Gracie Hartman
They first came in Febuary.
I had just finished performing my original song, Valentine, and I sat down on my usual seat, the plush green chair, chewing on a red velvet cupcakes. I hate red velvet cupcakes. They're so beautiful, that I just HAVE to eat them, even if I'm the middle of one of those quick diets. Because, you know, running is gross.
But anyways, I was just in the middle of devouring a red velvet cupcake, and I shifted my body. I, was wearing some high-waisted shorts, even if I was freezing cold, because I'm stupid, and didn't check the weather. I mean, it was supposed to be summer for God's sake.
Something was poking my bare sthigh, but I was to lazy to check so I layed back, and watched everyone around me. People watching was my specialty. I loved seeing what people were doing around me. There was the usual boyfriend and girlfriend, in front of the Coffee House, arguing. The usual customers, the old couple that were so sweet to each other-I swear to God they'll die the same minute, the same exact second-there were the usual college students, who had been there all day, studying last minute, and alas, there was me.
I leaned over towards the small table, taking my blue ceramic mug, and taking a small sip. I jumped. Damn that thing was still hot. I stuck out my tongue, tapping it with my finger, trying to eases the pain. I realized I probably looked like some crazy girl, I mean, tapping my tongue and all.
That thing poking at my thigh was really annoying the crap outta me. I stood up, looking at the green sofa chair. Nothing looked wrong. I felt around the cushions, and still found nothing. I grumbled.
"Give me what you got, man." I said. People turned around to look at me strangely. Oh right, I was talking to a CHAIR. I smiled, sheepishly.
I took the cushion off, looking around. And long behold, there was a peice of paper wedged under. 'Aha!' I screamed mentally, setting the cushion back down with one hand and sitting down. It was wrapped like an envelope with no name. Blank. Should I open it? I debated. No. That's creepy. Looking through people's things. Oh heck. My curiousness got the better off me, and I ripped the page open. At the top there was a date, just yesterday.
'Gracie. Gracie Hartman right? I decided to wedge it in this cushion, since it seems that you, and you only would sit here. Therefore, you would see this. I really like you. Oh gosh, that probably sounded stalker-ish. I sometimes go here, listen to your music. Your voice is amazing, by the way. I just feel captivated by you. The way you converse with people, how you laugh-you throw your head back, and your silky hair just falls behind your shoulders. I don't really know why I want this to be anonymous. I guess, my life is boring, and it would be an adventure you know? I hope one day I'll have the guts to talks to you Gracie. Well, you're great. Follow your dreams. Much love. xx'
I gaped at the small, handwritten letter. But the only thing I was thinking was, "Should I call the fucking cops?'
YOU ARE READING
Coffee House / 1D FIC
RomanceGracie Hartman is just trying to make it. She gave up everything, just to follow her dreams. She's a singer, and honestly a damn good one too. And someone else seems to think so too. She sings at a coffee house, and one day, that's when they came. L...
