Freckled Constellations - A Harry Styles One Shot-

H&I

The first time he walked in, Isla was taking payment from a representative from the local sewing circle. The lady had her bifocals on, the printed card held just millimeters from her face to check the spelling.

In memory of Edna Creighton, thoughts and prayers from Cheshire Ladies Sewing Society.

Over the shoulder of the woman, Isla watched with curious eyes as he bashfully made his way through the shop. She knew who he was and the memory was enough to make her cheeks flush crimson. He'd inked a God-awful skull and crossbones onto her ex's shoulder one evening after she'd had three too many drinks at the pub around the corner. There wasn't much she remembered about that evening except ignoring Kent's requests for a butterfly on her lower back as she flipped through the pages of a binder with his work inside and the name Harry printed carefully on the front in permanent marker.

His art had captivated her with its imagery, a retro style set with a confident hand. It was a real shame Kent was so set on on getting something so ridiculous, let alone insisting on a stenciled version of a pixelated clip art as opposed to anything Harry could have drawn. She had a lot of time to think about that after she threw up in the corner of his work station and hid in the restroom until Kent had paid and they were leaving.

His gait was slow as he bit down on his lip and surveyed a display table. A few of them she'd arranged herself and against her better judgment, she wondered what went through his mind when he saw her creations.

"Perfect. Thank you, dear," said the woman from the sewing circle, and Isla snapped back to attention, offering a bright smile and accepting the check she'd carefully written out. Isla expertly rang it into the register before setting the order form down atop others from that morning.

Just as she gathered her strength to make her way over to him, praying above all that he didn't remember her in the way she did him, the woman called out a jolly, "Harry!"

He started, hip bumping into the table just enough to make one of the vases wobble. His hands reached out to steady it, eyes flitting in her direction, but not long enough for him to get a good look at her. Instead, he was engulfed in a hug by the woman.

"Phyllis, hello," he said politely, leaning down to kiss her cheek when she let him go. "I heard about Edna. I'm so sorry."

"Tough lass," Phyllis said with a shake of her head. "Hadn't been the same since her Rupert died. Some things just can't be helped, I suppose."

"Afraid not," Harry agreed sullenly. "Nice to see you out, though. Mum said you were recovering from surgery."

"Oh, that. It was nothing. Just a –"

The phone began to ring and Isla cursed below her breath, turning on her heel to grab the receiver. She muttered a greeting into the phone, attempting her usual chipper tone but failing miserably. Harry held the door open for Phyllis as they traded gossip like old friends. She had to ask the customer to repeat his request twice, so lost she was in the odd exchange between a tattoo artist and an elderly seamstress.

It was only after she had finished the arrangements for evening delivery, written a detailed list of what needed to be stocked and began to sweep that she found a small sketchpad on the ground. Curious, she flipped it open and immediately recognized the strokes composing a vintage camera. Despite her hunger for more, the pad seemed rather personal and she shoved it into a drawer with the scissors and ribbon before locking up the shop and calling it a day.

-

Strictly speaking, nearly every day in the shop was a slow day. Most people preferred to call in generic orders featured on their website and have them delivered. Only in rare cases did people show up in person to grab an arrangement on a whim.