The Love Club

I’m nervous, but I can’t quite place a finger on as to why. When we arrive home, Harry unlocks the door for us and I follow him inside, kicking off my shoes near the door as he does the same beside me. He was quiet in the car, only thanking me for taking the time to drive it home for him. He watched me as I manuevered the unfamiliar streets back to the house, but offered no insight to what was on his mind. I didn’t pry.

The guest bedroom is on the second floor, up the stairs adjacent to where I stand now. Harry’s room is on the main level, down a hallway that leads off the kitchen. I glance over at him and offer a shy smile, my hand reaching out to wrap around his wrist as I steady myself to lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips. His other hand reaches out for my waist and pulls me toward him. I oblige.

When we pull away, I go to take a step back, but his grip holds firmly on my waist. His lips, now slightly swollen from working magic against mine, upturn slightly and he inclines his head in the direction of his room. I furrow my brows at him, but he only rolls his eyes at me and tugs on my hand. Blindly, I follow.

I’m unsure what I expect of it, whether it would be a time capsule preserved from when Harry was sixteen and still living here, or if it would reveal any insight to the person Harry is now. To me, it looks as spare as the guest room, with small personal knick knacks here and there. A few books I suppose are from his school years are neatly stacked on a shelf on the wall, and there are a few photo frames here and there, but I don’t have time to look at them. My eyes are too focused on watching Harry move in the dark. He shuts the door and moves to take off his shirt. I’m frozen, and he glances over at me with a light smirk before he begins to rummage about in one of the dressers, pulling out a grey tee shirt and a pair of mesh shorts. The shorts he keeps for himself, but the shirt he tosses at me.

“What’s this for?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“For sleeping,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His voice is all rasp and I swallow thickly as he gets to work unbuttoning his jeans.

“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” I question.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He isn’t looking at me as he tugs the jeans from his hips. His back is facing me as he steps out of them in a dark pair of boxer briefs and quickly pulls the mesh shorts on.

I realize then that I don’t really have an answer to give him. He’s looking around the room for an elastic for his hair when he glances over to me again, and I realize there’s a vital part of clothing I’m missing and give him a wry look.

“So... Do I have to dig around for trousers myself or...?”

He smiles innocently at me as he stops his search and mutters, “Oh, I must’ve forgot.”

“Must’ve,” I agree.

He’s still smiling to himself as he opens up the same drawer and asks, “Shorts or sweatpants?”

“Sweatpants,” I answer and he frowns, mock sincerity as he pulls a black pair out.

“You’re sure you won’t get too hot in the night? I’m pretty warm...”

“I’m cold when I sleep,” I answer.

“I’m really warm, though. You might do better going without...”

I tug the sweats from his grasp and reach out with my foot to give his shin a light kick. He only shrugs, pulling at his lip with one hand. “Had to try.”

“Why don’t you try to turn around while I change?” I ask.

“It’s certainly an effort,” he mutters in response, but turns around nonetheless. When I cross my arms and glare at him in the reflection of the mirror he’s still watching me in, he only shrugs and says, “What do you want from me?”

I suck in a breath and reach for the door, but he laughs and grabs my wrist before I can make it that far. “I’ll behave, I promise. I’m sorry,” he tells me. Even in the dark, I can feel the way his eyes steadily meet mine. He’s still drunk, but not the boisterous sort he was at the lounge. Cheeky, maybe, but he ususally is anyway.

Obnoxiously, he lifts his palms to his eyes and backs up in the direction of the bed. The backs of his knees hit it and he falls onto the mattress, body reclined horizontally with his head resting heavily in the sheets. The way it’s inclined, I know he won’t be able to see me, even with his hands over his eyes, so I make quick work of pulling my shirt off and shimmying out of my shorts. Harry’s clothes are much too large for me, but they’re comfortable. The sweats have to be rolled a couple of times, but it’s manageable. The shirt is more like a dress, but I can’t find any room to complain.

“Okay,” I sigh.

Harry props himself up on his elbows, lifting his head to look at me. I feel self conscious and run a hand through my hair as I slowly make my way over to him. He’s still silently studying me as I tug at the sheets and slip beneath them, desperate to have some sort of barrier to hide behind. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I’m almost afraid to know what he’s thinking. After a few more moments of this, I bury my face beneath the sheets and sigh.

“What’d you do that for?” he asks, and I can hear the offense in his voice.

“Stop looking at me.”

“You’re nice to look at.”

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

The bed shifts as he moves, trying to pry the covers from my face. I don’t let him succeed, so he has no choice but to crawl under the blanket on his own side of the bed. Despite the fact that there are no lights on, and we’re both immersed in darkness, there’s enough moonlight filtering through the white comforter that I can make out his face as he scoots closer to me.

Whatever he reads there, he smiles at and inches closer, his arm snaking around my back and pulling me to him. I want to protest, but I don’t bother. He’s stronger than me and I know it would be to no avail anyway. I settle for turning over in his embrace so my back is pressed to his chest.

“Why are you getting weird all of the sudden?” he asks, his breath hot on my cheek.

“I’m not getting weird,” I argue. “You’re just freaking me out.”

“How? Because I was looking at you? I like how you look in my clothes. I like how you look all the time,” he shrugs. “You’re a beautiful woman. I’m lucky to have you around.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t. Harry tugs at my waist and I allow him to spin me toward him again, giving him a wry look.

“Sometimes I talk too much when I’m drunk, and I’m told I get rather affectionate. But if anything I say or do makes you uncomfortable, just tell me. Or leave, if that’s what you want. I’ll sober up and keep my mouth shut and we can talk about it all later.”

I bite down on my lip, gaze steadily meeting his. My hand has come between us to rest on his chest, and his arm is still loosely draped around my waist, his fingers tracing patterns on my lower back where his shirt has ridden up to reveal the skin there.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” I comment, if only to collect my thoughts. He lets out a breathy chuckle.

“It does that where you’re concerned,” he answers. “Plus there’s that rejection thing I’m waiting for.”

“I’m not rejecting you,” I frown. “I just don’t know what to do with myself when I’m around you and you’re like this. I’m not used to it.”

“I just like you, Mina. Sometimes I feel like I don’t show you that enough, especially if it took you this long to get it through that thick skull of yours.”

He laughs when I flick him hard on the forehead. Typical Harry to go and insult me after being so sweet that I didn’t know how to properly respond. He’s all extremes.

A moment later his smile disappears and he looks at me again that way he did a moment ago, before I crawled under the blankets. I’m not sure why I felt so insecure in front of him, with his gaze trailing me and his eyes full with that emotion I can’t quite put a name on yet, but I think fares well for me. Looking at him now, I feel warm and sure. I’ve never been the kind of girl that needed assurances from anyone, but it feels nice to have his regardless. It gives me the strength I need to run my fingers up his scalp and press my lips to his. He tastes like vodka and mint, but I know he’s not as drunk as he was when we first started this discussion.

I let him kiss me until he falls asleep, his breaths against my cheek becoming shallow, but his arm still securely wrapped around me. I am content to watch him, his lips pouted and pink, slightly parted as he breathes through them. He has a light snore that makes me smile when I first hear it, but I know will probably keep me up when I decide I want to drift into unconsciousness in his arms. His eyelashes are long, sweeping lightly against his cheekbones as his eyelids flutter, lost in whatever dream he’s in. I hope I’m in it.

My arm, bent and pressed between us, feels dead and heavy with weight. I slowly trail it down his chest until I can pull it away, but I’m not sure what to do with it now. Biting my lip and trying to move as slowly and quietly as possible, I shift so I can turn with my back to him again. His snoring never falters. I wonder what, if anything, would wake him. I lace my fingers with his, which are now splayed across my stomach, and close my eyes.

As is to be expected, Harry’s noise keeps me awake. I want to reposition and see if that helps, but I’m still reluctant to wake him, even if he didn’t react last time. Held this tightly in his arms, I doubt I’ll be able to toss and turn without disturbing him.

I sigh and glance at the alarm clock beside his bed. It reads 2:27 a.m. and I have to be up early in the morning if I want to bathe and pack in time for us to drive out of here and make our flight to Los Angeles. Forcing my eyes closed, I try to breathe through my mouth and match my breaths to Harry’s. After five minutes of this, I give up and gently slide from beneath his arm, placing it gently in the warm space I’ve vacated. He doesn’t seem to notice.

For as early in the morning as it is, I feel restless. I debate whether or not I should go back to my own room and try to find some rest, but I don’t really want to leave Harry to wake on his own. Something is budding between us, and I don’t want to be the one to mess it up by leaving in the middle of the night. I run a hand through my hair as I stand at the foot of the bed and try to decide my next move.

My eyes fall on a pile of clothes trailing from the bathroom and I frown. They’re all things he’s discarded recently and hasn’t picked up yet. I follow the breadcrumbs to the bathroom and flick on the light. His various toiletries are laying about in a mess on the counter and I have a headache just looking at it. Before I can stop myself, I’m aligning his toothbrush vertically with the toothpaste. His electric razor is plugged in still, which is a waste of energy, so I unplug it and wind the chord around it to preserve space.

In the reflection of the mirror, I can see he has shower products laying around and I sigh, turning and arranging the bottles on the edge of the tub. When that’s finished, I think I should probably get to work cleaning some of the smudges from the mirror. I step back into Harry’s room to head into the kitchen where I hope I can find cleaning product, but pause upon hearing a voice penetrate the darkness.

“Mina?”

I cringe and freeze in my steps. Slowly, I peer over my shoulder at Harry, who is squinting at me through the light coming from the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I tell him. “So I started cleaning.”

Harry furrows his brows together as he glances at the bathroom, the lack of clothes on his floor, and then back at me. Slowly, a smile creeps its way onto his face and I flush scarlet.

“Turn off the light,” he tells me. “C’mere.”

I run a hand through my hair and head back to the bathroom to flick the light off. Carefully, I find my way back to the bed and settle into the sheets beside him. His arm stretches out behind my head like a pillow, the other finds its way back to my stomach. He presses into my side and kisses my cheek softly.

“Sorry about earlier,” he mumbles against my skin.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I was a bit more drunk than I would have preferred,” he admits.

“You weren’t bad,” I ammend.

“No?” he asks, nose nuzzling against my neck.

“No.”

I can feel his answering smile before he plants a kiss on my collarbone. My hand finds his and I squeeze.

“So what’s wrong then?” he asks next.

“What?”

I twist my head around to look at him. He watches me with a careful expression, as if studying me.

“You said you couldn’t sleep and then you started cleaning. Why?”

“You snore.”

“Yes,” he rolls his eyes. “But you clean when you’re bothered by something.”

“That’s not true,” I scoff. “I clean all the time.”

“You like to be organized, definitely, but you stress clean big time.”

“And how would you know?”

“Mina, for weeks before you stumbled upon Tinley you cleaned everything you could get your hands on in the bus. You even packed Niall’s suitcase for him. You keep your hands busy when your mind is running. What’s going on up there?” he says, tapping my temple with his finger. I try to pull away from his grasp, but he keeps me tightly pressed against him.

“You’re quite annoying, you know it?” I grumble.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

I am. And I’m not happy he’s caught onto it.

“Minaaaa,” he drawls, and I sigh, my eyes falling shut. “This isn’t going to work unless you trust me.”

“Okay,” I agree, wetting my lips. “But what exactly is this?”

“Ah,” Harry says after a few moments. “The What Are We talk.”

I groan, writhing in his grip because I’m so uncomfortable. Harry laughs lightly beside me.

“I don’t want to be this person,” I tell him earnestly. “It’s just everyone keeps asking me, and then your sister brought it up, and I don’t really care about what we call it but I hate fumbling for an answer.”

“You’re fine, Mina,” he assures me, his lips finding their way to my jaw. “It’s okay, don’t stress about it.”

“I’m not stressed!” I all but bark, and his body shakes with more laughter.

“You can tell them whatever you want to tell them. We’re whatever you want to be.”

“Oh, no,” I tell him, glaring. “No, no, no. You’re not putting this all on me. I asked you a question, Harry. You have to answer it.”

Harry sneers at me, as if he expected me to let him get away with it that easily. He lifts his arm from around me and rubs his pointer finger at his eye, glancing over at the clock. He wants to go back to bed, and me with him, but he must have known in order to accomplish that he’d have to pry whatever was on my mind out of me. Now that he has, he feels underequipped to deal with it. I feel no sympathy; he brought this upon himself.

“Well you are laying in my bed,” he reasons quietly a moment later. “I don’t do that with a lot of people.”

“You do with Zayn,” I argue, thinking of the time when management accidentally booked one room too few.

“Yeah, but only when he’s feeling snuggly,” he argues with a light smile. I wonder where he gets his ability to joke on this little sleep. “I don’t do that with a lot of women unless I’m particularly fond of them.”

“Well I should hope you’re fond of me. I flew to Portugal for a day just to tell you I fucked up,” I mumble tiredly into his arm. It curls beneath my head so he can tangle his fingers in my short hair. I hum contentedly. “It was my grand gesture,” I add helpfully.

“I certainly like having you around,” Harry agrees. “Kissing you isn’t bad. Sharing a bed with you would probably be nice if you could refrain from bleaching the tiles in my bathroom.”

“Are you going somewhere with this or just looking for more excuses to make fun of me? Because I think you’re making fun of me under the guise of being sweet.”

“I’m saying I like being with you, Mina,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I like when we spend time together. And I’m flying you out ot L.A. with me, so I know we can’t keep skirting around what’s happening here, but I also don’t want to freak you out by labeling you as my girlfriend. We’re just getting started here, really. We don’t even have our footing.”

“But things are different in L.A., right? That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“Yeah,” he agrees tersely. “There’s a strong possibility it might suck. Which is probably selfish of me, but I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Are you afraid of labeling me as your girlfriend because you’re afraid I won’t stick around?” I ask quietly.

There’s a silence that falls between us, and I realize I might’ve hit the nail on the head.

“L.A. might really suck,” he says a moment later.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, half-assuring and half-annoyed. “I’m better than that.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with how good you are. It has to do with how awful everyone else is. They’ll tear you down to less than a person, Mina. It’s not easy.”

“I knew that when I chose this, Harry. It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“I don’t know why I even asked you to go,” he mutters a moment later, and my heart stops dead in my chest. “It’s really stupid of me to expose you to that so early on. I should’ve just cancelled the trip and stayed here.”

“You’re underestimating me and I don’t like it,” I snap.

Harry’s eyes shift to me from where they had been blankly staring at the ceiling through the dark. Lost in his pity party soliloquy, it’s as if he’s forgotten I’m there, that I can hear the words he’s speaking aloud.

“I’m not saying that,” he says, “I’m just saying I should have protected you from this for a while longer.”

“I don’t need protection,” I tell him. “I’m your girlfriend, goddammit.”

There’s another long stretch of silence during which I realize what I’ve just said in the heat of the moment. I’m thankful for the lack of light because my face must be tomato red and my heart feels like it’s about to leap out of my chest. Harry stares at me, blank faced, before he finally breaks into a grin and a spurt of laughter passes his lips. I still want to die.

“You are absolutely something else, Mina Underhill,” he murmurs softly when he’s done cackling.

“I didn’t mean for that to be a decision,” I reply. “I really didn’t mean to say it at all.”

“I know,” he says, pulling me closer. “It’s more authentic that way.”

I don’t know what to say now, so I don’t say anything. I’m not sure which of us has won this argument, if it was an argument to begin with. Harry acts like he has, but I’m the one who has just successfully navigated a minefield of an awkward relationship talk. Well, semi-successfully.

I roll toward him, my head tucked beneath his chin as I close my eyes and let out a long breath. Harry hums and tightens his grip on me, but doesn’t say much of anything. I find myself closer and closer to the precipice of unconsciousness when Harry mutters, “Goodnight, girlfriend.”

It’s cheesy and disgusting and I want to gag. I settle for mumbling aloud, “Ew”, too tired to pull out of his hold or give up much of a fight. Harry’s mouth presses to the crown of my head, and then I’ve fallen asleep.

-

In a turn of events I’m unimpressed with, but keeps a satisfied smirk on Harry’s face, I’m running.

And it’s awful.

I can’t believe people do this for fun. I can’t believe Harry is sadistic enough to do this for fun. And I’m so far out of shape, it’s embarrassing. Worse, I know Harry holds back to stay by my side, encouraging me softly every few steps when I stumble or whine or start to slow to a walk.

“Just a few more metres,” he tells me.

“Nope. No. That’s not happening,” I respond, my words coming out with each puff of breath as I press a hand to my heart and try to breathe properly. Harry rolls his eyes, but comes to a stop beside me anyway. He doesn’t say it, but I know he thinks I’m being dramatic when I double over and groan. I hate him for doing this to me. My legs feel as if they’re about to fall off and I’m not sure how much longer my ribcage will keep my heart contained in my chest.

“We’re almost there,” Harry encourages, sounding much more controlled in his breathing than I am.

“Yeah, well, we can walk it, then,” I glare up at him. He smiles slightly and offers his hand to help me up. When I straighten, he doesn’t let go.

“You owe me like, seventeen danishes,” I say.

“A small price to pay for such lovely company,” he replies sarcastically.

“I told you this would happen. I warned you, and you did it anyway.”

He gives my hand a squeeze, silently communicating he’s only teasing. I know he doesn’t care that much that I’ve held his workout back; he was already sweaty when I awoke and he begged me to come with him. He had to have been doing push ups and sit ups in preparation for how horrendously this would go.

I’d been steadfast in the past about not exercising with him for a few reasons. The most glaringly obvious had been the ultimate embarrassment I’d just been met with. The others pertained to my complete lack of agility or desire to feel pain this intense. But Harry had his hair up in that bun and his lips were so pouty and he promised me danishes. I’m a weak woman.

We turn a corner from a residential street and I realize we’re close to the town square. It’s at the end of the block, quaint with brick and stone buildings lining the sidewalks. Harry’s walk picks up in speed, but I don’t mind. He’s got a lazy smile on his face and his eyes are bright, set ahead. Being here makes him happy, and I’m content to see him that way. Happy Harry is my favourite Harry, but the other versions aren’t far behind.

He finally stops at a shop at the edge of the business district, his hand not disconnecting from mine as he pulls open the door and lets me walk through first. I’d smile a thanks at him, but I’m too distracted by the glass cases full of baked goods and the delicious smell that envelops us. I could die happily here, curled up around one of those red velvet cakes behind the display case. Would one of those be acceptable for breakfast? Maybe not under normal circumstances, but I have just earned it for the torture Harry has put me through.

“Harry!” a voice happily calls out, and I turn, bewildered. Then it all clicks, and I’m forced to take a second look at the bakery, ignoring all the pastries I want to stuff in my mouth.

“Barbara!” Harry shouts, and he lets his hand slide out from mine in order to hop over a counter and give an elderly woman a hug. I bite back a smile watching the exchange, the way he has to lean down to hug her and how enthusiastically she latches onto him. She wears a maroon apron and a floral printed shirt beneath it.

“What are you doing here?” she asks when she pulls away, her hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. I want to fumble for my phone to take a photo of this moment, but I don’t want to ruin it, either. They’ve both forgotten me, but I don’t mind standing on the sidelines and watching.

“I’m on break from tour,” he explains. “Wanted to visit mum while I was here and make sure you haven’t managed to burn this place to the ground yet.”

She scowls at him, her hands falling from his face as she gives him a light shove. Harry has the decency to push back on his feet and at least pretend it’s worked. I like the way this woman operates.

“I believe it was you who set the ovens on fire,” she answers.

Harry shrugs, unbothered, and looks over to me. “Who knew bread was so flammable?”

Barbara’s eyes finally land on me and she lets out a gasp.

“You’ve brought a girl?!” she exclaims happily.

I haven’t met Harry’s grandparents, but this woman is doing a bang-up job as a stand in. Harry’s cheeks flush pink and he scratches at his neck uncomfortably, as if it’s just dawning on him that maybe bringing me here wasn’t such a fantastic idea.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asks, beckoning me forward. I oblige, taking a step nearer the counter, and she flips it up to remove the barrier.

“Mina,” I tell her as she pulls me to her in a hug. I can’t help but laugh as she squeezes me tightly. She reminds me of my own grandma, back in Nebraska. I haven’t seen her in a few years, and the sudden urge to call her tugs at my heart.

“You’re beautiful,” she tells me when she pulls away, and now I’m the one flushing. Her eyes focus on Harry behind me and she repeats, “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s alright,” I hear Harry answer, and I can practically feel him shrugging. Before I can turn to flip him off, Barbara frowns at him, eyeing him distastefully as he laughs.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a git anyway. Men never know a good thing when they have it.”

I grin down at Barbara and she smiles widely back at me. Harry is defending his intelligence levels behind us, but we both ignore him. His voice fades and the silence is instead replaced by a loud grumbling of my stomach. I’m back to being embarrassed but Barbara only glares at Harry behind me.

“Do I need to write you a manual on how to treat a woman? You didn’t feed her?”

“What do you think we’re here for?” Harry throws up his hands, as if there’s no possible way he can win this.

“I’m offended at the idea that you wouldn’t have come to see me otherwise,” she answers. At me she directs, “Take whatever you’d like.”

I raise a brow in surprise, but I’m not one to argue when food is offered. Especially when my eyes land on a cherry danish, icing drizzled over it and fresh from the oven. My mouth is watering and I’m not sure I could form a coherent sentence anymore.

Harry and Barbara continue to bicker like a couple of gossiping old women, but I tune them out. I’ve found my happy place, and it’s inside the flaky, jam-filled pastry I’ve taken to shoving in my mouth. Was I upset about something? Did my limbs hurt? I can’t remember anymore, I only want to crawl inside this danish and die.

I snack happily as Harry walks around, still making conversation with Barbara as he peeks in various rooms and meddles with some of the equipment. He eventually finds his way to my side, where I’m working on my second danish. I let him pick at it without comment and he slides his arm around my shoulders. My legs are numb, so I lean into him while he keeps up the conversation and I stay blissed out.

“How is it?” Barbara finally asks me when I’m nearly finished with the pastry.

“I don’t think I was alive until the moment this hit my mouth,” I gush. She laughs and Harry smirks, his fingers plucking another piece of it off.

“You should try one of her bear claws. They’re phenomenal,” Harry informs me around a mouthful of food.

“I’ll wrap some up for the road,” Barbara says before making her way to the back room. Once she’s gone, Harry moves toward the register and starts ringing up our sale.

“What are you doing?” I inquire.

“She won’t let me pay, so I have to sneak it in,” he responds.

I make no response but to lean forward on the counter and watch him. He catches my stare and smiles, momentarily distracted. I think he hits a wrong button because the register makes a weird sound and he frowns at it. I stifle a laugh as he tries to correct it. A moment later, the cash drawer pushes out and Harry stuffs more than an adequate amount of money into it. I try to refrain from rolling my eyes, because it’s a really sweet gesture. It’s clear to me how much he still loves this place, the memories it holds for him. Sentimental Harry is also very high on my list of favorite Harry versions.

Barbara appears again from the back room and Harry hastily shuts the register before she can take notice. She busies herself with a brown paper bag and slides the bearclaws inside. Harry grins cheekily over at me, holding a finger to his lips as if I need to be told to keep his secret. I knock my hip against him and he knocks his right back and I have to stop myself from retaliating with a shove. Sometimes it’s like this; sugar highs and endorphins kicking in so we’re both hyper and childish. After the events of last night, I feel lighter.

“When will I see you next?” Barbara asks as she hands Harry the bag.

“Might be a while,” he admits. “We’re still on tour, so a few months at least.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” she tells him, then aimed at me, “Don’t keep him.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I assure her. “I want to move in.”

She laughs, her soft face crinkling around her eyes and mouth. She turns to Harry and says, “I quite like her.”

“Me too,” he agrees. His arm around my shoulder tightens in a sort of hug before he lets it fall from me.

“We have to be going,” he tells her, leaning down to engulf her in a hug. He kisses her cheek softly before he pulls away. “We have a flight in a few hours.”

“Safe travels,” she wishes us kindly, and I find myself leaning in to hug her as well. She’s round and soft and feels like home. When I pull away, she winks at me and I smile.

“So nice to meet you,” I tell her.

“Keep him in check,” she warns. I laugh.

“Aye, captain.”

Harry holds the door open for me and I step back out onto the street. When I grab the bag from Harry’s hands, he looks at me, dumbfounded.

“You didn’t expect me to run here, eat three cherry danishes, and run back, did you?”

Harry sighs, pulling at his lip before he decides to answer. “I suppose that would be reaching for the stars.”

“Hope it’s a good day for your back, beacause you’re carrying me.”

He frowns down at me, but makes no argument as he turns and crouches to allow me to climb up on his back. Once I’m in a comfortable position, he stands and begins to walk back in the direction from whence we came. With my arms wrapped around his neck and my legs held at his sides by his arms, I nuzzle my face into his neck and think, “I could get used to this.”