Chapter 3
Harper POV
Six hours had passed, and she was still there, seated
in the same spot in the middle of the bench. Did someone forget to come pick
her up? Poor soul. I stepped away from the window, gathering the tips I’d
collected from the tables and carrying them to the cash register. Every cent
counted. I’d use them to pay Rob, and my cashier, whatever I could scrape
together.
“She’s still out there?” Slenderina asked, her voice
tinged with curiosity. Her name came from that creepy nightmare game, Slenderina
in the Forest, and she adored it. Halloween was practically her personal
holiday; Christmas too, but she saved her biggest energy for October.
“Yep. Haven’t moved a muscle. Just staring at a leaf,”
I replied.
“She’s probably fresh out of the mad house,”
Slenderina said, shrugging. “There’s literally an asylum two towns over.”
“She doesn’t look crazy,” I said, skeptical.
Slenderina arched an eyebrow. “How would you know
that? Just because she’s in clean clothes doesn’t mean she wasn’t a fresh
release.”
“Maybe, I’m going to talk to her.” I handed Slenderina
the tip I’d collected. “Put it under the cash register. Don’t mix it with the
others.”
Running this little shop meant juggling a lot. I
worked as a waitress, yes, but I was also the owner. Tips weren’t just bonus money;
they were part of the survival strategy. Every sale, every cent that came
through the register helped keep them paid, even though Rob and my cashier had
a habit of strolling in whenever they felt like it, taking liberties with hours
and responsibilities. They’d accepted my half-hearted pay grades, mostly
because I couldn’t give more.
Even so, I liked to keep things orderly, if I could.
It wasn’t just about money, it was about maintaining some semblance of control
in a world that seemed determined to make my life messy. And right now, that
messy little girl on the bench outside? She was my next problem, my next
responsibility.
“Leave her be. Maybe someone’s coming for her,”
Slenderina said, crossing her arms.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. If they were, they
wouldn’t have waited six hours,” I replied, frowning.
“Hey, maybe her family is still deciding if they want
a crazy head living with them,” she added with a smirk.
I cackled, half-amused at her judgment. It was funny,
in a dark way. But looking at the stranger from the bus, I couldn’t see any
madness in her. She looked lost and adrift, like she didn’t belong here. Jeans,
a thin hoodie, nothing remarkable. Simple, practical clothing that didn’t fit
the small-town patterns. I could tell she wasn’t from here.
She carried the same aura Georgie did; someone who
hadn’t grown up in this quiet, sleepy town, someone who had seen the world and
only came here because they needed something, had a purpose. It sounded crazy,
sure, and I could be completely wrong, but the sense of displacement was
undeniable.
“Maybe I can help her,” I said,
Slenderina stared at me, her long bangs partially
veiling sharp, almond-shaped blue eyes that could cut steel. “Just leave her
alone. Look at her, she’s running away from a crazy house. Probably shouldn’t
be bothered by anyone.”
“Crazy people aren’t always bad,” I said. “I want to
offer my help, in any way I can.”
Slenderina’s grip on my wrist loosened, letting my
hand drop to the side of the cash register. “If she shows up at your house with
a knife and rage in her eyes, it’s your fault. And if you die? I swear, I’ll
laugh over your coffin, Harper.”
“That’s… mean,” I muttered, half-smiling,
half-grimacing.
“Selfless attitudes like yours,” she said, leaning
closer with that sharp, teasing edge, “will get you killed one day. Or hurt. Or
both.”
I glanced back at the window, toward the stranger
still on the bench. Maybe Slenderina was right. Maybe I was walking into
trouble. But still… I couldn’t ignore her.
“Just like my selfless attitude,” I muttered under my
breath, “using my tips to pay them.” Sometimes I even shorted my own bills just
to make sure Rob, the waitress, and the cashier got theirs. I liked seeing
people happy. If I caught a frown, I turned it into a smile, no matter what it
cost me.
“I’ll be back,” I said, glancing toward the window.
“Sure, Ms. Superhero,” Slenderina called after me. She
looked up at me, voice softening, “I hope you know, you can’t save everyone.
You can’t always help everyone. It’s not like anyone’s helping you.”
“That’s okay,” I said, forcing a small grin, though
her words lingered longer than I wanted.
I stepped out onto the street, scanning it quickly.
Not many cars passed by. The entire block seemed suspended in a heaven of
autumn color. Orange, red, gold, brown, leaves littering the pavement like
confetti for a festival that no one attended. I almost lost myself in the
sight, swept away by the quiet beauty. It was sad, though, knowing these trees
were shedding everything just to survive the harsh winter ahead. After
Christmas and New Year’s, snow would come, hated by everyone. Not beautiful,
not soft just sharp and biting, stinging your nose and numbing any exposed
skin.
I ran across the road, short distance though it was,
and felt my chest tighten with effort. Even this little burst left me
breathless, heart racing. Stress clawed at me, gnawing, as if reminding me that
I was still human, still fragile. Silently, I prayed I’d lose fifty pounds
before my date tonight.
Excited? Not at all. Nervous? Maybe. But I knew I had
to go. Someone had seen me, seen past the fat blonde exterior and found
something beautiful.
She didn’t seem to notice me panting as I approached.
She was deep in thought, almost statuesque. For someone who might have been “from
the crazy house,” she appeared startlingly together. Nails neatly trimmed,
hair pulled into a tight, bun; like she belonged in the army or some strict
office setting. And yet, she wore a simple hoodie and jeans. The contrast
didn’t make sense, yet it made her seem even more… real.
I stopped a few feet away, still catching my breath,
and studied her. There was a precision about her that hinted at control and
discipline, but the casual clothing told another story. Somewhere inside, I
knew this was someone who didn’t belong entirely in this quiet little town or
maybe she belonged only when she chose to.
She twirled the leaf between her fingers and laughed
to herself. Maybe she really was crazy. Okay, fine; maybe she was. I had
laughed to myself millions of times in my life and nobody batted an eye. But
somehow, seeing someone else do it, from this perspective, looked… uncanny.
“That’s the first sign of craziness?” I said softly,
careful not to startle her.
She didn’t flinch. She looked up slowly from the leaf,
taking her time, as if she had all the control in the world.
I noticed her then—Asian, or part Asian at least.
Mixed. Her eyes swept over me, and I immediately felt intrusive, like I was
some hulking mistake invading her space. Probably because I was fat. Reality
check; people like her slim, lean, disciplined types tended to look at people
like me with a trace of disdain. Her gaze had a flicker of it.
“Laughing to yourself is the first sign of craziness…
it’s a joke… not something to take seriously,”
She wasn’t talking. That could mean she was dangerous,
or crazy, or both. I shifted slightly, heart picking up its pace.
“You’ve been here all day? Is anyone coming to get
you? Maybe they forgot.” A nervous giggle slipped out of me. I didn’t mean for
it to happen. She was… intimidating. Stranger danger vibes, mixed with
something unplaceable. My date tonight, which I should have been thinking
about, made me nervous too.
She glanced up again, eyes flicking at me like she was
weighing the situation. “I am not waiting for anyone,” she said, short and
precise.
“You sit here all day, and no one’s coming for you…
are you an escapee from a prison or a mental hospital?” Another laugh escaped
me this time. It always happened when I got nervous. And she—some stranger—made
me nervous. That date later today?
“A joke?” she muttered, more to herself than to me.
She seemed genuinely unaware of what a joke was, the
muscles in her face stayed locked in place, betraying no hint of amusement. I
wouldn’t say she saw me as beautiful, but she herself was striking in a cold,
detached way. Handsomely beautiful, almost like a hot summer night with winter
creeping in.
“Yeah… something where I don’t mean to offend you,”
She shifted on the bench, legs spreading wider,
fingers tapping absently against her thigh. I caught myself scanning her again.
Unconsciously, I bit my lip. Long, perfectly shaped legs. Fingers delicate but
unmarked; no signs of harsh labor, no traces of life’s cruelty etched into
them. Crazy people don’t usually have clean, well-kept hands. She didn’t even
appear to have bitten or pinched them with her teeth.
“I’m not offended,”
“You’re here on your own. With nowhere to go,” I said,
watching her.
“That’s about it,” she replied, eyes flicking
somewhere distant, as if she’d resigned herself to the day.
“You must be starving,” I said, expecting some
weakness, some human flaw.
“Nope,” she answered plainly.
“You’ve been sitting here for six hours, just looking
at a leaf… and you’re not starving?” I muttered under my breath. Maybe that was
why I was so fat sometimes—I ate too much, too easily.
“Nope,” she repeated.
I took a deep breath, holding back an almost
incredulous laugh. “Okay. I’m the owner of Cozy Cups Coffee Shop.” I gestured
proudly across the street. “You can come have a cup of coffee—on the house.”
Her eyes didn’t widen or sparkle. She didn’t seem
impressed or even flustered. And that made her… even more compelling. There was
a strange, magnetic quiet about her, a tension in her stillness that drew me in
more than any conventional beauty ever could.
I seemed to have her when I mentioned coffee. Well…
crazy people don’t drink coffee. Well… maybe.
“Okay,” she said, finally, her voice soft.
I smiled brightly, a little triumphant.
I guided her into the shop and led her to a window
seat, the autumn light streaming across her hair. Back at the counter, I leaned
toward Slenderina. “A personal pot of coffee and some donuts, please.”
“You bring her in here? Now she’s going to make out everyone
face and go around picking them off one by one,” Slenderina muttered.
“You need to chill with the slasher films,” I replied,
rolling my eyes.
“This is a small town, it’s Halloween, and fifty years
ago, a serial—”
“The coffee and donuts,” I interrupted firmly.
She sighed, stepping away from the register and
picking up one of the many pots of coffee I kept ready. She grabbed half a
dozen pumpkin spice donuts and a cup. “I don’t like her, Harper,” she muttered,
mutiny in her tone.
“She’s just a stranger passing through. You don’t have
to like her. You’re not supposed to like her,” I said, taking the items from
her.
“Well, you seem to fancy her,” Slenderina teased.
“I’m only helping,” I replied, shrugging, heading back
to the table.
She was still staring at the leaf, twisting it gently
between her fingers. Did it mean something to her? For me, autumn was the only
season that reminded me of childhood—of being fat and happy, of trying to be
skinny only to end up in the same place, over and over again.
“You like that leaf, huh?” I asked, sliding the
coffee, donut, and cup across the table.
“It’s very beautiful,” she said, finally looking up,
still focused, her eyes holding a quiet depth. “Do small towns like this always
have pretty leaves?” She poured the coffee into the cup with careful precision.
I nudged the sugar and milk toward her. “For anyone
who wants extra.”
She shook her head. “I like it black.”
I let out a soft giggle. “Black like your soul?”
She didn’t laugh. She only stared at me over the lid
of the paper cup, sipping deliberately, almost as if the heat didn’t register.
I winced. She treated the coffee as though it were nothing, completely unfazed.
“My soul is black. How do you know that?” she said,
pouring more coffee into the cup.
I felt a strange jolt at her words. Calm, composed,
yet somehow daring like a quiet fire under a frozen surface. This wasn’t just a
stranger; she was someone who made you question yourself by merely existing.
She was probably crazy. Definitely crazy. And hot.
Crazy and hot—it somehow worked together, like rain mixing with autumn. I
glanced out the window on cue. It was going to rain again. The thought of
dinner tonight tugged at me. Maybe I could cancel. No… that would hurt him.
I looked back at her, smiling. “Your soul is just
fine.” I pushed the donut toward her. She stared at it for a long second, and
then gave me a look like I’d handed her something vile.
“What are those?”
I blinked, puzzled. Did she really not know? Surely
she had seen donuts before. “Donuts,” I said slowly.
“No thanks. I don’t want to be fat,” she replied
bluntly.
Heat rushed to my face. I glanced down at my wrist,
absently rubbing the band against my skin, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“You have a beautiful little outdated coffee shop,”
she said, nodding toward the counter.
“Thanks,” I said, unsure whether she meant it.
“It’s not really a compliment,” she added casually.
I found myself giggling. Okay… she cracked me up.
Funny without even trying.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing. I just… like giggling.” I shrugged. My
business was crashing, life was messy, and yet here I was, laughing. It was
ridiculous and liberating.
“Where are you coming from?” I asked, curiosity
sneaking in.
“City,” she said, simple and brief.
“Which part?”
“The poor part—”
“Harper!” Slenderina’s voice cut through, gushing with
excitement. I looked up, seeing her waving from behind the counter. A few more
customers had come in, and now needed attention.
“I have to get back to work,” I said, glancing at the
bustling shop. “You can stay here. If you want anything else, just give me a
call.”
“Okay,” she said, calm, taking a small sip of her
coffee, eyes briefly meeting mine. Something unspoken passed between us in that
quiet moment; an acknowledgment of distance, of curiosity, and maybe of
something more.
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