i love you, nora jane [h.s.]

1.

"Waking up every goddamned morning with a different stranger isn't as filling as I originally thought it would be, but it beats waking up alone."
-Harry's journal.

.....

The bed always felt colder in the morning, it seemed.

That feeling was odd, because a warm body would always occupy the space beside me. Maybe it was my own guilt that chilled my bones.

When few streaks of sunlight shone through the barely parted blinds, that was the signal for the stranger I went to bed with the night before to get their belongings and get out. I would pretend to sleep soundly; my eyelids fluttering only the slightest bit as the mystery woman from some bar I didn't remember the name of would slip out from underneath the sheets. And I would listen silently to the faint patters of her feet scurrying along the wooden floorboards to leave my home. As the front door closed slowly, I would groan and curse at myself for being this way. This was my morning routine. This particular morning was no different.

The night before was a blur in the back of my mind, but I remembered a blonde bombshell giving me a look from across the bar. And that same bombshell was still in my bed; makeup smeared, hair tangled, and obviously not understanding the usual one-night-stand signal. I placed my hand atop her bare shoulder and shook lightly, whispering in her ear in hopes of waking her. When I had no luck with this technique, I sighed and decided to let her sleep in.

I stumbled out of bed in boxers only, reaching my arm out to grab the knob of my dresser. As I pulled some old, torn jeans up my legs, my daily hangover was in full swing. And the remedy for these awful morning headaches was two cups of coffee and a handful of pain killers.

I stood in the doorway of my bedroom and observed the mess that lay in my bed. I chuckled quietly at the thought of going to bed with a ten, and waking to a four. Surely I would do better at scoring a woman next time.

The kitchen was unusually lonesome, I thought. The two dining chairs were empty, pushed neatly under the table that was spotless. And the sense of loneliness ate at me, but why should I have felt so lonely when there was always someone to go home with? I shook that thought off.

My hand cupped around my favourite mug as I pulled it from its usual position in the cupboard. Next, my fingers searched for the Tylenol bottle, and with ease, popped the top off. I tapped multiple pills into my palm, grateful for the sight of those beautiful ellipses.

I tilted my head back, choking down a mixture of water and medication, and waited patiently to hear the brewing of the coffee grounds to begin. But the comforting sound did not come. I twisted around to see that the machine was unplugged, and my fingertips gripped my forehead. The pain was unbearable, like hundreds of knives digging deep into my temples. I resisted the urge to kick something, to avoid waking the woman behind the wall. Instead, I cursed multiple times, pacing around the kitchen.

It was beginning to rain. I could tell by the way the wind was howling against the windows. By this time, I had two options. I could've stayed put inside that kitchen and waited for the blonde to join me. But rather, I slipped on my leather jacket and grabbed my keys from the countertop.

.....

I parked on the side of the already flooded road when a quaint bakery came into view. I jogged briskly inside to escape the rain and pulled my jacket off one arm at a time.

The place was compact and homely, and reminded me of a worn down café my grandmother had taken me to once. She had promised me they had the best muffins she ever tasted, and to say they were decent would be generous of me.

There were faux wooden floors and paintings of countrysides that decorated the beige walls. It was almost deserted, besides a middle-aged man sitting in the corner with the daily newspaper in his grip. I directed my attention to the brunette waiting behind the front counter with a stained apron tied around her waist.

"Welcome to Greene's Goods," she greeted, "What can I get you?"

The name was almost enough to make anyone lose their appetite. Perhaps this shop was once ran by Dr. Seuss, though that certain use of alliteration would cause him to roll in his grave.

I narrowed my gaze down at a golden bell that I assumed would get the attention of a worker if none appeared present. She watched me, confused, as two of my fingers lightly tapped the tip of the bell. The ring echoed through the small space and I grinned up at her.

"Sir," she huffed and pushed the bell away from my reach when I began to press it again. "I'm already here."

"You know, I used to work in a bakery," I smirked, leaning one arm against the counter that separated us. She rolled her eyes and rested her hands on the cash register.

"I did not know that. Thank you for informing me."

"When I was sixteen, yes. I made the most delicious scones--" I reminisced as she grew more annoyed. Her wavy, dark locks lay just above her breasts, where a name tag was clipped to her shirt.

"Not going to order? Not my problem," she mumbled under her breath, looking behind me at someone else.

I frowned at the thought of her attention on another rather than me. She wasn't playing along with my flirtatious efforts, and I shifted uneasily. "Anneliese," I smiled.

She looked back to me with a bewildered expression on her attractive features. "How did you-"

"Name tag, love," I tapped my fingers on my chest where hers was neatly placed. "Now, I'll take your best cup of coffee and your choice of a baked good. Surprise me."

She stood still for a brief moment, then nodded silently before repeating my order. "Best mug, favorite treat," she put on her friendly smile one last time as she gave me the balance due. "Anything else?"

"Your number would suffice." Her cheeks flushed as she handed change to me, being careful not to let our fingers linger too long.

"We'll have your order right up," she avoided my gaze as she called to another barista behind me. "Nora Jane, we need an apple scone. Hurry up now."

I took my place at the table closest to Anneliese and watched her hand the other girl a ceramic mug from the sink. The two girls looked alike in many ways, so I pinned them as sisters. Anneliese had a fuller, more appealing frame than the other, who was short and thinner. Though I hadn't gotten a full glimpse at the smaller girl's face, I could see she was simple looking; average compared to her sister. She was also a slow worker, which my hangover did not appreciate. The girl flinched when Anneliese raised her voice for her to finish with my drink before it turned cold.

"I'm sorry," the frail one said as she placed the cup gently on the tabletop.

"Nonsense," I shook her off, cupping my hand around the warmth of the mug. "Do not apologize for things you shouldn't be sorry for."

She stood quietly by my chair, nodding to herself. "Okay, I'm not sorry." I grinned into the cup as the golden liquid touched my lips.

"Good," I mumbled, taking a long sip. The coffee gave me a sense of relief as my insides were warmed. Yet, the taste it left on my tongue was anything but pleasing. But thankfully, the headache caused by too many shots the night before was lightened, and I carefully observed the girl stalk away.

"Nora, is it?" I called to her before she could return to her hiding place somewhere in the back room. She barely turned her head to me, tucking pieces of curly, wild hair behind her ear.

"Nora Jane," she corrected me, slipping both hands in the pockets of her apron. I nodded as a door closed behind her, leaving me alone with bitter coffee, stale scones and a mind full of thought.