1:55 | h.s

Chapter Five

Harry lounged in the passenger seat like it was moulded specifically for him. So much calm confidence that it eventually affected me. My hands slowly unclenched from the steering wheel.

He occasionally provided me with directions, but never enough to betray the exact location.

Some rational part of my mind reminded me that even though I am driving, Harry is still practically a stranger.

And as Momma used to preach; don't get in the car with strangers.

But Momma failed to protect me from so many other dangers, that I stopped caring.

"Pull over we're here."

It was a quiet one-way street. The only business still open, a small restaurant at the corner. A lone couple sat outside in the dim light, their laughter echoing in the night.

I locked the car, following Harry up the steps to a two-story building.

"A bakery?" I questioned after reading the sign above the door. Through the glass, I could see the pink chairs staked on the tables. The displays were empty of delicious treats.

"If you're in the mood for cupcakes we're a bit early. But I'll bring you back one time when they're open."

"Why do you have keys?" I questioned, following Harry inside. It still smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.

"I used to work here."

My phone vibrated in my back pocket. I didn't have to look to know that it was Brian. He started calling when we were a few blocks from his house. Neither Harry nor I bothered to address the vibrating phone as it continually rang in the car. I ignored the call again, taking the steps two at a time behind Harry.

A single door led us into an open space. Harry flicked on the light.

The wood floors were worn, a single brown carpet was off centre in the middle of the room; probably an attempt to hide the scuffed wood.

A cat peeked at me from an old yellow sofa, and to its right stood a brand-new red leather couch.

A mix of old and new.

An electric guitar proudly stood in one corner, and on the wall hung an acoustic guitar with a chipped body.

"What is this place?" I asked, running my fingers over the polished surface of a piano.

"A little bit of everything."

I could feel Harry's eyes on me as I walked around the room. Scratching the cat behind the ears, letting my hand trail across the soft material of the yellow sofa.

"Ben, he uh. His wife owns the place, he taught me how to play the guitar in here."

Harry lifted the acoustic guitar from the wall before sitting down beside the cat on the couch, who stretched out languidly as Harry strummed out a tune.

"Why'd you bring me here."

His fingers paused and he lifted his head. His eyes were dark in the dim room, partially hidden behind wayward hairs that had fallen into his face.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" He deflected my question with one of his own, his long fingers easily picking out a different tune. Slow and calming.

"Harry." I huffed in annoyance.

"Come on." He patted the spot beside him, ignoring the cat that batted at his hand. "It's an easy question."

"An Olympic gold medallist."

"Now that you got that out of your system. What do you really want to be?"

"An Olympic gold medallist," I repeated.

"At least you stick to the lie, I'll give you that." Harry laughed. He patted the spot next to him again. And this time, I took him up on the offer.

The cat protested loudly before scurrying off to sit on the piano.

"Want to learn?" Harry asked softly.

"What is this all about?"

Using one hand, Harry shoved the hair from his eyes. Up close I could see the green them.

"Morbid curiosity."

"I'm not a circus show for your viewing pleasure." Harry grabbed onto my hand, stopping me in my attempt to leave the room.

"When you got on that first-place podium Monday night, I saw you. I saw you, Emily Finch. And I don't know how to walk away from that."

My heart hammered in my chest. I could feel his thumb pressing into the soft underside of my wrist.

He held my gaze. Determined and soft.

"Show me how to play."