oh, anna [-hs]

the email

a/n this chapter! Cute stuff!

2.

I stare blankly at the screen before me. The words printed in pixels, lighting up my face.

Hello Quinn,

That's all I have to read to feel my heart race.

I shut the laptop and walk away from the table.

"What's wrong? Don't you have to leave in like five minutes?" Emma calls from the bedroom. I run my hand up my face, pushing my bangs up off my forehead. She wanders out of our room, immediately registering my expression. "What is it?"

"He emailed me." That's all I can muster.

"What?" She moves past me and reopens my laptop, effortlessly entering my password.

"He used my business email on my website and emailed me."

"Hello Quinn, If you remember, yesterday--"

I shut the laptop on her and begin pacing the room.

"What is wrong with you Quinn?"

"I don't know." I throw myself onto our leather chair and shut my eyes tight. "Why is he emailing me?"

"Well, if you hadn't broken my fingers just now we would have found out," I hear her reopen the device and I slowly open my eyes.

"Read it to me."

"Hello Quinn," she begins again. "If you remember, yesterday we ran into each other in the Gucci display at NYFW. Of course you remember why would he say it like that. He's Harry Styles, why wouldn't you remember." She interrupts herself. "After you left, I spent some time looking at your work, and I really appreciate your artistic eye and vision. It's... interesting. I am hoping you might consider collaborating on a music video with me. Would you like to meet for coffee-- Oh my God, Quinn." She stops herself, taking a deep breath. "This is incredible."

"Let me see." I climb out of the chair and race back to the table, scanning the remainder of the email.

Would you like to meet for coffee to discuss it? Let me know what time might work best for you. All the love. -H

I lean back.

"What are you going to say?" Emma looks up at me.

"I'm saying yes, dummy."

"Don't talk to me in that tone you're unpredictable, you could have just as easily said no." She turns back to the screen, rereading the email.

She's right, I'm certainly an open book, but also an ever changing one. I don't think there's a predictable bone in my body. I grab my camera off the table, stuff it into my bag, and throw it over my shoulder.

"What are you doing?" She leans to me as I make my way for the door.

"You said it before, I need to go." I begin shoving my feet into my black, heeled boots.

"Well, what about the email?" She stands up, carrying the laptop with her, like she's holding an infant.

"I'll respond on my phone. I need to go!" I grab my coat off the hanger and wave as I walk out the door. Then I suddenly stop, turn back, and peak back into our apartment. She's still standing there, staring down at the screen. "Do not, and I mean do NOT respond for me." I wag my finger at her. She holds her hand up in surrender, the other one gripping the device.

I climb onto the bus as the doors peel back, glancing around for a seat. But of course there isn't one, this is by far the busiest time to be riding. Instead I lean back against an aluminum pole and pull my phone out of my bag. I flip open the email app, and for a moment just stare at the notification.