In Debt (Ηαrrγ Ꭶτγιεs FαηFιc)

Chapter 12

I instantly look around at the scenery. Harry's topless Jeep had managed to park in the middle of a small meadow, surrounded by trees.

When I turned around, Harry was pulling out a picnic basket and a red checkered blanket.

"Are you serious?" I ask, the words coming out a little less grateful than I had planned them to.

"I know. Horribly cheesy, especially for me, but I thought it would be nice," he explains, shrugging and opening his door.

I laugh and open my own door before he can do it for me.

Harry waves the blanket in the air twice, letting the breeze make ripples through it, and then lays it down perfectly. On each corner of the blanket, he puts down a small rock he pulls out of his basket.

"You really thought this through, didn't you?" I laugh, sitting down on the end farthest from the forest. A few hard pieces of grass and twigs come up through the blanket and pinch me, but it doesn't really bother me. As a matter of fact, the whole scene was perfect except for the stuff poking at my butt.

Harry smiles at me and sits on the opposite end, scratching the back of his neck and flexing at the same time. I hold back a whimper at the sight of his biceps and just end up blushing hysterically. To hide it, I look down at my sandals.

"I hope you like peanut butter and jelly," he says, laughing a little.

I look up, the heat in my cheeks dying down a bit.

"Only without the crusts," I tease.

He laughs again, "Of course."

Then, he pulls out two sandwiches, without the crust, separately sealed in a small Ziploc baggie.

"Fancy," I say, trying to sound higher class but failing.

"And to go with the main course, I have brought, drum roll please."

Instantly, I start to pat the ground quickly, imitating a drum roll.

"Some crisps!" he announces, tossing me a bag very unprofessionally.

"Oh! Fancier!" I say with the same accent.

He laughs and opens his, eating one instantly. "Sorry, I'm hungry," he awkwardly apologizes and then pulls two cans of Dandelion and Burdock out, tossing me one. I catch it swiftly and crack it open, instantly taking a large swig of the soda.

"I love this stuff," I say, "It's gotta' be my favorite soft drink."

"What about your favorite hard drink?" he asks.

"As in, alcohol?" I try to clarify, taking another sip and then opening up my Ziploc sandwich bag.

"Yeah. Why do you sound surprised?" he says nonchalantly.

"Well, I've never had an alcoholic drink," I explain, blushing again.

"That's cool," he says, laughing.

"What?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

"No. I just didn't picture you not having a drink before," he says, scratching the back of his neck again, but not after eating a few crisps.

"So?" I snap at him, yet again sounding a bit rude.

"It's nothing," he says, "I just shouldn't judge a book by its cover."

I smile at him and nod, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"I guess you shouldn't, should you," I reply, eyeing him curiously, noticing we had both judged each other when we first met.