#a few more guys ?!!!!?? oh dear good thing carbs can always fix a broken heart

[monicaalexandraaa]

This part was incredible !!!! I went through so many emotions and had the best time🤩🤩🩷

The Lottery IV

Read The Lottery here | ~6.2k words

From me: we're getting close to the end I think

Warnings: angsty/fluffy/pining nonsense. Slow burning love

Summary: Harry loves to help her. She loves to help him. The whole town knows he loves her. They wish he would admit it.

Just like Christmas, she was out and about in the middle of the summer solstice festival. She helped organize a wiffle ball tournament for the younger kids and convinced Harry to make hot dogs and hamburgers to hand out in the middle of the field. She was at the diner bright and early making her way behind the counter and grabbing pitchers that Harry used for water to make batches of lemonade.

Why he didn’t say no, baffled her. But to Harry it was obvious.

They were sipping lemonade on the curb outside his diner. They were watching people eat and chat. There was music and dancing. It was warm and the air smelled like barbeque and bug spray. The sun was setting, and she looked so pretty. Tanned, hair pulled back through a baseball hat, and her legs stretched into the road. Harry wasn’t going to sit outside and deal with the festival at all, but she was there, so he had little choice in the matter. But as happy as he felt (inwardly—God forbid Harry smile) he wondered why she didn’t have a happier look on her face. “What?”

She hesitated for only the briefest moment. “Do you... know anything about fireworks?” She asked.

He stared at her. He was already ahead of her and knew exactly where her questioning was going to lead next, but he was a glutton for punishment. Or just really wanted to see her smile because she was happy. “Not particularly,” he mumbled.

She pouted. Her fingers went to the little moon charm around her neck, and she rubbed her thumb over it, like a nervous habit. Or a worry stone. “I guess the person who dropped the fireworks off didn’t get the memo he was supposed to stay to help set them off.”

Maybe if she was touching anything other than the necklace that Harry got her, he would have said no. (Although probably not.) It was like it was a comfort to her and it made him a little too happy knowing she was using it as a coping motion whether she realized it or not. In fact, if it was subconscious, it made Harry like it more—even almost a little possessive in nature. With a deep sigh, Harry pushed off the curb and headed toward where he knew the fireworks were being set off. “You don’t have to help,” she called from behind him.

“Are y’gonna set them off, Peach?” He questioned; his eye roll could be heard without having her look back at him to see it. “You’ll blow y’hand off.”

She smiled sweetly to herself, smoothing her finger over the moon charm once more. “Did you see the moon today?” She asked and pointed toward the crescent that wasn’t much different than the one around her neck.

He looked at it briefly. “S’nice,” he answered sincerely as he could because he was focused on the fireworks and how he would get her away because he would lose his ever-loving mind if she got injured. People called out to her, and she waved like she was the mayor. She was one of the nicest people Harry had ever met so it wasn’t surprising that people adored her, but it was pretty crazy that she chose one of the grumpiest people to befriend. She looked fondly at the moon as they walked, nearly not paying attention to her footpath, so Harry grabbed her wrist before she tripped and fell over another curb.

“Sorry,” she shook her head and focused on their walk and glanced briefly at it once more before. Longingly, like she wouldn’t see it again.

“Do y’know what the outline around the moon is?” He asked, wondering if he could distract her so she would still be able to talk about the moon but not nearly break an ankle on the ground. “I’ve always wondered.”

She nodded. “It’s called earthshine. Basically, the light from the sun bounces off the earth and reflects on the moon that’s not illuminated by the sun.”

“Cool,” he said simply.

She smiled. “I’m a little weird about the moon, hmm?”

“Why do you think that?”

The smile on her pretty face disappeared and she shook her head. “No reason, just... I think I can be a lot sometimes.”

Harry wished they weren’t about to set off fireworks and they were in the privacy of his diner or her house or something. But really what would he have actually said if they were alone? It’s not like he would confess his feelings for her. The anger he felt toward whoever made her feel like a lot made his chest ache. The shyness on her face made him feel sick. She wasn’t a lot. Or if she was, she should have been a lot, proudly.

But they weren’t alone, and Harry wasn’t going to tell her how he felt anyway. “Well, there’s worse thing t’be a lot ‘bout than the moon,” he shrugged.

“Not the pancakes though,” she grinned sweetly, the brief look of sadness in her eyes replaced by her usual playfulness.

The smirk on his lips didn’t match the smile he felt on the inside. “I thought we were talking ‘bout y’being a lot. Not high maintenance.”

“Harry Styles!”

He shrugged, uncaring at his backhanded comment. He continued on trying not to think about how pretty she looked when she talked about things she loved. Tried not to think about the retroactive heart ache in his chest. Or maybe it was predicting the future because someone as pretty and lovely as her could only break his fragile heart.

But he also noticed that the tiniest bit of hope was blooming inside his ribcage because she was so pretty and lovely. It would be worth the heartache. Right? She would be worth it.

So, Harry kept quiet and focused on the fireworks. Hundreds of exploding colorful things and not a single one of them had anything to do with the ones that illuminated the sky a little while later.

*

Harry’s phone rang mid-evening. He was reading a book and had the football game on from the morning. It was the perfect kind of night. But of course, when he saw that Peach was calling, he didn’t have a choice. She never called. She texted and texted. Sent him pictures of the moon on her grainy camera and the cute little dogs that she saw in the city some days. Sometimes she sent him links to recipes she thought he should try for breakfast and honestly, he was a shitty friend because he typically ignored most of them. Sending only a thumbs up emoji or an okay if she asked for help.

So, Harry assumed she was dying in that moment.

“Hello?” He answered quickly fear starting in his chest before he could stop it.

“I don’t know what’s happening! My washing machine is freaking out and it’s overflowing, and I don’t know what to do!”

Harry was relieved and also halfway out the door the moment he said hello. “M’on m’way.”

There was a knock on the front door about five minutes after she called Harry. “It’s open!” She knew she was going to get a lecture about leaving it unlocked again. But Harry came right in. She was busy with every towel she owned creating a barrier around the floor of the laundry room (a small little space, hardly bigger than a closet) and kept the water from creeping into the hall.

Harry didn’t even come near her he headed straight for her basement. Within moments the water stopped dripping, and she sighed with relief. “I turned y’water off.”

“Fuck, why didn’t I think of that,” she frowned. “Sorry you came all the way over,” she pushed the towels into the closet sopping up the mess as best she could.

“D’you have a wet vac?”

“A what?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, Harry returned, knocking and walking in. “You don’t have to knock, Harry.”

“S’polite,” he muttered. “Move,” he pushed her gently out of the way, plugged in the vacuum, and sucked up the water. She rubbed her temples as he turned it off and twirled the cord back up into a neat circle.

“I can’t even wash these,” she grumbled. “Oh my God, I used every towel,” she groaned.

“I’ll take ‘em,” Harry shrugged. “Wash ‘em for you,” he offered.

“Harry, I can’t have you do my laundry.”

“S’not like m’washing your underwear, Peach. S’jus’ towels.” She tried not to think about Harry touching her underwear. But it was very difficult. Fortunately, Harry was focused on the task at hand, grabbing a trash bag to put her sopping wet towels in for transport. “Are y’doing some home improvements?” He asked looking at the few boxes of soft close drawer slides.

“I think I put too much stuff in one drawer in the kitchen. It kinda broke. So, I figured I could revamp all of them and that it would make me sift through stuff I no longer need or want. The bathroom drawer was sticking anyway, so it made sense to fix them all.”

“Do y’need help?” He asked. She bit the inside of her lip. It felt like she had been waiting to ask Harry if she could borrow his drill. But that seemed so rude to just outright ask him. He was a busy guy, and she was more than willing to do it herself, but she knew he would insist on helping.

Plus, there was the whole Ronan side of things.

“Peach?”

How long had she been silent while Harry kindly packed up her towels? Why did she feel guilty about dating someone else around him? Was Harry getting hotter by the second or was that a trick of the light?

“We’re... friends right?”

Harry blinked. “I don’t think a stranger could get me t’dress as Santa,” he rolled his eyes and stared at her. “S’matter? I can pop these in for y’in a minute,” he nodded toward the boxes again.

“Well, thank you. But I would really like to do it,” she admitted. “I don’t want to take advantage of your help, and I like to believe I’m independent.”

“Peach, y’own a whole business and house. S’not like y’jus’ wait around for me t’do stuff for you. M’still miffed y’cleaned your own gutters after I said I would do it.”

“Yeah, but it’s gross,” she reminded him. “You had your own gutters to do and everyone under the sun would ask you.”

He rolled his eyes again ignoring her rationale. “We’re friends, of course.”

Her heart skipped a beat. It almost bothered her that they were friends. Only friends. She looked at her feet. “I’m kind of seeing someone. Hasn’t been long. Only four or so dates. Only dinner and movies. But I didn’t tell you because... I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone to be fair. Just Bailey, actually. I don’t know the protocol for dating around here because it feels like I need the whole town to approve of him like it’s my business venture all over again. And I don’t know, I know that I’m friendly and stuff and everyone likes me, but I think you’re my only real friend here and I don’t think I need anyone else’s approval except yours and I think that makes me a shitty friend.”

It was so quiet she thought that maybe Harry just left while she rambled. She knew why she needed Harry’s approval. It would mean that he didn’t like her in that way. That the way she liked him wasn’t reciprocated and it was a good thing that she was dating. Her pining would be quiet and hidden. The way it had been since she moved to town and made him make her pancakes even though he didn’t want to. Even though she was a pain in the butt and made him dress like Santa and made him set off fireworks when he didn’t really want anything to do with town events.

Finally, she peered up from her feet and looked at Harry and his confused expression. His eyebrows pinched together. His eyes searching her curiously. “Why d’you need my approval t’date someone? S’your love life,” he shrugged. “If he’s nice t’you, I won’t have a problem with him,” she wondered if he knew how much that meant to her. Apparently, she was hoping for his approval more than she truly realized. She nearly choked on the breath she was holding as she released it. “M’gonna put this in m’truck. D’you have a drill or do y’need mine?” He asked hauling the wet towels toward the front door.

“Yours,” she croaked.

*

Harry shouldn’t have been surprised that she was dating. She was so lovely. Inside and out. There was no other way to describe it. Sure, she was beautiful outwardly, but it only reflected a fraction of how stunning her personality was. Even the annoying parts. It made his chest pinch with jealousy every time he thought of the stupid (that was Harry’s code word for lucky) man that held her affection.

Fortunately for Harry, Ronan didn’t last much longer. “It just didn’t click,” she shrugged over her white chocolate chip and peach pancakes one morning when Harry asked her why she looked upset.

“M’sorry, Peach,” Harry frowned. “S’on me today,” he assured her.

“You can’t give me free food every time I have a breakup. I suspect you’ll lose money at that rate,” she said with a tone of self-deprecation that Harry couldn’t truly believe was coming from her voice. “I think I’m destined to be alone,” she sighed. He snorted before he could stop it. Reached across the counter and squeezed her forearm.

“I simply don’t believe that,” he said reassuringly. She blinked at Harry’s willingness to touch her arm unprompted and before she knew it, he was gone, back to the grill to make more food.

What she couldn’t see was the absolutely delighted smile on his lips—completely on display in private—at the thought of her breakup.

*

She dated a few guys over the years. But Harry’s confidence in her ability to find someone seemed unfounded. Each one ended in a breakup. Only one in particular made her heart ache for longer than the others. Even Harry treated her differently for that month of moping in her own way. She didn’t banter as much. It made Harry ache with want for her attitude, quips, and annoyingness.

Each time Harry comped her pancakes and reassured his friend that she was destined for love whether she believed it or not.

Small town life wasn’t for the guys she brought to the little place with so many traditions and parties. They didn’t earn the approval of everyone in town but the only approval she needed was that of her best friend.

"When’s Louis coming back?” She asked.

Harry hated when Louis came back now. He used to love seeing his friend and getting to be himself around someone that didn’t treat him differently just because he was heartbroken and damaged the way the rest of the town did.

“Never,” he rolled his eyes.

She frowned and immediately reached for the moon charm on her pretty throat. “I miss him.”

“Well, I don’t like when y’two are together. S’trouble. Y’both are mean.”

“Are you saying that because we make fun of your grumpiness together?” He glared at her over his shoulder and headed to the back to get the pitcher of coffee he made for her the day before as he always did. Despite the fact that she was a pain in the butt and made fun of him with his (supposed) best friend. “You’re different when he’s around,” she said when he returned pouring the coffee into a reusable cup because she would be on the go soon enough. Although, the way she settled in with her laptop, notebook, and everything else spread across the seat next to her and her own spot, Harry wasn’t sure when her reading hour began today. It looked like she was staying for the morning, which would have delighted him.

There was hardly any room for the breakfast he was going to bring out though—fortunately it was a muffin day so she wouldn’t need much room. Today she wore a Dr. Suess hat—like the one the Cat in the Hat wore. She had drawn whiskers on her cheeks and a cute red triangular nose too. She was so fucking cute it was unbearable for Harry sometimes (almost always).

“Different,” he repeated trying to stop the swelling of his heart as he looked at her. He smacked her hand as she reached for the cream and sugar behind the counter, loosening the swell and reminding him not to drool.

“You smile more. Same when Gemma visits. I think you are hiding some nice memories in there,” she poured cream into the liquid and tapped the side of her head with her freehand. “I’ve heard rumors since I’ve moved here that you got some bad ones too,” she shrugged casually as if those bad memories weren’t the reason he was a sour person. “I like when they’re around. I like when other people get to see the real Harry, not the one that’s been hiding behind your grumpy face.”

“How do y’know m’not the real Harry?” As far as he could tell his grumpy persona was the only one that he had left to show.

She shrugged again. “Real grumpy people don’t dress up as Santa or supply lemonade for the whole town. Nor do they do things for their annoying friend and comp her breakfast when she gets broken up with.”

She grabbed the muffin, turned and headed for the exit. “Peach? Your stuff?”

“Oh, I’ll be back. I just have reading hour,” she grinned over her shoulder, truly as chaotic as the Cat in the Hat was.

“You’re not serious,” he followed after her as she crossed the street toward her shop stopping in the middle of the road but it wasn’t like there were enough cars to worry about getting run over. “Y’can’t leave your stuff on the counter!”

“It’s only an hour, Harry. I’ll be right back!”

“M’not watching it! If it gets stolen, m’not responsible!”

“If someone in this town wants to steal my stuff, they can have it!” She shouted without turning around and entered her shop.

But she knew Harry was going to watch it anyway.

*

“Miss Peach, are you any good at trigonometry?”

She was behind the check out counter, reading from her book monitoring the study group. People were reading and a couple were stacking books in their arms. “Hmm,” she pursed her lips. “It’s been a long while since I thought about trigonometry, Lea,” she headed to the reference section to see if she could find a textbook to help them. She pulled a chair up beside the pair of girls who were working.

Harry was outside, fixing the Christmas lights to the front of her window. “Harry is in love with you,” Lea whispered.

She blushed. “He’s just my friend,” she said and flipped through the pages looking for something useful that would help them solve their problem.

“I wish I had a friend like Harry,” Maryam muttered.

She snorted and then smiled. “He’s a good one.”

“Do you like him?” Lea asked.

“Do I like one of my very best friends? Yes. Of course I do.”

“Miss Peach,” Maryam rolled her eyes.

“Harry’s so easy to read,” Lea whispered. There was a pair of boys at the other end of the big square table. They were “studying” watching highlight reels from yesterday’s game. “You’re much more difficult. Plus, you do the whole dating thing,” she explained.

“It absolutely tortures Harry,” Maryam agreed.

“Hey Peach, d’you have another string of lights?” He asked from the doorway. “This one y’gave me is half out.”

She frowned. “I’ll have to go buy another string later.”

“I’ll go,” he shrugged and headed out just as quickly.

“Smitten,” Maryam sighed.

“Completely,” Lea agreed.

“This looks like the diagram you’re working with,” she diverted back to the textbook and focused on the numbers and letters of her homework problem and not the bit of hope that filled her lungs at the thought of Harry liking her in that way. If there was a chance of having him all to herself,she never would date another man the rest of her life.

*

Harry helped stock books when a new shipment came in, which was great because he was much more focused than she was. She had to read the back cover of any new book, and it took her twice as long to unpack them all. “What do you like to read?”

He shrugged. “Bit of everything.”

“Do you have something to recommend to me?” She asked putting only one lone book on the shelf when Harry had set up at least two whole sections of shelves in that time. She stocked essentially one or two of each book that arrived at her store. It wasn’t a massive bookstore, so space was of course limited. But if someone wanted to buy it she would order more.

Harry watched her reading the back cover of the next book, her fingers around the moon charm once more sliding it gently back and forth along the chain. She looked so at home surrounded by books and so relaxed. She dropped the charm and reached for her coffee to sip it. Harry wanted to take a picture of her because this was completely her element; it needed to be preserved for all of time. “Uh...”

“It doesn’t have to be anything personal. I get wanting to hoard a book that means a lot to you. It’s kind of like asking someone to watch your baby for the first time. You don’t want anything to happen to it,” she offered. “I just thought I’d ask. I don’t really know what kind of books you like,” she smiled. “I would love to stock stuff for you.”

“Uh...” he shook his head struggling to come up with a title. He cleared his throat. “I read sort of depressing books,” he focused on stocking the next shelf.

She frowned, her fingers immediately finding the charm around her neck again. “Well, that’s okay. I prefer the term cathartic, perhaps? Books are meant to make you feel but I don’t think they’re meant to make you feel depressed,” she shrugged. “I read The Tattooist of Auschwitz and that is by far one of the saddest books I’ve ever read but it might be one of my favorites.”

She watched Harry carefully place the books on the shelves. He was taking great care not to bend any covers. He was gentle. This was important to her and ergo it seemed important to him. “I don’t think I have any titles t’share,” he shrugged.

She nodded. “That’s fine, I just wanted to ask.”

“Do y’have The Tattooist of Auschwitz?” He asked quietly. She smiled, nodded excitedly and scampered to behind the checkout counter. There was a pile of books beneath the cabinets—her own personal collection of favorites that she liked to keep there as backups if she wasn’t in the mood to dive into something new. Or if a student at the high school needed a book for a project and she happened to have it and it wasn’t going to be ordered in time.

Or if Harry needed a copy of one of her favorites.

“It’s a pretty quick read, but God does it make you feel.” He turned it over in his hands. Like he was holding her baby in his hands as she had said. This book meant something important to her and she was passing it off to him. “I hope you’ll like it, but I won’t be offended if you don’t.”

Harry couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he wouldn’t like her baby. “How much?”

“Oh, that’s my copy,” she said. “I can order you one, if you want your own. But you can have that one for now.”

He tucked it carefully beneath his jacket on the back of a nearby chair. The box of books in front of him needed organizing. They went back to their quietness of Harry stocking books, her reading the back of one for every row of books Harry completed, and her fingers danced along the chain around her neck.

*

Like everyone else, she noticed the diner had been closed for three days. It didn’t even have the opening late sign that every once in a blue moon appeared merely because he had an appointment or was sleeping late (because he deserved it! She told everyone who complained) or the delivery was coming in later than expected and it didn’t make sense to open without food or dealing with it partway through the breakfast rush.

But three days with no communication from him of any kind and no sight of him, made her a bit anxious. Harry was often in her house without warning before she arrived home—fixing something for her that she didn’t even know needed fixing. Or because she had mentioned something in passing that wasn’t working up to snuff. Any time she bought a lightbulb, it seemed Harry knew, and he was in her house testing all light switches and lamps to find the culprit.

All of that meant she felt entering his diner without asking seemed like it was only fair (and legal as far as their friendship went.) The silence in the usually bustling little place didn’t feel right though. She missed her friend (and the pancakes). But mostly arguing with her friend and the smack on the back of her hand when she reached for the cream and sugar that dare she say she missed for the last three days.

“Harry,” she sang making her way back toward the apartment behind his shop. “Honey, I’m home!” She cooed. She hadn’t been back here before but found the little hallway that led behind the back of the diner and to the door to what had to be his living space.

She knocked and opened it without waiting for a response.

One look and it hardly looked like he was home. She frowned, feeling bad that she was intruding but then she heard a cough.

“Harry?” She asked.

Slowly his tall body appeared. It was obvious he didn’t feel well. He covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow, his hair in disarray. His eyes shiny with sleep and the exertion of coughing so hard it made his eyes water. He looked exhausted.

“Oh my,” she murmured. “Are you alright?”

“How did y’get in?” It felt like knives scraping against every inch of the inside of his throat to speak. He winced as she pushed past him.

“Jesus. No talking. Come sit down,” but she was already pulling him to his couch. Like she had been here a thousand times even though it was the first time she set foot back here in all the years she had known him. She fluffed the pillows around him and tossed a blanket over him. Harry hadn’t had someone care for him while he was sick since he was young—since his mom and Gem tended to his stomach bugs and during his yearly cold and flu season. “You are so obvious and hide the key under the mat. Thought you were slick painting it black to match but I’ve seen you use it before. Everyone has been worried sick about you—me included. You could’ve let me know if you were sick; I would have been over a lot sooner,” he noticed how disappointed she sounded in him, and he felt sorry that he made her worry. But he didn’t want her help. If she were to get sick, he would feel so guilty. He didn’t want her to feel shitty like he did.

It took a lot more energy to get out of bed than he thought it would when he heard her sweet voice calling for him beyond the quiet space between sleeping and dreaming. He opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him before a syllable could leave his lips. “Uh-buh-uh. No talking. I’m serious. Text it,” she offered handing her phone to him.

This is the first day I’ve been able to get out of bed in three days. My voice has been gone for three days.

She read it and nodded. “Doctor?”

He shrugged. I’ve had it before. She nodded again.

“Alright. Well...soup it is,” she said standing. Harry grabbed her arm before she was out of reach. The exertion did feel like a lot.

He shook his head. You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get sick.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t want you to be sick. No one has made me breakfast in three days,” she reminded him. He smiled despite himself. “Do you have medicine?” She asked. He looked at her phone ready to type out that he didn’t, but he knew that it would just make her madder. She sighed, distaste evident in her soundless tone and breath. “Alright, I’m going to go get food for soup and medicine. Don’t move, yeah? Drink some water.”

If it wasn’t obvious, Harry had no choice but to obey her.

“Where’s your phone?” He couldn’t remember at all, there was a strong possibility it was dead. “I’ll call it,” she said, and she walked around his house listening for the sound of it. “A-ha!” She sounded triumphant. “You only have a peach for my contact?” She giggled. “You know the emoji is slang for a butt, right?” He rolled his eyes, but the motion hurt his head. He winced again at the pain. “Alright, I’ll lay off the annoyingness,” she smiled sadly. She reached for a charger. “I like this table,” she mumbled as there was a plug built into the top of it, so it was easy for her to plug his phone in. “I’ll be right back, but text me if you need something.”

His voice was gone. He looked exhausted from lack of sleep because he couldn’t stop coughing. She made herself at home in his place. She made him homemade soup and he realized he had never had any of her cooking beyond anything she chose to bake and share with the town.

Within an hour he was eating hot soup it felt like heaven on his throat. She sat at one end of the sofa slurping broth and scrolling through her phone and Harry couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in his personal space. It felt so right. He sets his soup aside for a moment. Feeling a little more aware and awake with food in his system.

Not to mention it was fucking delicious.

This is really good, thank you. I didn’t know you could cook...Why don’t you make your own breakfast?

“I wouldn’t get to bug you every day,” she smiled so sweetly and fluttered her lashes at him. He rolled his eyes, and it didn’t hurt this time. “Do you want me to make my own breakfast?”

He answered too quickly. No. That’s not what I mean.

“So, you would miss me?”

He sighed and even though he was sick, she could feel his exasperation as he stared at her with an irritated expression. But it’s one that she loved. She loved his grumpy face because no matter how grumpy he appeared; she could see the smile hiding in his eyes. Every single time. And she’d look into those green eyes for the rest of her life and see those hidden smiles if it meant she could be friends with Harry for forever.

No. I would miss... he paused while trying to finish the sentence before holding his phone out to her to read. annoying someone.

She smiled brightly. “Yeah? That so?”

He nodded.

“Well, you don’t annoy me. So maybe I will make my own breakfast from now on.”

He frowned. The expression on his face changed. It was a bit forlorn. His eyes don’t have the same smile as she could spot a mile away. He knew she was kidding but was he... hurt? By her teasing? He really would miss her?

He didn’t think he would have to say it, but...seeing her every day since she moved to town five years ago...and then...not seeing her? It would hurt. Don’t be like that. I’m sick.

Her laughter filled his little apartment, and he never felt so much adoration for someone. “Don’t worry. I don’t own a coffee maker—you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Something occurred to him in that moment, and he didn’t want to ask, but he would feel bad if he didn’t. Travis... doesn’t mind you’re here?

She smiled sadly. “Travis didn’t last long. I’m all yours, Harry,” she gave his knee a squeeze and headed to the kitchen to continue being an angel or something more for him.

He smiled and rather enjoyed having someone take care of him for a change.

Or maybe it was just because it was Peach taking care of him.

*

The following morning, Harry felt a lot better. His throat still ached but it wasn’t as bad as the previous days.

Then Harry realized very quickly that there was noise coming from the diner. A lot of noise. The kind of noise that only the early morning rush could muster. And laughter.

So much laughter that Harry honest to God felt happy, nostalgic, and like laughing for the first time in a really long time. He imagined waking up and hearing the very same kind of happiness and laughter from the other room before he bolted to find his mum and the entire town existing and enjoying the morning breakfast routine.

But then he figured maybe Peach had knocked the sign off when she came in with arms full of food and medicine yesterday and people were waiting for breakfast thinking that he was up and at ‘em again. He put on clothes as quickly as he could with his head feeling like a balloon still. He hurried to see what the commotion was because it seemed weird that everyone would be in the diner when he distinctly had it closed, and he wasn’t there.

When he entered, everyone stared at him. “How are you feeling Harry?” Alice asked.

He blinked in surprise at everyone eating and chatting as if it were normal to be there without Harry. “How did—”

“Hi Harry!”

Ah.

She appeared from the kitchen carrying plates of food and settling them on the tables as she passed. She marched right up to Harry after and pressed her hand to his forehead. If he wasn’t already flushed from being ill, his cheeks would have turned red as everyone witnessed her touching him. No one ever touched Harry. No hugs, no high fives, nothing.

But of course, she was different. Perhaps everyone knew that. They kept their smiles to themselves, and she grinned. “I hope you don’t mind. I told everyone I can make bacon, eggs, home fries, and toast without setting the place on fire. But everyone was missing you and the diner.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell these nice, sweet people missed his grumpy self. They were here for her. Someone who didn’t grow up here but acted like she did. “Can I make you something? I’ll make you tea!” She decided and pulled him toward the counter seat, her counter seat. She hurried behind the counter and busied herself with a mug and hot water. “How do you feel?” She asked.

“Good,” he cleared his throat and winced at the feeling.

She pouted. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

And miss the delightful show she was putting on? Running his diner as if she did this every day? No way. Was everyone as floored about this as he was? Probably not. They probably knew that Harry loved her in such a way that he never loved anyone else in this town.

Harry reached for the sugar and cream behind the counter, and she smacked his hand away and winked, placing the little plate in front of him. “I can make you eggs,” she offered her fingers touching the moon on her neck. “Are you okay?” She asked.

He nodded and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before heading off toward the grill.

“Miss Peach any chance you could make those blueberry muffins of yours?”

“Oh! That’s an excellent idea, Ed! Let me get Harry some breakfast and I’ll get right on it!” She called from behind the kitchen.

Harry decided that he might love being sick.

But really, he knew it was just that he was in love.

--

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