That Thing by barefootdreamer
Summary:

A story I found in my hard drive entitled That Thing....I guess I never got around to changing the file title.

The short is inspired by Date a Girl Who Reads by Rosemarie Urquico.


Categories: Romance Characters: None
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 1019 Read: 13184 Published: 25 Aug 2012 Updated: 27 Aug 2012
That Thing by barefootdreamer

She was sitting in a coffee shop; half empty because of the wicked blizzard, half full because of the cinnamon toasty warmth that it offered. The old ravenclaw scarf her friend had knit for her all those years ago was draped on the back of the plush red chair she was curled up in. Her black framed glasses were slowly sliding down her nose that was covered in freckles and her black hair was perched precariously atop her head in a messy bun. While turning the page of her book of the week--she usually finished them in a day or two, but never admitted it--she paused to check the temperature of her tea; Earl grey, with just a bit of sugar.

 

She was so entirely engrossed in her book that she did not notice the young man enter the café. Probably for the best because had she noticed him order in a low unmistakeably english accent, she would not have been able to concentrate on her book. Suddenly her phone rang jolting her out of her position. She reached frantically for her bag fishing out her phone. She declined the call, not ready to face him. Not ready to face anyone. She glanced at her watch finally realising it was probably time for her to get back to her real life. She gathered up her things putting on her scarf and coat and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Preparing to brace the cold, she headed towards the door. In her haste she bumped in the the handsome boy, the british one. The one she hadn't noticed.

 

"Sorry," he said catching her off guard with his lilting accent. The kind of voice she dreamed about.

 

"I--it was my fault. Sorry." She paused but thought better of it, stepping around him and heading for the door. 

 

As she pushed the door open and stepped outside she forgot about the boy. She'd taught herself to forget about these kinds of boys. Little did she know, that boy, was watching her make her way down the street and out of sight. Because there was nothing more he loved than girls who read, even more, girls who loved Harry Potter.

 

*

 

Weeks later she was in the same chair her hair in braids this time but the same scarf and glasses. A different book, she'd been through about 19 since the last time. The shop was full, the only seat empty, the one across from her. She'd been there for a couple of hours, the dregs of her tea leaves swirling in the bottom of her cardboard cup.

 

This time, she looked up when the door opened and that mysterious handsome boy entered the shop. This time, her eyes followed him when he ordered his orange pekoe with milk, no sugar. This time, when he got his cup, he made his way towards her and sat across from her. She went back to her book, not wanting to be disturbed, much less by a boy that would defenitely tear apart her resolve. Beyond any doubt. He seemed to not care, he pulled out his own book, After Dark, it was a Murakami. One of her favourites in fact. She glanced at him. He was slouched in the chair, his elbow on the armrest and his head rested on his palm, his long fingers curling up and framing his face. His other hand held the book. He was reading intently. She could tell he wasn't a reader. She could tell from one glance that he didn't have much time for reading and but he wished he did. He would finish the book and feel accomplised and not pick up a book for another year and a half. But she could tell that he was enjoying it. She smiled and went back to her book.

 

Sadly, about 20 minutes later the book proving to be shorter than she thought, ended, or rather she finished it. She closed it and put it in her bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen. She paused and the pen hovered over the paper before she began to write her pen racing across the pages. Little did the boy across from her know, she was writing about him. She paused and looked up to observe him, only to find that he was observing her. His book had run out of pages on him. She was caught off guard by his piercing green eyes. He didn't look away. 

 

And she couldn't help it. She imagined it, all of it.

 

The late nights, warm summers, good cups of tea. Sunny afternoons spent inside, stretched out on the couch, secrets floating into the warm air. The promises, the wishes. Staring at the stars for what seemed like forever, her head on his chest listening to his steady heartbeat. And one night, although all he'll want to do is punch the boy who broke her heart, he'll drag her away. And later when she was crying her eyes out, he'd hold her and tell her it would be okay. Taking on Europe together, and staying there for a year. Getting married. Naming their children after fictional characters and a beautiful cities. Growing old together.

 

And the daydream was over. She was back in the warm coffee shop and he was looking at her thoughtfully. She knew it was wrong dreaming. She'd done it too many times. Been wrong too many times. But she wanted all of it. She didn't even know his name. 

 

"I'm Matt."

 

This was too much, she had to leave. It had gone too far. She could not let this happen again. But then, he said something that changed everything.

 

"Be it your Ravenclaw scarf or the fact that you are too scared to take a chance again, I will do my best to fulfill that fairytale that just danced across your eyes."

 

And she knew he wasn't just any guy. 

 

"I read something once, and since then I've vowed to live by it."

This story archived at http://www.fictioncentral.net/viewstory.php?sid=57