Little Bird [-hs]

013 - break the spell

NAOMI

A week passes, and Harry doesn't come into the club. He doesn't appear in my dressing room. He never perches at the bar. Louis shrugs when I ask, cleaning a shot glass with a rag.

"Haven't seen him. Ask Niall," is all he offers me.

I want to rip my hair out, and I definitely don't want to ask Niall. I saw how he stood from his stool as Harry waltzed into the club. I think the only thing that kept him from barging in on us that night was the way the metal detectors went off, and whatever hypothetical weapon Harry must've been concealing.

My hand hovers over the bookshelf before me. Their pages warm the store with an old paper spice. My finger lands on the spine of a particularly creased novel, and my mind floods with memories of that night. My cheeks flush when I linger over his words, and the firm, calculating grip of his hands. I drag my finger along the shelf of spines until a book sways me. I tuck it under my arm and wander through the cavern to the next nook.

Why did he leave like that? He must've known I wasn't going to return the favor, or he had somewhere to be at two in the morning, or he regretted doing it altogether. Now he's disappeared. There's no creepy guys lurking either. Nosedive is radio silent. Stupidly, so so so stupidly, I wish they weren't. Then I'd have at least a little reassurance he hadn't hated it, that he'd do it again.

He has to come back. This whole mess started with the promise I'd steal a ring, and I have yet to do so. It's only a matter of time until Nosedive slinks out of the shadows.

I wander so aimlessly, I find myself back at the front. Lucas looks up from his book. With traffic being slow, he's moved to the cherry red rocking chair propped by the window. He narrows his eyes.

"You better be buying that, I'm not putting it back for you."

"I am," I snap. He pulls himself out of his chair and joins me at the counter, picking up the book and turning it over in his hands.

He scoffs. "Oedipus?"

"I'll put it back." I pull it from his hands.

"Don't worry about it." He waves away the extra work. "It's slow anyway."

I flip through a few pages of the book. His eyes are wide and unblinking, begging me to look up.

"What?" I shut the book. He shrugs.

"You've been in here a lot, wandering around."

"So?"

"What happened to the hot, dangerous guy? Still nice to you?"

"I haven't seen him in a while," I say.

Lucas hums. He stands up straight. "Coffee?"

I follow him to the break room, through saloon doors to a kitchenette and a puffy green chair. He pulls the old pot out of the machine and dumps it in the sink. I fall into the chair. "He hasn't come in since last week," I offer, filling the silence. "Last time I saw him was–"

"Sexy?"

He smirks over his shoulder, coffee pot sparkling in sunny sink water. "A little." I narrow my eyes.

"Have you considered that he might have things to do, unrelated to how hot you are?"

I roll my eyes. "Lucas."

"I'm just saying." His words snip my yearning and annoyance cleanly in half. The apples of my cheeks turn pink. "Maybe he forgot to file his taxes."

"I highly doubt he has ever filed taxes."