From The Dining Table [H.S]

Granny Pam

Primrose's POV:

I left Harry's house 2 weeks ago. He's been off, having the time of his life for just to weeks, and yet, it feels like forever. Every morning, I reach for my phone and check for a text, a missed call, a voice mail from Harry. Every morning, I am left sad and annoyed that I continue to forget we are on a break. Considering this was my idea, it sure as hell isn't easy.

At the beginning, it was easy. I could preoccupy my mind with the tasks I'd been postponing for months: cleaning, repainting the windowsills of the barn, repotting my plants, and catching up on any documentation for the business. However now, I have nothing left to do. Today, I've stood for the last 4 hours in the bar and watched 2017 Football Highlights with one of my regulars. He's called Tom, and I'd consider him one of my friends, but I'm not sure he'd say the same.

I've called him countless taxi's when he's drunk, I'm acquaintances with his girlfriend as a result of texting her to clarify he's okay when he stays out late. We don't talk about much, just what we've both been up to. He could tell something was wrong with me today, but I didn't want to talk about it - not to him anyways. I'm not sure how Tom would react if I told him I was dating a celebrity.

"Prim, what's up?" He asks, bringing his attention away from the TV. "You're quiet. And you never watch the football." He continues, watching as I push up from leaning against the bar, and turn to face him.

"It's nothing, honestly. Just one of those moods, you know?" I laugh off his question, picking up an already clean glass and rubbing it with a cloth.

"Ah." He takes the final sip of his beer, pushing it towards me to signify he wanted a refill. "One that just won't budge?"

I nod, hoping he won't mind my short answers as I pour his drink. Carefully pushing it back to him, I watch as his eyes squint and flick between me and the glass. He pushes it back slowly, peering over his shoulder at the other, few customers in the room. "Have a sip." He whispers.

"What?" I choke out. "Tom, I'm working." I whisper, leaning forward so nobody else can hear. He shrugs his shoulders, tracing his finger over the condensation of the glass.

"You need it more than me." He says simply, sitting back in his chair and looking up at the TV again, leaving his glass infront of me. I stare at it for a few moments, debating what to do. My finger nervously taps against the wood, and my lips fold into a line. Tom continues to look up, an extra innocent expression on his face as he pretends like he didn't intentionally leave it infront of me.

Hastily checking the room to see if anyone was looking, I pull the glass of golden liquid to my lips and take 3, long sips, wiping the foam from my top lip with the back of my hand. I watch as Tom's lips quirk into a smile, his hand drifting to grab the glass and take it to his mouth. He made sure to drink from a different spot I did, as he too, took 3 sips. "Better?" He asks.

"Mmhm." I lie, scowling to myself at the bitter taste in my mouth. I don't even drink... why did I do that?

The time continues to tick down slowly, as I tediously awaited the day to be over. It was 3 o'clock on an October week day, so to expect heaving business is to only get my hopes up for nothing. Grey clouds pillowed the sky, mirroring my mood as they sat, creating a gloomy atmosphere over the beach. I could see the waves crashing down heavily against the sand, as a few black dots representing surfers glided their way across the icy blue waters.

I missed surfing. It's always been so freeing to me. Just me, and the vast ocean. When I compare myself to it, I become obsolete. My concerns, my secrets, my stories are nothing compared to the untold mysteries of the ocean. When my board moves in partnership with the water, I feel like we are one. Like there is no defining moment between man and nature. Everything is peaceful when I surf. There is no fear of falling, there is no fear of what may lay below the surface, there is nothing. It's just me and the water, drifting through the moment together in unison as if th-