"Afternoon, Theodore," her voice greeted.

He scoffed, the corners of his lips twitching, as he made his way to the counter. She'd hardly looked away from her task before greeting him. He placed the book on the counter, in a much less aggressive manner than when he'd returned the last one. He tapped it with his finger, bringing her attention to it.

"I didn't expect to see that one back so soon. Took you a week with the first one," she continued to rub the coffee cup dry with the cloth in her hands as she walked up to him. "And?"

Theodore glanced down at her expectant green eyes, he then rolled his eyes. "Naïve."

"Gatsby?" she questioned, as she started to thumb through the book. "Yeah, I suppose." He noted a flicker of something in her green eyes when she reached the last page. Disappointment, perhaps? He hadn't taken the time to answer any of her comments in the margins this time.

"The whole lot of them."

"Oh?" Her interested piqued.

Theodore hesitated. These conversations, the one's with the muggle girl at the café, had become something of a highlight for him, as much as he hated to admit that. He hated to admit that conversation with this muggle girl interested him. That she had some sort of intellect and that her intellect was something that piqued his interest.

"Yes. Nick, to think that Gatsby would want to be his friend out of the kindness of his heart. Gatsby was entirely selfish and did nothing that didn't involve self-betterment," Theodore told her. She looked at him blankly, blinking. "What?"

"You've never said that many words to me in one sitting," she said in a serious tone, however, she laughed a moment later. "Of course, you're right. However, Nick, he doesn't know that. Gatsby is this," she paused, waving her hand around as she tried to find the right word, "mystical being to Nick; the embodiment of life."

"Yes, and he was naive."

"Nick or Jay."

"The both of them."

"Ah?"

"Gatsby, to think that she would wait for him? He was penniless, he had nothing, and he expected her to wait."

The girl sighed. "He made his life around her."

"Stupidly."

She laughed, shaking her head, her copper-colored ponytail swaying with the motion. "So, you still think that people are born with malicious intent? Gatsby built his life around this woman, hoping that she waited for him. He moved across the water from her. He did everything for her."

Theodore sighed. "Then he used her cousin to get to her."

"He built his life for her."

"Daisy."

She sighed. "Yes. What of her?"

"Born malicious?"

"Born snobby and into money. She'd do anything to protect that, to keep that," she argued.

Theodore tapped the cover of the book again. "Yes. I still think that people are born evil, bad, with malicious intent, what have you. Daisy Buchan is the perfect example of that. She was offered everything and she caused the mess, really."

Green eyes blinked up at him. "It's romantic!" she exclaimed. "She loved him."

"You didn't strike me as naive."

Green eyes stared at him. "I'm not," she told him.

"If you believe that she loved him you are," he told her, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter.

The café worker rolled her eyes, placing a cup in front of him. "Coffee, black or Earl Grey?"

"Neither, I just came to return your book," he told her.

"And call me naïve," she added playfully.

"No, I told you that you didn't strike me as a naive person."

She sighed, green eyes rolling. "I'm not naive. I knew that she'd never leave her world for him. However, I will say that I do think that she loved him. I do; she just didn't love him enough. She didn't love him enough to step out of what she knew." Theodore watched her as she moved behind the counter. She seemed to be returning to the task she'd been doing when he walked in; wiping down the mugs before placing them back on the shelf behind the counter. "You just," she looked up at him as she continued, "well, as a girl, you just want to believe that she's good, you know? That she would be able to accept that someone did this for her and that someone wants to be with her more than air."

Theodore snorted. "That's illogical."

"What?" she laughed.

"That you would want someone more than air," he told her. "You'd die."

"Exactly."

Theodore's eyebrow arched as she placed the mug on the shelf and pulled out a to-go coffee cup. She filled it with the black, steaming liquid before adding two sugars and a splash of milk. "Good afternoon, Davey," she greeted as the bell above the door tinkled.

"Afternoon, Olivia," the man greeted as he moved up to the counter. A gentleman about twenty-three or so made his way towards her. Theodore stepped to the side so that the man was not too close to him. Brown eyes and thin lips that curved into a smile as the girl behind the counter handed him his coffee. "Honestly, Olivia, you're unbelievable, fantastic." He turned his gaze to Theodore, who was standing quietly hands deep in his pockets. "Isn't she fantastic, mate?"

Theodore's skin crawled as the man turned the conversation to him. Instead of speaking or nodding, he cleared his throat, turning his gaze away from him.

"It's no problem, Davey. You're working double shifts to cover for Greg the least I could do is have your coffee ready when you get here," she laughed. "How's Greg and Liza doing? I'm sure the baby is wearing them out."

"You ain't lying," the man said to her as he placed his payment on the counter. "Lemme get one of them muffin tops, the poppy seed one; if you got it."

"For you, Davey we always have them," she said as she bagged a muffin top and placed it on the counter. "Let me get your change."

"Keep it," he told her as he started to leave the cafe.

"Davey! You can't leave me a four pound tip!"

"The least I can do for you, love. See you bright and early tomorrow."

Before she could protest again, Davey was out the door waving at her through the glass. "I swear, Davey Richards will be the end of me," she mumbled under her breath. "Sorry, where were we?" Her green eyes were on him again. "Oh. Yes. He'd rather have died than been without her."

"Which he did," Theodore said as they fell back into their conversation as if Davey had not just been there.

"Oh," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes, "not of his own accord."

"Friend of yours?"

"Pardon?"

"The man with the coffee."

She laughed. "Davey." She pressed her elbows to the counter. "Davey's the brother of a girl I used to pal around with when I was a kid. His sister and I still talk, she moved, Davey stayed. He works at the port."

"Ah."

She frowned, pushing away from the counter. "I don't have any books for you," she told him with a shrug. "Well, not with me anyway. Sorry."

Theodore was astonished at the wave of disappointment that washed over him at her statement. He hadn't come for a book, at least he hadn't thought that he had. However, the wave that swept over him said something different. He'd actually wanted her to present him with another book, another muggle book. He lowered his eyebrows, letting them knit together as this realization settled on him. He'd wanted her muggle book. He exhaled through his nose and she brought her eyes up to him. One of her thin eyebrows arched, giving her face a curious expression.

"What?"

Theodore cleared his throat, his face relaxing. He had intended for her to see his expression. "Are you," the corners of her lips turned upward. "You wanted me to have another book for you."

"No," he told her. "I did not."

She smiled. "You are."

Theodore moved away from the counter, backing away from her. His blue eyes never leaving her. "I just came to return your book." He turned over his shoulder and started towards the door.

"Oi," she called. "I know that you said no, but I'm going to invite you again. The beach, bonfire, next Saturday." Her words were rushed so that he couldn't interrupt her while she was speaking. He glanced over his shoulder, her green eyes twinkling at him from behind the counter. "Seven."

"No."

She rolled her eyes and waved him off. "Off with you then."


Theodore tried to ignore her offer. Every time her soft voice would find its way to him, he would try to drown it out. He'd occupy himself with other things. He'd reread his books. At this point, he was sure that he was an expert at dragon breeding and the incubation period of eggs, all of the different kinds of eggs.

No matter how hard he tried, her voice, and her offer, slipped into his head. The beach, bonfire, seven. It was maddening. He'd sit down to read, and then her voice and her offer was there. He'd taken to cooking again, to distract himself. However, this was a skill that had not improved. He still managed to burn everything.

He'd also taken to trying to make coffee again. Going to the Corner Café wasn't exactly in the cards at the moment. If he couldn't keep her voice, her offer, from echoing in his head, how was he going to see her, where she would be inviting him again. Coffee making. Also, not a skill that he had managed to get better at.

By the end of the week, he was back to eating toast and slightly burned eggs.

Of course, by the start of the next week, he was so fed up with the toast, less burned eggs, he'd gotten better at making eggs, and lumpy coffee. Tired of food that was hardly edible, he ventured out to a diner. He'd had coffee, which was admittedly better than anything he could make but not as good as the muggle girls coffee. He'd had a blueberry muffin; not as good as the muffin top from the café with the muggle girl. He'd order pancakes as well.

It only took a few days for him to tire of food at the diner, and the coffee that wasn't quite as smooth as the coffee at the Corner Café. When the waitress would come up to him at the table, she asked what she could get for him. However, as she asked him what she could get, he heard in the background, "Coffee, black or Earl Grey?" The waitress always had a nasally voice, and surprisingly enough her voice was at a frequency that grated his nerves, made him clench his fist on his lap.


Saturday.

Her voice, her offer, had gotten louder and louder, as the day approached. As if she were standing in the room with him, leaning on the doorframe, or sitting next to him.

Saturday. Bonfire. The Beach. Seven.

It had become nearly impossible to bury the sound of her echoing offer with trivial tasks like making coffee or trying to not burn eggs for breakfast. He'd even tried to learn how to do laundry with that machine for washing. It had helped, in a way. It resulted in a mess that he had to spend all day cleaning up, without magic and with a mop. By the time he had completed the task of drying the floor, the clock read 6:45.

Theodore collapsed onto the leather sofa. Arms falling by his side.

"What I wouldn't kill for a house elf," he mumbled under his breath as he exhaled slowly. He relaxed his head on the back of the sofa and closed his icy eyes. The quiet hum of the HVAC unit met his ears.

The beach. Bonfire. Seven.

Theodore wrenched his eyes open. The damn muggle girl's voice, Olivia. He stood from the sofa and started up the stairs to the bathroom. He yanked on the faucet in the shower and let the hot water start to run. The sound of the water hitting the porcelain tub was deafening for a moment, seeing as it was the only sound in the house with the exception of the hum of the HVAC. He pulled off his clothes, the knees of his pants wet from the catastrophe with the machine for washing.

The beach.

As soon as the water made contact with his skin, her words hit him. Merlin's Soul. He groaned closing his eyes. Why did he keep hearing her voice? Why did he keep hearing her request for him to be there? He sighed, wetting the washcloth.

Did he want to go?

He scoffed.

Of course not. He didn't have any desire to go to that muggle outing. He had no desire to spend his Saturday evening with the muggles, the incompetent creatures that he had stuck himself in the middle of. He had no desire to see the muggles.

Stepping out of the shower, he frowned wrapping the towel around his waist.

The beach. Seven.

"Merlin's bloody beard!" he exclaimed as he slammed his palms on the bathroom counter. Rolling his eyes in the most annoyed manner he could, he stormed out of the bathroom.

He dressed quickly in a pair of black pants and a black shirt. After buttoning the last button, he continued his storming as he moved down the stairs and then to the coat closet to grab a jacket. He stood in the entryway, holding the jacket in his hands.

What was he doing?

He made a motion to place the jacket back on the hanger. He had no reason to go to this, whatever it was. He had no reason to go.

The beach. Seven. Bonfire.

"Damn it," he hissed as he stomped out of the door, slamming the door behind him.

If he didn't go, her voice would plague him.


A/N: It's kind of a cliffhanger, right? Yeah, that was not my intent; I just didn't want to mix together scenes and make the chapter forever long. Trust me, I'm good for doing a 6,000-word chapter and trying to find somewhere to cut it and of course failing at it. So… the next chapter? That should be fun! Leave a review and let me know what you think!

~ Nikki