The Love Club

Twenty-Two

My mind is too restless for sleep. Gatsby is curled up at the foot of my bed, so lost in her dreams that her feet kick occasionally, grazing my legs. There’s a flight to catch in just a few short hours, but I know I’ll find no rest beforehand. 

I stare at the cieling, a candle lit and Hozier in my speakers. My eyes are closed, but peace refuses to wash over me. My heart is in my throat and I try to swallow it down, but there’s nothing to be done.

And this is love.

Harry walked me back to my room hours ago, so close that our arms brushed with every step we took. His hands shoved in his pockets and my arms crossed over my chest, I wondered if his palms itched for mine as much as mine did for his. When his green irises flickered to me, I thought they might have. 

I let out a sigh and glance at the glowing alarm clock on the nightstand. 3:39 a.m.. 

Running a hand through my hair, I force myself up and stretch. The carpet is soft beneath my bare feet as I make my way over to the bathroom to flick on the light. I blink away the sudden shock to my system, giving my eyes a moment to adjust. My reflection stares blankly back at me in the mirror, deep purple circles beneath her eyes. 

Reaching out a hand, I turn on the faucet and splash cold water to my face. I feel warm everywhere, but the contrast of the temperature on my skin feels fantastic. I cup my hands and fill them once again before submerging my face in it. It’s then I hear a faint knocking at my door.

It’s so quiet that at first I think I must be imagining it. It’s late in the morning and I can’t fathom a soul who would want to talk to me at this hour. 

Well, that’s not true. I can, but it’s wishful thinking to hope he’s who is standing on the other side of my door. Still, I bring a towel to my face and shut off the light as I pass it on the way to my door. 

Slowly, I pull it open to reveal Harry with sweatpants low on his hips and a loose tee shirt on. His head is turned, eyes wandering the expanse of the hall while he waits for me to answer. When I do, he turns his attention to me with a slow, sheepish smile. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice like gravel. I want to melt.

“Hey,” I respond, my own vocal chords failing me. A dimple appears in his cheek.

“Whatcha doing?” he inquires, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Trying to sleep,” I answer honestly.

“Not doing a very good job of it,” he observes.

“Neither are you.”

He grins lazily at me as he pushes his weight up. I know his intentions and move aside to let him step into the room. I close the door behind him, and when I turn, he’s already flopped down horizontally on my bed, his arms behind his head like there’s no where else he’d rather be. And maybe there isn’t. 

The thought tightens my chest.

Slowly, I pad over to the bed and lower myself down beside him, conscious of how much room there isn’t and the way his body radiates heat. With my head turned, just inches away from him, I watch the way his hair curls near the nape of his neck. I can study the topography of the stubble on his jaw, the pale shade of his lips and the way his chest rises and falls with every intake of breath. 

“Are you staring?” his voice suddenly penetrates the room. When he opens one eye to look at me, I turn away.

“No.”

I don’t need to see him to know he’s grinning. From the corner of my eye, I watch as his head moves in my direction, his gaze boring into me. I’m too stubborn and refuse to do anything but stare at the ceiling. 

With a chuckle, he moves his arms from behind his head, one outstretching to move beneath my neck and the other curving over my body to my waist, pulling me closer to him. I gasp in surprise, my body tensing automatically beneath his touch, and he pauses. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. 

I gulp and nod. He still hesitates, so I scoot myself to him of my own accord, my head coming to a final rest on his chest, just below his chin. 

“You caught me off guard,” I explain quietly when he doesn’t respond. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he whispers into the dark. 

“You don’t,” I assure him.

“I feel like I constantly do. Sometimes you give me this look like I’m doing everything wrong.”

I wet my lips, furrowing my brow while I try to piece together why he’d think that. I’ve never felt more comfortable around anyone in my life, apart from my family. Something about Harry and I just clicks; it always has. 

“You make me nervous,” I admit, “but never uncomfortable.”

“Why do I make you nervous?”

I take a moment to think this over, conscious of every place on my body that is touching him, from my leg entwined with his to where his hand rests on my left hip, fingers absently brushing patterns in the space between the hem of my shirt and the band of my cotton shorts. 

“You’re a wild card, I guess,” I finally manage to say. “I didn’t expect it. I’m ill equipped and don’t know what I’m doing.”

“If anyone here knows what they’re doing, it’s you.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, tilting my head to look up at him. He watches me from beneath heavy lids.

“This is what you do. You take two people and you make it work, you plan all this romantic stuff and it happens. I definitely have the disadvantage here,” Harry answers. 

“I do it for other people,” I correct. “This is different.”

“This is different,” he agrees, head falling back to the bed. I move my own neck into a more comfortable position, an angle that fits better with the way my body is positioned. 

We’re both quiet for a bit, and I listen to Hozier as it softly eminates from the speakers of my nearby computer. Gatsby shifts in her sleep at the foot of my bed and the candle flickers. A glance at the clock reads 4:12. 

“How did you know I was awake?” I ask. 

“I couldn’t sleep, either. Thought I’d get up and go to the vending machine just to have something to do when I caught the light under the door and heard the water running,” he mumbles in reply, sleep heavy in his tone. “Might as well be awake together.”

I smile into his chest, the soft fabric bunching beneath my hands. He hums thoughtfully as I shift slightly, adjusting the way my weight is distributed on his arm.

“I was going to go to Cheshire,” Harry says suddenly. “And then to L.A. early to see some friends, but I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. It was weird while you were away, I’ve gotten so used to having you here. And now that I’m on a short break I still want to spend time with you, but it seems selfish to ask you to follow me everywhere I go. Maybe I should just spend the downtime in London.”

“Well, I just came from London,” I point out. “And besides, there’s not much that I’d left behind besides my parents in Oxford. I made the decision to take some time off and do a bit of traveling.”

I realize suddenly how presumptious that sounds, assuming he wants me with him in either Holmes Chapel or L.A.. I tack on a, “If you even want me there,” just in case and his hold on me tightens. 

“Oxford’s on the way to Holmes Chapel from London,” he muses. “And I’d quite like to meet your family, if you’re okay with that.”

The implications of meeting my family seems huge until I remember I’ve already met his. I wonder if he’d gone through the same thought process, if his family knew already where this was headed. Looking back on it now, it certainly seems that way. I flush suddenly. 

“My parents would love to meet you,” I answer quietly. 

“It’s settled then. And you don’t mind coming to L.A.?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

I close my eyes, resting against him. His fingertips still swirl patterns on my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake that I hope he doesn’t notice. He hums along with the song when it changes and I feel content. When he starts to sing softly, I can’t help but prop my head up and watch him. 

“I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you.”

It’s a peaceful sound he makes, and I’m mesmorized by the way in which his lips move, forming each word. His eyes, previously shut, flutter open to land on me and he smiles lazily but in a way that makes my heart pound regardless.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do,” he finishes, lifting a hand to run through my hair. Instictively, I lean into his touch. 

I wonder for a moment what he’s thinking about when his hand comes to a stop at my neck, pulling me forward. I oblige, our noses brushing before our lips make contact. He’s still smiling, which makes me smile despite how occupied our lips are with one another’s. 

In a way, I wish I had something to compare this to, some gauge to mark appropriate time tables on. I have the advantage of knowing he’s mine to keep, but I wonder when he’ll know the same. I wonder if he yet knows how much I am his already, the way I sigh against him and he swallows the sound. 

We’re buds blossoming for one another in the spring, beneath the steady warmth of the sun and the careful measure of rain. It’s a gentle prodding, testing the limits to see how far we can pry each other open before the lingering taste of winter pulls us closed again. When his tongue slips into my mouth, it feels like summer.

When it’s so much that my bursting heart can’t take it, we pull away, breathless and flushed. His lips, pale pink before, are swollen and red. I take pride in the color I’ve painted upon them, and as he studies me I think he feels the same. 

“We should try to rest,” he breathes, his face hovering just centimetres from mine.

“Maybe,” I concede, my fingers tangled in his long mess of hair. Absently, they curl to scratch against his scalp and his eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“Or not,” he pouts, causing me to laugh. He’s happy to stifle the sound with his mouth, and I’m happy to let him. I’m happy to stay like this as long as he’ll permit, which is apparently until the sun begins to rise. 

When it’s unavoidable and we can procrastinate no longer, Harry heads back to his room to pack up and I gather my own things to prepare for the flight home. The light outside is orange with the sunrise and I leave the curtains parted to glance at it every few moments while I throw miscellaneous toiletries into my suitcase. When I think I have everything, I throw the bag over my shoulder and take Gatsby’s carrier in my hand.

The hotel hallway, as usual at this time of morning, is bustling with activity. Crew members file down the hall toward the elevators, where a que has started up. I sling my bag over my shoulder and opt for the stairwell, my load light. 

In the lobby, everyone is divvying up spots in vehicles. I catch sight of Mitchie, standing beside Ty with her arms crossed over her chest. I walk toward her, smiling at Ty when he notices my approach. He hits her lightly on the arm and points to me, and when she catches sight of me, she frowns. 

It seems Harry wasn’t the only one offput by my sudden disappearance from tour. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks casually, watching as I hand my bag and Gatsby’s carrier off to one of the hotel employees helping stuff luggage into cars. 

“I missed this,” I answered, gesturing to the chaos unfolding around us.

“You missed him,” Mitchie corrects, and I freeze for a moment, off-put by her icy words. Ty shifts his weight from one foot to another uncomfortably before he finds an excuse to leave. Mitchie glares at him, as if the conversation he’s suddenly struck up with another crew member is the ultimate betrayal. 

“I missed you, too,” I tell her.

She snorts, still avoiding eye contact. I sigh, trying to figure out how to get myself out of this mess. For someone who is so honest about telling it how it is, she certainly doesn’t like confrontation. 

“Okay, look,” I say, swallowing my pride. “What I did was childish and immature and I shouldn’t have left like that. I should have told you, I should have answered your calls, and I’m really sorry I was being such a shitty friend because you deserve a lot better than that.”

She raises a brow, but still avoids her gaze. I think I might be getting somewhere, so I plunge on ahead.

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me from my first day here and I could have at the very least shot you a text, but I just wasn’t in a good frame of mind and I knew you’d talk me out of it. I think your level-headedness and common sense scares me, so I pushed you away and I suck for doing that.”

Mitchie stays silent beside me, and I don’t know what to do next. I suppose if I’m desperate enough, I can impose myself upon her until she loses her resolve and lets me in. I can’t really blame her for her reaction to seeing me, all the same. 

“Fine,” she finally allows. “Your apology is being processed.”

“You’re my best friend, Mitchie,” I say lamely, wrapping my arms around her and trapping her there. 

“I thought that title went to Niall.”

“Who, that idiot?” I wave a hand dismissively. “He just signs my checks. I have to be nice to him.”

She wiggles in my embrace and I let go of her, taking a step back to allow her space to breathe. She looks like she appreciates the gesture as she rocks back on her heels and surveys me.

“So did you decide to take my advice and screw whatever notion you had about Victoria?”

“No, I just had it wrong. She was meant for someone else and I sort of overreacted.”

“You don’t say,” she mumbles, unamused. I can’t help but smile.

“Are you two done here?” Ty inquires hesitantly. Mitchie punches him hard in the arm, but he doesn’t even flinch. “The car’s ready.”

I follow the two of them to the idling SUV, scooting into the back row with Mitchie squished in the middle. She eyes me incredulously, as if stunned on how I got the side seat and she’s stuck between the two of us. I artfully ignore her gaze, resting my head on the window as the vehicle begins to move. 

The airport is only a ten minute drive from the hotel, and my nap is short-lived. I only have an hour on the plane, and then I’ll be able to fall into my own bed again and hopefully find sleep for the first time in two weeks. For the first time in months, I feel at least slightly at ease. Things seem to be significantly less complicated than they felt even on my first day on tour, seeking out girls in the abyss. I can’t remember the last time I’ve truly had nothing on my plate to worry about. 

When the car arrives on the tarmac, I’m the last to exit. I slam the door shut behind me with finality as I glance at the private jets that await to take us all back to London. From there, I imagine Mitchie will be headed back to Puerto Rico for her two-week break. 

“You can stay with me for a night in London, if you want,” I offer her. 

She turns to me with a grin on her face. “A girls night is definitely in order,” she declares thoughtfully. “I’ll save it for when I have a particularly shitty day in America, though, if you don’t mind. I’m a little homesick.”

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

We make our way to one of the planes, the one that holds crew only. Harry and I hadn’t discussed my transportation, but I assume it doesn’t matter where I’m at as long as my name is checked off on the list each person holds at the bottom of the steps. When I’ve checked in, I bound up the stairs and into the plane, choosing a seat with a window in my own row. I scroll through my iPhone until I find a calming playlist and settle in to take a nap. With my feet tucked to me and my head thrown back, I settle in comfortably before most of the members have even boarded the plane. 

In my lap, my mobile buzzes. I reluctantly open my eyes and raise the screen to read the incoming message.

“Safe travels. See you soon.”

I roll my eyes at Harry’s message but type one back nonetheless. When I’ve hit send and don’t see a typing bubble pop up again, I fall into unconsciousness, if only for a little while.

- 

When we land at Heathrow, my phone buzzes with activity. Eighteen missed calls and nine voicemails from my dad. It strikes me suddenly that I may have forgotten to mention taking my leave to Portugal. 

Cringing, I ignore the voicemails in favor of calling him back immediately, pressing the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I pick Gatsby up and sling my bag across my body, slowly making my way from the tarmac to the interior of the airport. Someone holds the door for me and I’m grateful, my hands otherwise tied up.

“Where are you?” my father demands the moment he picks up the phone.

“Heathrow,” I answer truthfully, regret coloring my tone of voice.

He sighs heavily on the other end, a total dad move in the art of making your child feel guilty. I rub a hand across my face tiredly, trying to regain more consciousness. I’m only a short twenty minute ride from my apartment and I feel as if I could sleep for a thousand years. 

“I went to check on you and you weren’t home. Have you any idea how terrifying that is, Mina?”

I pause for a moment to conjure up an appropriate reply as I push out into the thick of the crowd, trying to figure out where exactly it is I am and where I need to go from there to find a cab to take me home. There’s a commotion up ahead and I steer myself in the opposite direction, more than happy to avoid the paparazzi and crazed fans as the boys make their way through with the help of their security team. 

“I suppose that would be quite frightening,” I allow, passing a Cinnabon as I stride through the airport toward the nearest exit that isn’t currently occupied by a world famous boyband. For a moment, I feel a pang of regret for not saying a proper goodbye to Harry. At the time, I hadn’t realized I wouldn’t be seeing him again, too swept up in packing and catching the flight to realize even a simple wave to him wouldn’t be possible. Quickly I dismiss it, knowing I’ll see him sometime in the next two days. It’s far too early for any sort of separation anxiety.

“You didn’t tell me where you were going, though it wasn’t a hard guess to make,” he grumbles on the other end of the line as I walk through automatic glass doors toward a motorway. Most of the cabs here are hired already, but I spot a bored-looking driver toward the front and make his cab my destination, telling my father to hold on a minute while I check to make sure he’s available. When he says he is, he pops the trunk and lets me throw my bag in before I take Gatsby and slide into the backseat. The driver types my address into his GPS and checks his blind spot before pulling out into traffic. 

“I messed up and I had to fix it,” I finally tell my dad, sinking into the seat exhaustedly.

“And a phone call wouldn’t suffice?”

“I needed to make a grand gesture,” I explain patiently.

“So you went to Portugal. For onenight?”

“Grand gesture,” I repeat. 

I imagine him pacing his study, rolling his eyes. I wonder if he’s preparing a lecture or just taking some time to do some reading in the quiet of his favorite room. I wonder what Felicity is making for dinner, and then my own stomach rumbles. I place a hand on it, glancing at it warily.

“So what happened, then? Did you realize suddenly that this Victoria girl didn’t matter?”

“No,” I answer. “Not in the way you’re thinking, anyway. I just realized she belonged to someone else.”

“I don’t like that,” he says, and I can hear the frown in his voice. “I don’t like the implication that you wouldn’t have gone back otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“Felicity told me she talked to you,” he tells me, trying a different tactic. “About your mother and I, and about she and I. Even without Victoria, I think if you’d gone to him things would have worked out.”

“That’s not the point,” I groan, resting my head against the window as I rub at my temple. I’m so exhausted of people not understanding where I’m coming from. When I voice this concern, my father is quick to quip, “Well, explain it to me, then.”

“Dad, you never would have met Felicity if mum hadn’t died. You wouldn’t have had a need to,” I point out. “With the way I felt around Victoria, I knew she was meant for someone and I assumed that someone was Harry. And if that had turned out to be true, then yes, maybe if I’d forced my way into his life, things could have been okay between us. But I would have had to lived knowing that there was someone out there who would have been better for him, who could have made him happier than I could. And that’s not something I could have done.”

He’s silent for a long time, which is okay. The early morning sun is peeking through the clouds in downtown London. I’ve been speaking as quietly as possible, beneath the rumble of the car so my driver doesn’t overhear and think I’m bonkers. Regardless, he seems happy in humming along to Uptown Funk playing on the radio, and I’m just as content watching the skyline as it approaches, the taxi bumping its way along a bridge that stretches across the Thames. 

“I just want you to be happy, Mina,” he finally says, and I smile.

“I know, dad. And it would have been difficult for a really long time, but eventually I think I could have found a way to move on. But there’s no point in talking about it now, things are different.”

Something in the tone of my voice must have changed, exhaustion giving over into something more hopeful. When my dad speaks again, he sounds relieved and happy.

“I’m glad things are working out in your favor.”

“Me too,” I sigh blissfully, the cab pulling up to the curb at my apartment. I slide my credit card through the kiosk hooked up in the back seat and tip 30% for my sheer good mood. The driver thanks me and I him, pulling Gatsby from the backseat and collecting my things from the trunk. He drives away and I head into the lobby.

“I’m coming down for a day or two again,” I mention casually, hitting the button for the lift.

“Oh?” my dad asks distractedly. Yep, definitely lecture planning time.

“Yeah,” I confirm. Then hesitantly, I add, “Harry would like to meet you.”

“I’d like to meet him,” he responds without missing a beat. I laugh, imagining the two of them in the same room, Felicity and I too much alike and both trying to mediate between awful jokes and the most boring of topics. I can see Harry and my dad getting along quite well. 

“We’ll be down on Wednesday evening, then.”

“Are you staying here?” he asks. 

“Yeah, if you can get the guest room prepared.”

“Not a problem. Do you have other plans?”

I slip the key into my lock and turn it, the door falling open to reveal my kitchen, the living room just past it with the long wall of glass to reveal the highrises around us. I let out a contented sigh as I shut the door with my foot and release Gatsby from the confines of her cage. She stretches out before taking off toward my bedroom. I’ll be happy to do the same in a few short minutes. 

“Yeah, we’re going to see his family in Cheshire for a bit. And after that he asked if I’d go to L.A. with him,” I reply distractedly, laying my keys on the countertop as I pass. Usually, I feel an immediate need to unpack and settle in, but I’m too exhausted to even pick my bag up off the kitchen floor. Instead, I slip off my shoes and follow the hardwood through the main rooms until my bare feet hit the carpet of my bedroom. Gatbsy is already curled up on my pillow. 

“Sounds like things are getting serious quickly,” my dad comments.

It does, but they really aren’t. 

“It’s just with what he does, there’s really no other way for us to spend time together. And I’m sure even with visiting our families and then flying to America, we won’t be together that whole time. He’ll still have other obligations and there’s not much in public we can really do together.”

“Still, weekend trips...”

“Dad, I’ve spent nearly every day of the last four months stuck with him on a tour bus and equally cramped spaces. A weekend holiday sounds like I’ll have more freedom for space, if anything.”

“Still sounds backward to me, but to each their own,” my dad mutters as I throw myself onto the bed. I’m more than ready to say my goodbyes to him, reassure I’ll see him in a few days and take my thousand year nap, but there’s one thing I’m itching to ask before I can consider doing that.

“Why didn’t you tell me about mum?” 

I hear the rustling of papers stop in the background. Patiently, I slip beneath the duvet and slip an arm under my pillow as I roll to my side, phone pressed to my ear hot from use. 

“I suppose,” he begins, “I didn’t want it to make you sad.”

“Why would it make me sad? If anything I feel more connected to her now.”

“Because it’s the one thing I couldn’t help you with when you were growing up. It’s the one thing I never could fully understand in the same way she could.” Another pause. “I felt like I failed you.”

I frown into the covers, pulling Gatsby close to me. Hearing him say that makes my chest ache, and I’ve had more than enough of that feeling in the last two weeks. 

“Dad, you never failed me,” I croak into the phone. “You did your best, and it was more than enough. You have to know that.”

“It was the one area I always fell short in, munchkin. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” I tell him earnestly. “I love you,” I add for good measure.

“I love you, too.”

With that settled, I find the strength to hang up the phone and fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When I awake again, it’s only for a few short moments to go to the restroom and have a glass of water. Late in the evening, I still feel drowsy and it’s easy to go back to bed. 

It’s 8 a.m. when my eyes flutter open for good again, and my body is stiff from laying in one position for so long. Stretching out, I roll on one side and work out the kinks in my back, then do the same on the other.

I’m absolutely starving, but I know there’s nothing in my apartment. I could go out to eat, but I don’t like doing it alone and I can’t think of anyone to call. 

Slowly, I rise from the bed and run a hand through my hair. Gatsby sits in the doorframe, licking her paw and gaurding my exit. I hiss at her somewhat playfully and she drops her paw, cocking her head to one side. When I repeat my action, she only blinks at me and I give up, standing and crossing the room to my closet. 

I decide on comfort over style. Pulling on a pair of denim shorts and a cream-colored bohemian shirt, I deem myself presentable after dabbing on some make-up. I slip on some flats, pulling them from my bag in the kitchen as I frown. I should get around to un-packing that. 

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I take the lift down to the bottom floor and make my way to the grocer’s, wondering if Duncan will be working. More than anything I want to ask about Victoria and what conspired in my flurry to leave. I should probably apologize for that as well, and I enter the supermarket feeling sheepish. When I scan the check out aisles, he’s no where to be seen and I assume he has the day off. 

Immediately in front of me is the produce, and I grab a few bananas and a pear, plopping it down into a nearby basket before picking it up to take with me. All my cereal is stale, but I’m craving Corn Pops right now. Later, I’ll probably need a frozen pizza and perhaps a can of spaghetti-o’s for lunch tomorrow. If I’m desperate enough by tomorrow evening, I can get some takeout from the Thai place down the street.

Now that I have a game plan, I head over to the canned food aisle, then make my way toward the cereal, which is on the other side of breads. It’s at the end of the bread aisle that I pause, two familiar figures standing side by side. 

Duncan has a cart beside him of fresh loaves from the bakery and he unloads them slowly as he listens to the voice speaking. Even with his back to me, I can recognize Harry’s frame anywhere, the broad cut of his shoulders contrasting with his lean torso and long legs. I wonder what’s going on, but have a feeling if I approach them I’ll never find out. With a pounding heart, I jump into the cereal aisle and make my way down it until I find a place I generally think is the opposite side of where they’re standing. It also happens to be where the Corn Pops are, so score. 

The voices are muffled and I curse my short legs for not being able to hear better over the shelves. Making do, I lean forward to pretend I’m extremely invested in the Kellog’s brand while my ears strain to listen. I’m relieved to learn they can’t be too far into their conversation just yet, the way Harry is prattling on. 

“... Just know you two haven’t spoken since that night at the apartment and I thought I’d do my best to smooth things over, as much as I can on my end. I know she really appreciates having you as a friend and I don’t want to get in the way of that. But I also know the way you look at her, so I understand if it’s something you can’t manage.”

My breat hitches in my throat, my mind blanking as I try to process what is happening here. I don’t even know how Harry knew where Duncan worked, let alone that he’d show up here. 

“She sort of has a way on creeping up on you, doesn’t she?” Duncan chuckles. Harry joins in, and though I can’t see him, I can imagine him rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “She does.”

My face is flushing and I fear my sweaty palms might drop the basket of groceries. Still, I can’t move from this place while Duncan tries to piece his words together.

“I respect you a lot, man,” Dunan finally says, and if I had the capacity to gasp, I would. “I think you’re a good guy, and you’re good for her. She’s been different since she’s met you.”

“How do you mean?” Harry inquires.

“The Mina I know is all business. She’s wrapped up in scheduling and clients and endless phone calls. She leaves the house only when I beg her and force her out, and she does it reluctantly. But with you she’s more laid back. She’s curious and trying to branch out, and that’s something she never found with me, so power to you. And it’s cool of you to look out for her when it comes to me and show up here. I respect that.”

“I just don’t like to think I’d get in the way of any of her friendships. Those are really important, especially because I can’t be around as often as I’d like. You’ve always been good to her as far as I can tell, and I think it would make her feel better to know she has you in her corner.”

When Duncan makes his reply to this, his voice seems further away. He must be standing now, done unloading bread and my mind sets into a frenzy, wondering which way he’ll leave and if he’ll notice me. I have to get out of here fast.

“My friendship with Mina has always been off-kilter, and that’s been my fault, but I’m working on it. And I’ve got a date tonight with this girl who is completely out of my league, so I don’t think either one of you will have to worry about it for too much longer. But I’ll always have her back, and I’m glad to have her as a friend,” he says before pausing. “And I’m glad she has you as a... whatever you are.”

Harry laughs, the kind of laugh I’ve come to associate with crinkled eyes and dimples. I wish I could see it, but it’s time for me to get the hell out of here. Just as I pull away to leave, I hear Harry make his reply.

“Yeah, I dunno. We’re still working out the details on that. But congrats, mate. I hope it goes well for you.”

That’s Harry, ever polite. I roll my eyes as I swifly take off down the aisle in the same direction I came from, making a left and bee-lining for the frozen pizzas. If I time this right, Duncan will have gone into the back and Harry will have slipped out the door by the time I make it to the check out lanes. Easy peasy.

The problem with that is Harry rounds the corner just as I make it into the frozen pizza aisle and I freeze in a panic, taking a moment while he’s distracted by reading the signs to latch onto the nearest freezer and pull the door open to obscure my face. The glass fogs immediately with the contrast in temperatures as I try to calm my breathing to something more normal. 

My eyes are closed as I count to sixty, hoping that if he hasn’t spotted me in the first minute, he won’t. When I don’t hear him call my name, I sigh out a relief and slowly shut the freezer door, turning and opening my eyes to come face-to-face with a pair of swallow tattoos.

Well, shit.

He leans against the freezer beside mine, arms crossed over his chest while he smirks at me. With wide eyes, I stare back at him, unable to move and overcome with complete embarrassment.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says in a voice that suggests anything but. It snaps me back to reality and I huff, moving past him to another freezer that holds the brand of pizza I’m looking for.

“Actually, yes,” I say defiantly as I pull open the door. Why was I so nervous about getting caught? This is my turf! “Since this is where I’ve bought my groceries every Sunday afternoon for the last two years.”

It’s a defense mechanism that has kicked in to save me from mortification. Harry seems to realize as much as he holds the freezer door open, still smirking openly at me. I ignore his dumb green eyes and turn away, dropping the pizza in my basket and stalking off toward the check-out aisles. He keeps up with my pace easily. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks.

I stop mid-stride, turning to look at him.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Any number of reasons,” he shrugs. “Getting involved with your business, showing up down the street with no intentions of calling you, pulling a ‘boyfriend move’,” he accents this with air quotes,” though I’m not actually your boyfriend.”

I frown, eyeing him warily. Is he really laying this out for my choosing? Who does that? And more importantly, is he going to do this every time he thinks he’s messed up, even in the tiniest of ways? 

“You were trying to be helpful,” I allow. “And I think you may have actually been, so no. I’m not mad at you.”

“I haven’t awoken the feminist in you?” he asks skeptically as he follows me to a self-checkout. 

“You would have if you’d attempted to speak for me,” I answer. “But you didn’t. You spoke for yourself, so whatever. Good bro talk.”

He shakes his head, a smile playing out on his lips while I scan my items through and pay the requested amount. While I’m busy entering my pin number, he moves to my other side and puts my things into a plastic bag, plucking out a banana for himself. When I don’t protest this, he hands me my bag and places a quick peck on my cheek in appreciation. Thank me all he wants, I know better than to stand between Harry and a banana.

“Well I suppose if you’re not angry at me, then I won’t call you out on eavesdropping.”

“Kind of you, sir,” I answer dryly as he peels the skin from the banana, offering me a bite. I accept, my stomach roaring to life at the sight and smell of it. 

“A little one!” he frowns in offense when he sees the hunk I’ve taken into my mouth. I’m ravenous.

“Who paid for it?” I ask, and he side-eyes me as he takes a bite of his own, obviously unhappy with my comment. 

We hit the pavement outside and Harry stops, shoving one hand into his pocket while he looks down at me, swallowing the food in his mouth. I wait patiently.

“I’m heading to a friend’s now, I was just popping by for that quick chat with Duncan,” he tells me slowly.

“Okay,” I say. He raises his brows at me when I take a step back. “Bye,” I add, lamely.

He throws his head back and does another one of those crinkle-eyed laughs I love so much. “Really, that’s it?”

“What’s what?” I ask, confused. “You said you have to go. Good. Get out of here.”

He shakes his head as he pulls his keys from his pocket, swinging it on his finger as he takes a backward step in the direction of his Range Rover. His green eyes are bright and the dimples in his cheeks are quarter-sized, but I still have no idea what he’s finding so amusing.

“You are something else,” he says as he turns fully and pulls open the driver’s side door.

“What does that mean?” I demand as I watch him from the middle of the sidewalk, arms at my sides. He doesn’t even turn around as he offers me a wave over his shoulder, turning the key in the ignition and taking off down the street.

I stare after him blankly, trying to figure out what has just happened. When I can’t fathom an answer, I take a deep breath and head back to my apartment.

Note to readers

This was my longest chapter to date! Huzzah! I had no idea where I was taking this chapter when I began it the other day, but I'm really pleased with how it turned out! A lot of things went down, so let's talk about it either here or at beggingforfics.tumblr.com, ya'll! We'll discuss how adorable Harina is, it'll be fun!