P.S. (Please Stay)

Three

Harry hadn't been exaggerating when he stated the pub was right up Olivia's alley. It was long and narrow, with mismatched tables scattered under dusty, dim lights. Eclectic décor filled the walls, and there was no distinguishable theme followed while decorating. Even though the sign on the door stated it was a smoke free establishment, a light smell of tobacco wafted through the bar. A trio of men sat at the bar, dressed head to toe in leather biker gear, but appearing to be well into their fifties. Their appearance wasn't consistent with the usual granola crunching, yoga-loving hippies of Tribeca, but it worked in the bar.

"Come on," Harry said to Olivia, leading her past the long bar to a narrow staircase tucked in front of the washrooms. He had been hoping the bar was busier, so their venture upstairs made more sense, but walking past the handful of vacant tables to sit alone with his ex-girlfriend in a stuffy little alcove seemed silly. But, the thought of being alone with Olivia was exhilarating.

Olivia climbed the stairs behind Harry, ensuring she kept her eyes on the steps and not on his assets in front of her. She was ill at ease as they made their way to the alcove, but excitedly, as though they were on a first date and the prospect of what the night could bring was both thrilling and terrifying.

Olivia shook her head, trying to rid the thought from her mind. She'd reminded herself countless times over the past days that it wasn't a date, and yet her mind didn't want to believe her. Still, she would be lying if she said she felt nothing. Being in Harry's presence brought on a myriad of thoughts and feelings, emotions she tried so hard to ignore. But she wouldn't be acting on them... she was almost certain.

"Where's your pocket knife?" Olivia questioned, indicating to the carved table. Harry grinned at her comment, and his dimpled smile caused her stomach to tumble. She closed her eyes for an unnoticeable moment before sitting down across from Harry.

"That's a bit of a manly accessory for me," Harry teased, watching as Olivia pulled off her scarf. She shook out her hair and he couldn't help but stare. She was so beautiful.

Olivia set her scarf on the chair beside her, nodding in agreement. "It is," she kidded. "Until Gucci starts a line of pocket knives, any way," she added, giggling at her own joke.

"Hey!" Harry protested with a laugh. "You're... probably right, though," he added, his words coming out slowly as Olivia removed her mittens. The light above their table captured the gleam of the small diamond on her left hand as though it was a spotlight. Harry's stomach fell, knotting and twisting nauseatingly. It wasn't just a boyfriend; it was a promise. This man had done what Harry should have done, and Harry hated him for it.

"What?" Olivia questioned, noticing a curious look on Harry's face. She was unaware he was staring at her accessorised hand.

Harry opened his mouth, about to speak, when the bartender from downstairs approached their table. The interruption was a relief, but he would have to ask about her fiancé, eventually. Harry Styles was a glutton for punishment, he supposed.

"What'll it be, boys?" the bartender wondered, sounding bored.

"Uhm... Gin and soda, please," Olivia answered, glancing at Harry.

He laughed. "We're in an Irish pub," he teased her, lightly kicking her foot under the table before reminding himself to not do that again. "I reckon, anyway. You should get Guinness. Or whiskey!"

Olivia rolled her eyes at Harry. "You can get Guinness or whiskey," she reminded him. Her stomach fluttered at his gentle touch. The moment felt like years before.

Harry made a face. "I thought we talked about how manly I am not," he told her, smirking. He wondered how manly Olivia's man was. He was probably a burly farmer or mechanic, the kind of man that could disappear into the mountains with a Q-Tip and a paper clip and build a shopping mall. Harry let out a quiet sigh. He couldn't even find Q-Tips the last time he'd been in Target.