ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 17

I feel myself getting redder and redder with each sentence he makes. "No way! What was she thinking? She must've been really high or something."

"She was pretty fun to be around if I'm honest." He smirks, and takes the whisk out of my hand, though I noticed his shoulders tense when I mentioned being high. "Do you have any nicknames?" He snaps back to being his old self.

"Not really. I mean, Ms. Middleton — the kind lady whose door you banged on in the middle of the night — calls me Berry, for some reason." I shrug, letting him still mix the bowl.

I think it has to do with the way you say my name; Am-ber Ea- ston. If you say it quick enough, especially in Ms. Middleton's Southern accent, you can definitely hear the nickname.

"Yeah? What kind of berry?" He scratches the rules of the game, asking the questions now.

"It's up to you, I guess." I let him have his moment at the stirring and adding a few more flavors.

He hums and takes a fairly long time to come up with the next question. "All right. I got one. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Italy," I instantly reply, almost cutting him off with the speed of my answer. "Just imagine gazing over the canyons or going to the sea every day. Might even catch some stars. Paradise on Earth, if you ask me." I almost forget the camera being in front of us, cracking two eggs with one hand, and letting them get lost under the spoon. "What's the best joke that you know?"

"Alright... Ermmm..." He clears his throat, trying to come up with one quickly. "Why don't eggs tell jokes? They'd crack each other up." He waits for my reaction but is the first one to break a laugh. Really, the more he cackles, the less I stay serious, starting to crack a smile as well.

"The fact that you're always the first one to laugh at your own jokes is funnier than the punchline itself," I laugh, slowly calming down from the hysterical laughter.

As we start melting the butter in a small pot, he drags out, "Alright. Last question. Maybe a weird one. I've seen you make some bold choices in fashion. But what's one clothing article you'd be too afraid to wear?" He stirs the mix together, creating the perfect batter.

I'm taken aback a bit by his interesting choice of question, but answer it without a second thought. "A dress, probably. I don't think you'll ever see one on me. Ever." I give him a look to not demand any further explanation, so he noddingly smirks, letting only one of his dimples show.

"Alright. How about we make a deal? If you ever wear a dress, I'll wear one as well." He raises an eyebrow, and I laugh at his pact offer.

"What? I'm serious." He points a finger at me, making me realize he wasn't joking.

"Alright." I skeptically agree, our deal being caught on camera. It doesn't matter, though because it's not like I'll ever wear one. "For the record, I think you'd look stunning in a dress."

Though he doesn't respond, I don't miss the way the corners of his lips reach his gleaming eyes at my comment.

I let Harry fill up the muffin cups with the batter, as I scroll over the recipe once more to make sure we didn't miss anything. My heart slightly drops when I look at the full pan Harry's filled and realize we didn't pre-heat the oven.

I rush to turn the degrees for the oven to 350 and throw the filled pan into it, making a mental note to myself to keep them in there for a bit longer.

I grab the camera off from the make-shift book stand, and comment, "The cupcakes are in the oven! We'll get back to you in 20 minutes."

We decided to spend the time waiting for the muffins to bake by watching an episode of Friends.