Adore [H.S.]

6

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."