"When did you take up smoking?"
She lifted her eyes from the tattered entryway rug to meet the other set of eyes in the room, and in doing so her hood fell to her shoulders. "I'm rather certain your father taught you to greet people more politely than that. Especially customers," she said with a smile as she shrugged off her jacket.
As the rain pummeled the windows and door, Anton corrected himself, "good morning."
"That's what I thought you meant. And good morning to you too, Anton."
"You smell like smoke," he pressed her again, "and rather early in the morning I might add."
"And just like that," she snapped her fingers, "all the courtesy is gone." He waited patiently while she deposited her coat and knapsack onto a stool next to his own.
"I don't smell like smoke. My bag smells like smoke… still," she explained. Then in a mumble she added, "Merlin knows what's in those cigars…"
Anton seemed sated with her answer, as he changed the topic. "Well my dad's not here yet, so if you just leave your list with me, he'll prep it and I can bring in by the restaurant later."
"Actually, I'm not here for a business order."
"Oh," Anton started. "Well… I can't really help you out. Dad'll be back this afternoon."
Her shoulders slumped. "I need it this morning."
"Well I guess you're out of luck," he teased. "So sad."
"You're just mad cause I'm cooking for someone else besides you," she reasoned.
"You're not wrong. Who are you cooking for this early anyways?"
Shit, she thought. "None of your business."
"Why's it such a secret?" he pressed.
"It's not a secret, it's just not your business," she answered, nonchalantly, silently begging Merlin for the subject to be changed.
"Is it the guy who smokes those nasty cigars you smell like?"
"I don't smell like smoke. I made the mistake of having my bag with me then and I have it now," she argued, then followed up with a real answer, "and no, it is not."
"Is it someone I know?"
"Maybe," she mused. I don't even know who the guy is. For all I know, they could know each other. "I don't keep track of whom you do and do not know," she continued as she redonned her coat and pulled the hood up to cover as much of her face as it could. After all, the rain was still unrelenting in its abundance.
Meanwhile, Anton considered her through squinted eyes, "well good luck with getting that order filled this early in the morning."
"Oh, I'll get it filled," she said confidently as she strode towards the door.
"I don't doubt it," Anton shrugged. He rose to head into the back of the shop, "you can be very persuasive."
"Then why won't you fill the order?" she argued as he walked away.
"I've known you too long; I'm immune," he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the back.
"If only you knew me," she mumbled towards the teenage boy, as she pushed open the door. Of course, between the distance between them, the mumbling, and the sound of the rain as she pushed the door open, he didn't hear her, but that was rather purposeful on her part.
She strode down the road aways until she was sure no one could see her. The rain provided a good cover, so she hadn't walked far until she stuck her hand out over the street, and waited.
Well, "waited" is a relative term. Not a moment later a large, purple, triple-decker bus sped out of nowhere and came to a screeching halt in front of her. Between the force of the bus stopping so quickly and the winds that had come with the rain, she toppled over, landing in the mud.
The doors opened with a hiss, and over the roaring of the bus, the wind, and the rain, she heard a voice shout, "Welcome to the Knight Bus! Emergency transport for-, oh step on out of the rain and I'll finish! Have you got any luggage?"
"Nope, Stan, it's just me," she answered in her best Welsh accent as she stepped up onto the platform and out of the rain.
"Cari!" Stan shouted as she removed her hood to reveal her face. She felt a pang of guilt for lying to such a non-threatening man about her identity. Nevertheless, she kept her composure.
"Hello again, Stan, it's very nice to see you," she smiled sweetly as she shook the excess water from her coat.
"I'll say, love, it's been too long. Where ya headed?"
"London, if it's not too much trouble."
"It's never too much trouble for you, love," he informed her while straightening his hat and tie.
"Oi! Quit chatting up the lady and get us moving, will you? We've places to be!" The shout came from a grumpy man nearby, and she realized just how crowded the bus was today. People had flooded the bottom floor and the raucous hum of the crowd made it apparent that the upper floors were certainly not empty either.
"You," Stan said pointing at him, "mind yourself, would you? Do you know who this is?" Stan gave him no time to answer, but instead informed him, "this is Cariad Driscoll, the most darling woman to ever come out of Wales. So shut it."
In that moment she no longer felt bad about giving him a fake name. From the get go he seemed to be kind of person who couldn't keep his mouth shut, and she was glad to keep her identity to those whom she chose to share it with, which did not include all the patrons of a rather crowded Knight Bus.
He turned to her again and said, "you must be freezing. Why don't cha head on up to the third deck and I'll bring ya up a hot water bottle and a hot chocolate. Free of charge."
"That hot chocolate cost me thirteen sickles!" The same grumpy man as before protested, but his words fell on deaf ears.
"Oh you know how motion sick I get on the third deck…" she said wearily looking up to the top of the chandelier.
"It ain't too crowded up there, love. We'll be hitting London soon."
After enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate and some small talk with a witch so elderly it was a wonder she had gotten up to the third deck, the woman bid Stan adieu, exited the Knight Bus, and emerged amidst the bustle of muggle London in the morning. It seemed it had rained here as well, as the streets were wet, but the sun was coming quickly out to dry them.
She traveled the streets, with a destination in mind, but not so much in haste. Buildings passed as she got lost in her thoughts. Sparky said he lives in London. I wonder where...
She came upon a small butcher shop, where she got her order filled (seems businesses are open early in the city, even if the people aren't as warm.) She glided down a street lined with houses, each identical to the last it seemed. They were all severe and pristine.
In fact, apart from a single piece of trash near her feet, the entire row was immaculate from the street to the house fronts themselves. The looked down at the one culprit providing blemish to the row. It was an apple, less one bite, rather dusty, and quite brown. Not wanting to touch it, she took out her pocket knife. She stabbed through a bruise, presumably present from its fall out a window she guessed, and scraped it off into a nearby trash bin.
The woman checked the time, and hurried off to catch a muggle train towards home.
Tail wagging. That was the first sound her ears registered after steadying herself. Well, steadying herself isn't really correct, as it only lasted a couple seconds. A big black dog quickly bowled her over.
He pinned her easily, (after continually fighting off a werewolf, a person was severely outmatched against him), and licked her cheek. She laughed, "hey, you."
They laid there for just a moment to take each other in, (it had been a couple days,) until she playfully shoved him off of her while saying, "I missed you too, Sparky.
"No notebook today?" she asked, a little disappointed.
He jerked his head towards the beech tree, where the notebook was lying in the shade.
"Well go get it," she laughed.
He stood there a moment, wondering why they weren't heading to their spot in the shade. He whined and jerked his head towards the shady oasis again.
"Nope. You knocked me down here, I'm stayin' here," she said as she settled in with her hands clasped behind her head, "if you want me to move you're going to have to pick me up and move me yourself, Sparky."
He quickly left to retrieve the book, grabbed it, trotted back over, and dropped it on her stomach. "Ouch!" she exclaimed. "Why do you insist on abusing me with this book? That's the second time, Sparky," she complained as she rubbed her stomach with one hand and opened the book with the other.
I could, you know, he wrote as soon as she had the book and pen opened.
"You could what?" she asked.
Pick you up and carry you over there.
"Ha," she said, with very little humor, "you wouldn't dare give up your precious anonymity."
I might. And I'm just saying I could. Potentially.
She dismissed him with a chuckle. "So are you hungry for lunch?"
If you made it, absolutely.
She pulled a container out of her knapsack, "my warning still stands. You may not like it, and if you don't, that's fine, don't eat it."
I'm not worried, Sunshine.
She unveiled the dish and set it in front of him.
He looked at it for a moment and wrote, it looks delicious. What is it?
"It's called 'carbonara.' It's a dish I was taught to make in Italy. But I couldn't get my hands on pancetta, so I had to use bacon. But I figure, you're English, you'll probably like it that way just fine."
I'm sure I will, love.
"Well, dig in as soon as you'd like."
The words had scarcely escaped her mouth before he was obeying. He tried to eat politely, (which is tough as a dog,) but his delicacy-free years in Azkaban had him craving… anything. Everything. If it was food, and more than the stuff they doled out in prison which hardly passed for food, he had trouble not gorging himself on every last bite he could get his hands… paws… on.
That was amazing. I'm not even sure what was in it but… wow.
She smiled, "glad you liked it."
It was then that he noticed the lack of a bowl for her. You're not eating, love?
She sat up, shaking her head, "I made it for you." It was then that she gathered her bag and dish he had just emptied and relocated to the shade.
He lay there in mild bewilderment at her move. Before she'd been very against getting up, when now she was willingly pulling herself to the shade.
As if she could read his mind, (a fact that momentarily frightened him, as that prospect wasn't too far from possible given she was a witch), she called, "oh, come on, we both know the sun's no good for you."
He gathered the notebook and pen and padded over to her.
As soon as he got there she warned, "DON'T. You dare. Drop that on my stomach again." He set it down gently on her middle and it flopped open to their previous page.
He wrote, I'll have you know I enjoy the sun. Just not when I have fur.
"Well you know the simple solution to that then," she pressed him with a smirk.
Yes, Sunshine, I'm aware.
She laughed and situated her bag beneath her head. In doing so her ring caught the light and in turn her companion's eye, "I believe I started last time, so go on. Shoot."
And he did. Your ring.
She held up her hand to look at it, "yeah? I told you about it already."
It just still floors me that you've not married yet.
"Who are you, my mother?" she laughed. "Trust me I'll let you know if it changes, but no, Sparky, I am not married." She paused, then added, "I've got plenty of time if I want to get married. You're thirty-four and you haven't gotten around to it, and I'm only twenty-seven, so quit pestering me about it. I've already got my sister on my case and that's more than enough."
One of her points caught him completely off-guard. He cocked his head to the side and started at her.
"...what?" she asked when she noticed his change in demeanor.
He wrote, you said you're twenty-seven.
"Sure," she said, waiting for a further explanation.
Last week you told me you were twenty-six.
"Yeah, last week I was twenty-six," she said, not following why he was confused.
And now you're twenty-seven? I missed your birthday?
"No," she stated. "You didn't miss it, you didn't know it was happening."
Sunshine.
She blinked, waiting for him to continue.
Please tell me I didn't see you on your birthday, at least. I hate to think I sat here with you and didn't even wish you a happy birthday.
She didn't meet his eye line after reading. Instead she held the pond in her gaze while she waited for the scratching of the pen on the notebook to stop.
When it did, she read, Sunshine, I am terribly sorry for seeing you on your birthday and not getting you a gift or even acknowledging it. Rest assured, as soon as I find a gift worthy enough, I will bring it to you.
She laughed, "Sparky, that's sweet, but it's really not necessary. Besides you already gave me a gift."
How do you figure?
"My birthday was the day you brought the notebook. I finally got to actually talk with you. Well, not talk, exactly, but, ya know, communicate back and forth. It was a great birthday."
All of the sudden, an idea dawned on him. A crazy idea. A stupid, dangerous… wonderful… idea.
Hey, Sunshine? he wrote.
"Yes, Sparky?" she answered.
...do you trust me?
"Do I trust the animagus who won't, no matter how many delicious dishes I make him, tell me who he is?" she asked with a chuckle. "...more than I should. Why?"
He eyed her bag. You don't have a jumper in there do you? he asked motioning towards it.
"You're not cold, are you, Sparky?" she joked with a smirk, pulling it out.
He couldn't even register her humor; his heart was pounding too hard from the suggestion he was about to make. He took a deep breath and wrote, do something for me?
"Alright, hun, you're getting weird…"
You said you trust me, right?
She grinned, "partially."
Well, trust me. Cover your eyes with it, yeah? It's for your birthday present. And no peaking!
She hesitated, but lifted the cloth above her eyes. Just before her sight was blackened by the garment, she lifted it again and looked at him. "Just so you know," she warned, "if you try to attack or murder me or something, I'm not keeping your makeshift blindfold on." Then she quietly added, "plus, I could totally take you."
She settled the jumper over her eyes and waited.