Unlikely (H.S.)

seven

~Harper~

    I'm not sure why I ever started working in the writing field. I guess I thought it was the closest to what I wanted to do, even though now I am realising it is nothing like what I wanted it to be. I thought about writing about lifestyle trends, fun recipes, and cute outfit videos. And I suppose that yes, I do do that, but the problem with what I have to write is that I have to write about things that others have already discovered and explored. Then, my job is expected to write about trends others have found and experimented with. I don't get to research, explore, or play around, and honestly, it fucking blows.

I stared at my phone, heart thumping in my chest as I read through Harry's DMs from late last night. His messages had been playful, kind, and had that unmistakable Harry charm. I'd been thinking about him almost constantly since he first reached out, and then he started messaging me yesterday, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. How was I supposed to focus on work when a global pop star was praising my pie recipe and sending me videos of his own baking attempts? This was surreal.

I read his messages again and again and sighed, feeling the flutter in my stomach that had become all too familiar, as my mind drifted back to his messages. I had seen his first message while I was getting into bed, and had fallen asleep before I could answer him. When I woke up a couple hours later, I had realized my fuck up and immediately messaged him back.

Harper: Hey Harry, wow, thank you! That means a lot coming from you. I'd love to see your attempt at the pie – bet you'd nail it!

I was sitting in my bed, blankets curled up around my chest, I pressed send, biting my lip to stifle a smile.

What is going on, right now?!

I was in utter disbelief that this was my life. This boy that I had paid little attention to my whole life, was suddenly showing such interest in me, and I honestly didn't know what to do with it. We spent the rest of the night talking; he kept sending me videos of his progress of the pie and I could feel the flush rising to my cheeks.

He sent me a video clip of him in the kitchen, holding up a bowl of what looked like overmixed dough, his expression both sheepish and amused.

Harry: Okay, Harper, I think I might have overmixed the dough. Any advice before I ruin this completely?

I couldn't help but smile. Despite the guilt and the pressure from work, Harry's messages were a bright spot in my life. I typed back quickly.

Harper: Don't worry, it happens to the best of us! Just try to handle the dough as little as possible from here on out. You've got this!

He seemed so happy and carefree, and the somersaults in my stomach wouldn't subside, even as my eyes drooped in exhaustion. Once he was finished, I felt a pang of relief as I couldn't keep my eyes open and disappointment as I didn't want to stop talking to him. But I knew I had to sleep, so I settled into my bed and drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.

It was now 1:23pm, and my eyes flicked to the clock on my computer. I had exactly seven minutes before my boss, Janet, would be in my office, expecting a progress update on my latest article. I glanced at the notes scattered across my desk, hoping I could come up with something coherent in the next few minutes.

Just as I was about to start gathering my thoughts, Janet's sharp knock echoed through the small office. She didn't wait for a response before pushing the door open and striding in, her usual air of efficiency and determination trailing behind her.

Shit.

"Harper," she said, settling into the chair opposite my desk, "how's the latest piece coming along?"