Edinburgh is for Lovers (l.s.)

xi.

As promised, a car was waiting to take Harry to the airport at 8:00 a.m. on Monday morning. He said a quick good morning to the driver, and slid into the backseat with his bags. The drive to the airport was quick and silent. Harry grabbed his bags, checking his suitcase at the flight counter, and tugged his messenger bag over his shoulder before heading through the airport to his gate. As new Editor in Chief, Camden Press had paid for him to fly first class. He grinned at the extra leg space and was pleasantly surprised when a flight attendant offered him a complimentary mimosa.
The hour and a half flight was surprisingly enjoyable, but as soon as he stepped off the plane, even the two mimosas he'd had on an empty stomach couldn't get rid of the nerves he felt for the possibility of seeing Louis soon. Once he had his bags, he caught a cab and headed to his hotel in the city centre of Glasgow.
He didn't have to meet Mr. Garrick until tomorrow morning, so he settled into comfortable clothes and sat on the hotel bed, going over his schedule for the next few weeks. Mr. Oliver had assumed he'd stay for at least two weeks, and he needed to plan at least two days to take the train to Edinburgh.

☾ ◯ ☽

Harry stepped back into his hotel room early the next evening. His first meeting with Henry Garrick had gone surprisingly well. His book was an impressive 375k words, but he'd told Harry all about the main story line and some of the characters, and Harry was excited to read it over the next few weeks. Henry, as he'd been told to call him, had lived in Glasgow since he was young, but he'd traveled all over Europe in his 20's and 30's as he wrote his first few books. He'd stayed put in Glasgow the last few years of his 40's; increasingly debilitating Parkinson's disease had kept him from travelling too far outside of his flat.
He was a genuinely kind, up beat man; however, and Harry was happy to meet him wherever was convenient. This turned out to be the small cafe just a block from Henry's flat, and eight blocks from Harry's hotel. They met the first three days of Harry's trip, Harry drinking coffee and Henry enjoying herbal tea, as they chatted animatedly about the book.
On the fourth day, Thursday, Henry had a doctors appointment, so they would not be meeting. Harry woke before the sun and packed the manuscript in his messenger bag, along with a note pad and the handful of letters he'd written Louis over the last few months. He grabbed a takeaway coffee on his way to Queen Street station, and he was on a train to Edinburgh by 7:30.

Harry spent the hour train ride trying to read Henry's manuscript and distract himself from the fizzy feeling in his stomach. Would Louis even be there? What would he say to him? Would Louis even want to see him again?
Halfway through the train ride, Harry tucked the manuscript back in his bag and spent the rest of the time looking out the window and sipping on the last few, cold sips of his black coffee. When the train pulled into the station at Roseburn Gardens in Edinburgh, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped onto the platform. He tossed his cup in the bin and walked out to the street.
The feeling of Edinburgh was so familiar. The cool breeze, the early morning clouds starting to clear, the buildings made of brick and stone lining the streets. It was beautiful. He held his bag close, rubbing his thumb over the leather strap nervously, as he walked through the city and towards the little cafe that he and Louis had met in. The small, wooden door of the cafe came into view, and Harry took a deep breath as he got closer. He gripped his bag tight and stepped inside.
The cafe was just as he remembered it. Wood floors, soft ivory and stone walls, warm-toned lighting, and a dozen little cafe tables...including the one he and Louis sat at all those months ago. Now sitting empty. Harry tried not to feel disappointed. It was still early; only 9:00 or so. He walked to the counter and ordered a black coffee and a croissant from the young lad who was working. He set a few pound notes on the counter and thanked him before taking his things and setting himself down at the old, familiar table.
He drank his second coffee of the day, and ate his croissant, deliberately slowly to try and make it last. But the time still passed too slow. After he'd been sitting for an hour, Harry finally pulled out Henry's manuscript and tried to read again. He had to admit, the book was brilliant. He did actually manage to immerse himself and read a good four chapters, making small editing notes and comments on his notepad, over the next hour and a half. He stayed at the cafe for lunch, ordering another small pastry, and decided he needed a break from caffeine. He ordered an herbal tea, the same kind that Henry had been drinking over the last few days, and sat back down. The tea managed to calm his mind a lot more than the coffee had, and he tried to keep reading after he'd eaten. He managed another chapter before he gave up. He closed the book and spent the next hour looking out the window, hoping to see that familiar man, with the wavy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose quite often.