black » harry styles au

chapter one

belle ;

"belle, it's almost noon."

my grandmother called out to me from across the small café where she sat at a table, gripping a warm cup of tea in her frail hands. i nodded and walked over to one of the two coffee makers we have and started to make a new pot. i threw away the older filter and replaced it with a crisp, white one. soon enough, the smell of fresh coffee filled the room.

i stole a peek up at the clock and noticed she was right. it was ten till noon. ten minutes until that boy would arrive. he was never late, always walking in at twelve o'clock sharp.

"do you think he'll come today, gram?" i picked up my blueberry muffin and carried it over to my grandmother, taking a seat across from her.

paperwork was stacked around her and she idly pushed a few buttons on the calculator. a freshly sharpened pencil was perched on her ear as she spaced out for a moment. it was the end of the month, also known as my grandmother's least favorite time. taxes were due and money had always been a problem for us.

"he always does, dear." she answered halfheartedly, her eyes never leaving the multiple receipts scattered about.

i frowned and picked up one of the papers, scanning it quickly. i bite my lip as i read the amount due. my grandmother never let me help with the money, but i knew right away that we didn't have nearly half of what we owed.

"belle, why don't you go check on the croissants?" my grandmother looked up and met my eyes for a moment before taking the paper back.

"sure, gram."

i picked a piece of my blueberry muffin off before shuffling to the back of the café where the ovens were. i slipped on the plaid oven mitt and opened the stove carefully. the croissants were a family recipe; my mother used to make them all the time before she died.

well, i don't actually know if she's dead or not. she left us about twelve years ago when i was seven to go achieve her dream of being an artist. she used to send letters as she travelled the world looking for inspiration. i have the postcards from everywhere; milan, greece, new york.

but the letters stopped coming one day. she didn't call me at night to sing me our song and scare the few monsters away. the checks to my grandmother stopped coming too, which left it up to my grandfather to support us.

my grandparents had married very early and opened a small buisness between the two of them. they named it quilts because of my grandmother's love for them. ultimately, it wasn't the best name for a coffee shop but it made them happy.

no one believed in them. whether it was their marriage or quilts. they gave it a few months until it crumpled down, but it never did. they beat the odds. they didn't break up after a few months or even years. they lasted till the very end. arguments weren't the thing that ended their love. lung cancer was.

my grandfather passed away two years ago, and since then quilts had suffered. it never did very well to begin with, but we survived. right after our lost, it was obvious that our efforts at work were slacking. customers noticed and sent their sympathy, but no longer their money.

we had a few regulars who were close family friends. but their daily cuppas weren't enough. although my gram never told me, i knew we were in trouble. she never let me worry about it, maybe in denial that i was nineteen now and could handle these situations.

but no, my job was to handle the croissants and watch over my sister. and that was just what i planned to do. i would make the best damn croissants and work my butt off at being the best sister  to make a better life for us.

little did i know that a certain curly haired boy would play a large role in that plan.

. . .