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

4.

"Your name is lovely; it rolls off my tongue with ease and I like hearing it said. How strange it is for me. I think you're quite lovely." -Harry's journal.

.....

The sun was setting a few days later, golden rays of sunlight painting the sky in strokes of orange and pink and blue. Mr. Greene and his eldest daughter had closed the shop early to attend to a personal night out, leaving Nora Jane behind. Needless to say, her father was still unbelievably angry with her. So, instead of answering Felix's calls to join him at the local pub, I stayed with Nora Jane.

At first I thought I was doing it for her; staying with her in that dimly lit bakery so she wouldn't be alone. But I soon realized I was doing it for myself as well.

"Go home, Harry," she spoke quietly, sitting down soundly at the usual table she did when she was upset. For the few previous days I shared with her, she would do this quite often. She kept a novel with her, tucked in the front pocket of her apron. When her father or sister or even I said something to push her over the edge, she'd simply go quiet, pull the novel out, and trudge over to her table. She was flipping through the book's pages when I joined her.

"I'd much rather stay here. Home is no fun when you're all alone in it, you know?" I offered a friendly smile, which she turned down, casting her eyes back at the book. "What're you reading?"

Her hands abruptly closed the pages in on themselves, setting it flat on the tabletop. "It's some silly old thing. I found it a while ago; never had time to read it."

"Where'd you find it?" I asked, pulling it toward myself. She winced as I did, so I stopped, waited for her next reaction, and then opened the cover.

"Amelia Greene," I read the cursive writing that danced across the front page. "With all my heart, Alastair."

"That's enough," Nora Jane reached for the book, fingers wrapped firmly around the corners. I gripped it tighter, furrowing my brows at her. She used all her effort to pry it from my hands, and I reluctantly let go.

"Who are they?" I narrowed my gaze, studying her carefully. Her hand swiped across the cover of the novel, as if wiping away any dust or damage I caused, and slid it into her pocket.

"You sure have a lot of questions," she shook it away, standing from her chair. She stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to go next. "My mother and father."

So I stood up with her. "Amelia and Alastair Greene. Where is Amelia?"

She stared at her feet, concentrating. "What did your father do to you that was so terrible?"

I took a step back, and she noticed my surprise. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"Then I don't have to tell you either!" She looked up at me, rage present against her innocent features.

"Okay," I simply said. Her chest angrily rose and fell and she stared at me with a bewildered look.

"No fight? No more questions?" She asked, to which I silently shrugged. "Why? Why are you like this? So calm and sure and kind to me. Why?"

This broke my heart, which was an odd, agonizing feeling. It was usually a feeling that never happened to me. I was the type of person, selfish and cruel, who didn't care about others because of how they treated me. I had good reason to retaliate, too. But with Nora Jane, she treated me differently. She spoke soothingly and with such passion that I had the sense that she almost loved me. That was another odd thought. I felt obligated to treat her how she did me.