Light trickled over his face and warmed his body. He was vaguely aware of quiet shuffling noises in his room--his eyes shot open, adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins as his heart thumped at an unsettling pace. He let out a quiet sigh of relief as he saw it was only Cerise; who now stood over him with a soft smile on her face and the glow of the sun marking her features.
"Hello," he mumbled with a crooked grin. He ran his hand over his eyes and face as he exhaled.
"Good morning, Harry," Cerise replied quietly.
"How long was I asleep?" he inquired, looking around him in a daze as he sat up on his elbows.
"Two days,"
He gawked. "Two--days? Are you sure?"
"Yes, quite sure. You must be hungry now." Her eyes were concerned but her mouth betrayed nothing other than a cheery morning smile. "What would you like?"
"Er, how about bacon and eggs?" He shot her his million dollar smile as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Would you like it brought to you or do you feel like going down to the kitchen?"
He extended his legs in front of him. They felt old and unused. "I'll go down to the kitchen," he decided quickly, pressing his feet against the smooth wood. In one heave, he stood up. In one step, he stumbled and fell, knocking over Cerise on the way down.
"Oh, shit, sorr--" he began, embarrassed. He didn't realize he was so weak.
"Harry, are you alright?" she demanded in a concerned rush. She was kneeling already, trying to get Harry to sit up. "Are you hurt? Do you feel faint?"
"A little," he grumbled shyly. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to do that,"
She shook her head quickly. "No, I know. It's okay, just as long as you're okay," She helped him stand and then gripped his arm. "Let me help you down the stairs,"
He knew it would be futile to argue, and besides, the attention was nice. His legs shook a little at first, but then he steadied and was able to walk normally.
"So, what's the dress for?" he asked her with a cheeky grin, trying to regain some damaged pride.
Cerise gave a quick glance at her white cotton gown. It cinched under the chest and spilled out like a milky waterfall; and the sleeves just covered the shoulders. Her chest was concealed, though the shape was not. She shrugged. "It's my garden dress,"
He cocked an eyebrow quizzically. "Garden dress?"
She nodded. "It's my dress for the fields. It's as innocent and pure as nature; so it's the only thing I'll wear on my field days."
"I see," was all he could say. He wanted to laugh at how odd she was, but it was that amusing and childlike queerness that put him at ease and relaxed him.
She rolled her eyes. "I know that it's weird, but it's just the way that I work."
He shook his head. "Na, it's interesting,"
"Mr. Styles!" Manuela cried as he entered the kitchen. He and Cerise each took a seat at the bar. "What would you like for breakfast?" Her thick accent lacquered every word and made it sound so much more fun.
"Bacon and eggs, please,"
She beamed at him. "Coming right up, sir,"
"Anyone as pretty as you can call me Harry," he told her with a wink. She burst into a torrent of giggles before turning to the fridge and preparing his meal.
"So do you do that a lot?" he asked Cerise. "The field thing, I mean,"
"I try to," she answered honestly. "I love being out in nature. Especially in my herb garden."
"Herb garden? What are you, like, eighty?" he scoffed jokingly.
She glanced at him sideways with a playful aspect. "Piss off,"
He gave a hearty laugh. "Not so prim and proper after all then, eh?"
Her eyes widened in shock. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be so informal with you! I know you've had a rough time and I should be treating you with much more respect! I'm really--"
"I was joking," he said with another crooked smile. He was extremely amused at how easily her feathers were ruffled. She looked incredibly relieved. "I like it,"
Her face resumed complacency. "Thank you,"
"So, how old are you exactly?" he inquired, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to figure it out.
"Twenty-five," she joked, then shook her head. "Sixteen,"
He gave a single nod. He didn't know what he was expecting, but physically speaking she was clearly younger than he was. She had a childlike innocence, all while being fully mature and responsible. Her eyes were wide and inquisitive, yet her posture was primly erect. She was a contradiction; a puzzle. She was odd, but interesting.
The plate was laid down in front of him, and it was clear to see how serious his hunger had been as he scoffed it all down. His eyes slid to the right, where he sheepishly glanced at Cerise. She burst into laughter.
"What would you like to drink?" Manuela asked.
"Oh-an-joos," he said in between bites.
"Que el esta diciendo?" Manuela demanded Cerise, believing her English to be inadequate.
"Jugo de naranja," Cerise said plainly, not taking her eyes off of Harry for a moment. Manuela gave him the orange juice he had requested.
"So, what do you want to do today?" she asked him after he was done. "Do you want to be alone, or would you like to join me outside?"
"I'll go outside," he answered without hesitation. "Let me take a quick shower and I'll be right down."
~
Harry was sporting beige capri's and a sky blue polo--but, akin to Cerise, no shoes. "Why are we barefoot?"
"Wait," Cerise commanded, silencing him. They walked past the vast backyard, in which there was a clear pool, grill and a bonfire. They came out to an open space of grassland; then a forest. As soon as they stepped on the dark soil Cerise halted and inhaled deeply with her eyes shut. Her face was alarmingly tranquil, while Harry's was just alarmed.
"When you walk barefoot on the earth," she began to explain patiently, "a series of endorphin's are released in your brain, which cause you to be happy. That's the symbiotic relationship; the connection we share with our planet. Don't laugh!"
He shook his head. "I'm not. Now, where's your herb garden?"
She beamed, her face glowing with vivacity. "Right this way,"
Under a canopy of trees, past a blackberry bush and adjacent to a babbling brook sat Cerise's herb garden. There were two plots of soil, each about 4x2 feet in size. In between them was a meager lavender garden, which Cerise sat next to. Harry joined her on the bed of grass.
They were cloaked in a hazy silence; a misty glow of the sun bathing them tenderly. The only sounds to interrupt Cerise as she made a flower crown of lavenders was the chirp of songbirds and the rustling breeze.
She picked a bunch of lavender and began to weave it, her eyes focused on the intricate web. For five minutes she worked on it; then sat the first crown atop Harry's head, and made another.
For someone who was always surrounded by noise and chaos (and enjoyed it most of the time), Harry was palpably calmed by the silence. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't for lack of things to be said. It was for enjoyment; recreation. It was for peace.
Cerise placed the second crown on her head and flashed Harry a brilliant smile.
"Lovely," Harry said cheerily.
"Thank you," Cerise replied, gently touching the crown.
A stray thought crossed Harry's mind before the silence shushed it again: I wasn't talking about the flowers.
