HARRY STYLES
For the first time in maybe two weeks, I open my eyes to my flat and not my office. I was hoping Lana would be here when I got in at 2 a.m. and I really meant to call her when I got here and found the flat was empty, but I fell asleep on the couch because it was closer than my bed. My shoes are still on, as is the outfit I wore yesterday. I have a sore throat, I'm sweating underneath my clothes, and I don't feel well. I haven't felt well in almost two months.
Running off two hours of sleep, I get up and drag my feet to the bathroom to strip down and take a shower. I nearly fall asleep standing up, which is my sign to hurry up and get out so I can get dressed and make myself a mug of coffee. While it's brewing, I send a text to Lana and apologize for my absence once again. She's gotta be getting sick of hearing that, I know it, but I can physically feel that the restaurant is about to lose a star and I can't let it happen. I wish I had time to explain that to her in person, but the fact is that she's not going to want to hear that excuse. Allison didn't want to hear it either. No woman wants to hear that a star takes precedence over her and our relationship. I'm not naive enough to believe otherwise.
I think that's another reason why I haven't been trying too hard to see her. I'm worried that she's going to chew me out the way I deserve, and I'm worried that she might just break up with me the first chance she gets. I suppose she could have done that already, but I think she'd want to do it in person. Whenever our next in-person reaction will be, I know it won't be pleasant.
I will say that I've been trying at least a bit harder ever since she sent me those texts and gave me somewhat of an ultimatum. We haven't seen each other as often as we should, but I'm much better at communicating with her through text messages and I've graduated to FaceTiming with her and Jane when I can't make it home rather than just calling them. It seems Lana has taken that as me trying, because it is and I am.
With a light jacket thrown over my long-sleeve shirt and a black coffee to-go, I head out of the flat and jog down the stairs to leave the building. To try and help my future self, I send another text to Lana wishing her a good day on my walk to work. I'm sure she's still sleeping now like everyone should be this early on a Sunday morning and I wish I was with her despite what she might think from my lack of presence.
Upon arrival at the restaurant, I greet the window cleaners with a nod and we exchange a quiet, "Morning" before I let myself in and set the alarm. Glenne has a stack of papers spread out in front of her at one of the dining tables, which means Jeff must be using the computer in their office.
"Morning, H," she removes the end of her pen from between her teeth.
"Good morning," I weave my way through the dining room to get to the kitchen, finding that I'm the first one here out of my team, but not for long. Zayn's the next to show, followed by Hayden.
"H, you look like hell, man," Hayden shakes his head at me as he slips his arms through his chef's jacket.
"It's good to see you too, mate," I rub my sleepless eyes and grab a fillet of Chilean sea bass to get started on the same recipe I was working on last night, washing my hands with hot water first.
"You want me to get started on the tomato confit?" Zayn asks.
"Please," I find a pan and grab a bowl of butter from the fridge.
And then my phone begins to ring.
Usually, it would be on Do Not Disturb from the night before, and that's why I always miss Lana's calls. I take it as a sign that this is my chance to talk to her and attempt to explain myself, but it's not Lana. It's Maya and that couldn't be stranger. I don't even remember why or how I have her number, but I'm pretty sure Lana was the one to program it into my phone.
