipe up the table top and juggle the dishes off to the kitchen, collecting my tips as I go. Once I had run out of stalling that I could do, I take a deep breath, fix my ponytail quickly in the reflection of the shiny kitchen door, and head straight for the bar with my arms swinging by my sides.

Shawn looks up at me as I approach him.

"Hey," he smiles kindly, turning his phone off and sliding it into his back pocket.

"Hello," I wave awkwardly. "Sorry for making you wait."

"It's no problem," he shrugs, "it's not like I had anything better to do. Sit down, I have that present for you."

I feel like perhaps I should be worried. It's awfully strange that he's giving me a gift, considering that we barely know each other. Everything about us is just so tense and awkward. I wouldn't give a gift to me if I were him. In fact, if I were him, I'd stay in San Fransisco.

"It's not ideal, so I hope you didn't set your expectations too high," he says, followed by a laugh as he slings his backpack towards the front, opening it up and digging through it.

There's that ping again.

"Here it is," his eyes light up, and he pulls out a small, rectangular leather-bound notebook, it's cover a lovely dark lavender-purple, it's ends frayed and tearing.

He hands it over to me like a fragile prize. I look at the book, then back up at his insisting eyes, then back down at the book, and slowly take it from him.