Canyon Moon | H.S.

Second Thoughts (3)

A/N This is the song that I was listening to when writing this chapter. Just pressed shuffle and it came up.

I've included another reference image to give you another idea of Natalie's painting style, because as her paintings get more specific, I'm not going to be able to find examples!

Hope you enjoy this chapter. Lots of love :)

~

I hear heavy footsteps come down the stairs as I pour the first lot of pancake mixture into the pan. After a quick conversation yesterday, I know that the boys have no allergies and aren't particularly fussy with their food, which makes my life a lot easier, and I figured pancakes would be a pretty good peace offering. Plus they can be kept warm easily and I have no idea when they'll all wake up. Well, except for one. Zayn comes shuffling into the kitchen in joggers and a tank top and drops down in a chair.

"Good morning." I say gently, giving him a small smile, which he returns.

"Morning."

"Did you sleep well?" He makes a so-so gesture with his hand, and I turn back to the pancakes, flipping the current one onto a separate plate and starting the next.

"Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"Can I have a coffee please?" He sounds still half asleep, but I set about making him a coffee while the pancake cooks. This doesn't seem so bad so far.

Going to the shops last night gave me a good opportunity to clear my head, walk off the awkwardness, and start afresh, without Louis staring me down when I arrived back. I stocked all the cupboards and gave the kitchen a general clean, doing the dishes that had indeed been piling up in the sink, ignoring the soft voices in the adjoining living room that I'm sure were about me.

I serve up another pancake and place the plate and the mug down in front of Zayn, sauces and fruit already on the table. He nods in thanks and sips his coffee.

I continue making the pancakes and let a few minutes pass quietly. The hiss of the pan and the occasional clink of a mug are the only sounds, but fortunately the quiet is amiable, not uncomfortable. I can hear that he has woken up a bit when he talks to me next.

"Uh, thanks for this," he says after clearing his throat. I give him a small shrug as if to say 'it's what I'm here for'.

"So..." he begins awkwardly, "who are you?" He asks, and I raise an eyebrow, not sure what he's getting at.

"That's a weird way to phrase that, sorry, I mean like, what do you do? Where do you come from? That sort of thing."

I watch him eat for a moment, simultaneously happy he's enjoying the food and wondering how to answer his question. What do I do? That's the million dollar question really. I'm faced with an international pop star, having cooked him breakfast, and I'm about to tell him that I've basically got no friends and frankly no life...

Ah well, having dignity is overrated anyway.

"Not very much, to be honest. I live in a small house on the outskirts of London, have done as long as I can remember, and I work in a pub. Well, worked."

"Huh," he stops, his fork hovering off his plate, "um, well that's okay. Sounds quite nice actually. What do you do when you're not working?"

"I paint," I reply, " a lot. I hope to make a business out of it one day, but for now, yeah it's uh, it's just a hobby I guess."

"That's cool." That's all he says.

I can't really read him, but I think he's being genuine. I figure, I can allow myself to trust these people, whether or not it's returned. I've certainly got nothing to lose in this situation. Whereas trusting new people for them must be pretty high stakes, I imagine. The right information in the wrong hands could ruin their career. Me? There's no stakes at all. The worst that could happen is they get me fired, and I'd go back to the pub, I guess. Back to my normal routine and this little excursion would be nothing more than an odd holiday of sort.