Finding Finley // h.s

The First (And Half Coincidental) Encounter

It was 6:13pm. I needed to be out of the flat by 6:47pm at the absolute latest if I had any chance of making it to East Croydon station in order to catch the tube up to Watford and then Uber it over to Harry's by 8pm. And yet here I was, at 6:14pm now, standing in front of my full length mirror mentally debating over whether I should go for classic black skinnys or pull out an old, barely there dress I used to wear back when clubbing was something I pretended to enjoy.

The party tonight, which is more of a gathering of friends rather than a full blown party like I originally thought, is at a bar in north-east London called Ruby's. Logistically it did make sense to make my own way to the bar, it was just under an hour trip from here. But there was no way I was showing up there alone, not knowing anyone. Hence why I had insisted to Harry that I would meet him at his place before backtracking to the bar together. Either way, this tight timeline I had created was my own fault and I really didn't feel any more confident in a decision as to what I should wear.

Just as I was about to tear off the bottle green jumper I had for some reason thought would look cute (it really didn't at this current moment), my phone buzzed over on my bedside table. I quickly walked over to see it was a message from my roomate:

ALICE: Can you come out, need to talk to you for a minute.

Alice wasn't one to holler across the flat when she needed my attention so messages like this were a regular occurence. I threw my phone down onto my bed in a huff, really not needing this distraction on an already tight timeline.

She was seated at the dining table, a cookbook propped open along with her laptop. Her hair, in a perfect braid, was tossed over her shoulder and she had a look of complete concentration on her face.

"Hey, what's up?" I questioned causing her to break trance and look up at me.

"How do you feel about risotto?"

"Um, it's fine?"

"Excellent, I'm thinking of making it for Monday night. And I might do some chicken on Wednesday." Alice and I had agreed to share cooking duties throughout the week seeing as we were almost always home together at night. Alice always planned her meals in advance whereas I would quickly scrounge up something based on what we had in the fridge. She never seemed to mind though. "Wait, you mentioned you had chicken last night at your mums. I can do something else then." She started flicking through the cookbook.

I shook my head. "No, no. I don't mind. Look was that all? I'm kind of in a rush."

She looked over at me again as though she just realised I was halfway through getting ready for a night out, as if the semi-waved hair and mascara I haphazardly brushed on wasn't a dead giveaway that I wasn't planning on a Saturday night in. "Do you... have a date?"

I laughed. "Alice, in the past 5 months have I ever once mentioned going on a date?"

She shrugged. "Might be something you want to keep private, I don't know."

She did have a point, we didn't really talk personal lives much. "Well no, I'm not going on a date. Just to a bar with some friends."

"You're not wearing that I hope."

"Honest as always Alice," I grumbled. "I was in the middle of choosing something before you summoned me out here."

Alice turned her attention back to her laptop, clearly she was rapidly losing interest. I was about to turn and march back to my room when she piped up again. "Wear your navy off-the-shoulder top, it's a good contrast to your hair."

I froze in my tracks. "Um... Thanks."

She showed no response, already immersed back in her meal planning. I walked back down the hallway and into my room, immediately going to my cupboard to pull out the aforementioned top. I tossed the jumper on my bed, changed into a strapless bra and slipped on the navy top. Well, I'll be damned. Despite her sometimes frustrating idiosyncrasies, Alice can actually be helpful. She was right about the colour making my auburn hair stand out, and the long bell sleeves gave an air that I'm someone who always has my shit together (which I rarely do, to be quite frank).