the journal - h.s.

55

“Your dad sounds like an awfully important man to some?” Staying at Plaza Hotel - probably the most fancy one in New York City - and the mentioning of bodyguards, uncertainty concerning the press and what little else I knew about Harry’s dad - had got me thinking that thought. Who was he? Some well known business man?

Harry groaned, “yeah if only they saw the real him. Then they wouldn’t be all over him for sure.”

He ended it at that. Not engaging to further discussion of the topic. With a heavy sigh he looked around the coffee shop as if to find a new topic, “what did you write in the journal anyway?”

It was difficult dimming my curiosity, but I did anyway. Instead I nudged his hand with mine, which made him look down at the connection. As if he was a kitten having found a new occupation, his entire attention now seemed to be on my hand, as he carefully entwined our fingers.

“Well, I wrote a lot of questions at first,” I stated, looking at how he let his thumb run over my skin. Softly he grabbed around my wrist with his other hand and pressed our palms together in the air - as if to measure the difference of the size.

My skin was more fair and my hand much smaller, fingers more slender whereas to his were tanned and most of all; so wonderfully warm.

“Questions for me?” Harry asked moving his gaze from our hands to my eyes, I could sense the crooked smile on his lips, which radiated with curiosity.

“Yeah actually,” I replied his smile as he let his hand fall and his eyes drifted to the table as if to look after that very journal. He was still holding on to my hand, so it took a little effort picking up the journal with my other.

“Just remember I’m crazy - and today was a very weird day,” I handed him the brown leather book, as my heartbeat started racing again. Why did this mean so much?

“Weird day? How?” A frown of confusion grew over his features, as he started opening the book - and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at his puzzlement.

“I don’t know really - I was just confused I guess,” my eyes settled on the journal and how it seemed to fit so perfectly in his tight grip.

“Because of me?” His voice was serious and with an inch of sadness to it, though he tried hiding it with the smile. The low raspy spoken words, which seemed just as warm and caring, as his touch felt.

I watched some of the small tattoos on his hand, which held mine. They were like small doodles - once again I found myself wondering what they meant?

“Yeah - you just kind of stormed off as quickly as you had appeared. You know? I think I got a little overwhelmed. I don’t know - I’m crazy.” As I said it out loud it seemed so stupid and foolish. He had had work. He had been surprised to see me too in Aria’s apartment.

“So all day I just ended up with a mess of questions and thoughts and … things. I don’t know why,” I sighed and sent him an easy smile. Harry’s green eyes had been resting on me the entire time, but now as I had gone quiet, he let go off my hand and opened his journal fully. Flickering to the last couple of pages which had been inked.

“Where are you?” He read aloud the words I had written not long ago - and then turned to me. His features settled in a thoughtful determined manner, as a smile grew into place. “Good question. Well right now I’m here obviously. But I think when you wrote this I was probably at work. I work at a hotel - nothing fancy. Well yes okay the hotel is kind of fancy but my job isn’t.”

A smile grew on my lips as I realized what he was doing as response to my telling corncerning my act of craziness throughout the day. He could have told me there was nothing to worry about, or he could have told me to ask him whatever. But instead he simply started to answer my stream of thoughts and questions for him - as if he understood it perfectly. And by doing this, showed that he wanted me to get to know him.

I nodded at his answer and he narrowed his eyes at me, “which was also why I stormed off last night. I’m still so sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I just have a hard time believing you’re even real,” the smile broke out on his lips as I started chuckling, “sorry about that.” I hid my face in my hands, but soon after felt him removing them again. With the smile on his lips he turned his eyes to the page filled with my handwriting again.

“Are you happy?” He read my second question in the long line. Moving his attention to me again and watching how I was just melting with embarrassment, he started to answer it with an honest smile, as if it was a perfectly normal question to ask.

“Right now I’m very happy. Happier than I have been in a while actually. But like I don’t know really? It’s hard to define happiness I think - you know like you can see some beautiful snow crystals and feel overwhelmed by the beauty but at the same time be worrying about losing your job. But yeah I guess right now I’m happy,” I nodded again, before he read the next question out loud.

“Who is the most important person to you?” I could see how his eyebrows flew up in surprise. And once again I felt like melting into the earth over my awful curiosity towards him.

“I couldn’t possibly choose one!” He sent me a beam revealing the dimples. “But well Aria, Daisy, Jenny, Louis - those you know. Then there’s Mrs. Meredith and well to be honest - you too.”

Me? I chuckled and grew lightheaded.

“Who’s Mrs. Meredith?” Before I could stop myself the question was already asked. And I swore mentally to keep my mouth shut from now on. Though polite as he was - Harry of course answered like the gentleman he had been raised to be; “she was this elderly lady who well - you would probably define her as a cook or something like that - she prepared our meals and helped sometimes with my father's bigger dinner parties. She knew exactly how my father wanted the silverware placed, cleaned and stored. Things like that. If I remember correctly she worked for my father’s family too - anyway she certainly knew how to do things. And she was quite religious too actually, had a heart of gold really,” a smile grew on his lips of the memory of the old housekeeper or whatever she had been. I listened carefully not wanting to miss a word.

“Usually she would give me snacks when I came to the kitchen - you can imagine, and of course my father wasn’t very fond of that. But she did so anyway. Later I kind of figured she might not have approved of my father’s strict way of raising me - and that you know this was her way of rebelling against that. By giving me cookies. Well when I turned 13 she was fired - my father found the stack of cartoon magazines she had given me over the years. Just like that she was gone. This - at that time - old lady who had worked for him her entire life. I was later told she had passed away of old age a year before or something. Nobody told me till I discovered it myself. Asked the gartner all of the time actually till in the end he gave me the news paper, which had that notice of her passing,” his eyes drifted to his hand. And I followed his gaze as he let his indexfinger on the other hand brush lightly over the cross tattoo.

“I got this for her. She was important to me. She was probably the light of my childhood. She made life bearable for me, gave me something fun and something to be excited about,” a sad smile grew into place. So that was the meaning of one tattoo out of so many more - and only this story had left me breathless. I couldn't stop imagining how Harry would sit in his room with the news paper, flickering to the part with obituaries. How his eyes would travel the page till he would read that one name. All by himself.

He sent me a little smile, "you have to appreciate the good people in your life while they're there. That's what I learned."

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a/n: sidebar -- anoooother hamber manip! ha :D