From The Dining Table [H.S]

One Year

A/N: Uhhhh hi. Guess who's still alive! Low key didn't realise how long it had been since I had updated and its been about 3 weeks. Sorry gang but I'm back!! I HATE that there is always an excuse for me not updating cuz it isn't fair on you lovely lot supporting me. I'm GCSE year at school and my brain is frazzled from the amount of work they've shovelled down our throats. But I promise I'm back and ready to write these last 7 chapters.

Harry's POV:

The sun set gracefully fell over the calm sea as I hurried round the kitchen upstairs, desperately trying to navigate my way through the dirty bowls and greasy surfaces as I lay the table with plates. I'd done my best to make it look presentable: I made some fancy, folded napkins, bought those really tall candles, gotten some expensive champagne, and tried my very best to cook us a romantic dinner.

It's our anniversary.

Well... technically our anniversary is when I asked Primrose to be my girlfriend, however I feel like us meeting in Jamaica was such a monumental, life-changing moment for the both of us, that this date should be classed as our anniversary. Plus, we never did the whole friends-before-dating-then-awkwardly-catch-feelings stage - it was straight in at the deep end.

Primrose has been working all day: her and Angel reopened after some maintenance work, and the locals have flooded back in. Occasionally I go down and help out with whatever cleaning or drink-making I can do, but to be honest, I think I just get in the way. I also think Prim wants to tear my head off but is too polite to say anything. When it gets busy and her staff aren't working properly, she is genuinely scary when she yells - god knows what she'd yell at me for the mistakes I make.

Today, I decided to get out of her hair and take it upon myself to do chores around the house. I ran to the supermarket up the road to get things for the house, and whilst I was there I bought everything I would need for tonight. I'm hoping to cook us a three course meal, consisting of a classic starter of dough balls with garlic dipping butter, a main of chicken madras with rice and naan bread, and then a slightly failing desert of soufflé - I might of overshot with that one.

The chicken is fake because I don't eat meat, but hopefully she won't be able to tell.

Glancing over my shoulder at the clock, I realised I only had 20 minutes to finish everything. That's 20 minutes to: clean the kitchen, shower, get changed, dry hair with hairdryer, get starters ready, light candles and select music playlist so that I can be casually yet also mysteriously and attractively pretending to cook when she comes through the door. Impressive, right?

As I finished straightening the table cloth, I took a deep breath in of preparation, before practically bolting into the kitchen and beginning to clean. My socks slid against the slick wooden floor as I raced to load the dishwasher, being mindful to not break any of her things whilst hurriedly placing them in. A grapefruit mist scattered over the counters as I wiped them down, laying my head flat against the corner of it to try and spot any stains still remaining.

I plugged in the hoover and ran it over the floor, sucking up the spilt flour and rice so that Primrose wouldn't have to worry about any cleaning when she comes up. Smiling in satisfaction to myself at how spotless the room looked, I began to strip as I stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the water and not letting it heat up as I fell under it. The cold drops stung my skin as I massaged the foam through my hair, slapping conditioner through it and not letting it sit for a few minutes so that I could get out as soon as possible. Scrubbing my body down, I leapt from the steamy chamber within minutes and hurried into the bedroom.

I'd chosen my outfit earlier, so that wasn't a problem. I wanted to look nice to keep with my theme of mysterious chef but I didn't want to overdress because I knew that would make P feel insecure as she would still be in her work clothes. Hopping into my boxers, I grabbed my black jeans and shoved them on. The idea did cross my mind to be a naked waiter, but then I worried that her parents would do one of their random drop-by's and meet their daughter's boyfriend for the first time in nothing but an apron. Buttoning up my shirt and leaving the top three undone so that you could see the entirety of my cross necklace, I gave myself a satisfied wink in the mirror.