Fantasy and Putts - t.h. series [18+]

Meta-Fore of Love - part eight

"What's up?" you ask, "I'm officially not on duty anymore, so if you want something, you won't get the friend discount."

"Uh, no, nothing, thanks. I actually came here to ask you out to lunch."

"You want to have lunch... with me?" You point at your chest. He gives you a shrug, his expression full of peace and truth. "I don't know if you can afford my type, though."

He laughs heartily and waves you over to the other side of the counter with a hand. "Come on, let me take you somewhere fun. There's this new bistro in our street, one of my mates works there. They serve—"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. Head tilted at him, you ask, "Is this a ruse to get me to the flat?"

"No."

"Because I haven't been there in weeks for a reason," you let him know in a stern voice.

The thing is, you have been to the flat once or twice at the most to grab a few clothes and your laptop and nothing else. Ever since tragedy hit in the bathroom that night, you simply cannot look at that place in the same light. Those tiles saw and heard too much, and they have too many stories to tell that would only hurt to listen to now. The whole place hides too many memories and bears too much recent pain that you do not want to, nor need to, recall.

"I know, I know, and promise it's not a trick," Harrison says with a smile, "I'm just curious about that bistro. It will be just you and me too, if you're worried. You have my word."

"Mhmm." You press your lips together and give him a side eye, but decompress at his offer. You do believe him. From all the moments he could have set a trap for you, he has not once done anything of the sort. If he happens to cross you this time, for the very first time ever, you'll know never to trust him again.

You also glance at David, who is technically still your superior at the Den, and he says, "If you're asking me, you should've already left."

"I was about to load the washer..." you remind him, but he sighs dramatically in response.

"Just go, y/n. Plenty of clean glasses around here. I can slave around someone else," he quips, using one of the recurring jokes you've been known to use against him whenever he's asked you to do this or that chore right before your shift was about to end.

"Thanks, Dave," you say and smooch his cheek with a loud, prolonged mwaaaaah.

"Ew, back off, I'm still at work," he shoves you away. "And you know—"

"I know it's David," you say at the same time as him, except in a mocking tone. He throws a used hand towel at your face. You catch it before it touches you and use it to smack the small of his neck. "Smartass."

You barely hear what he calls you in return because you're already in the back to fetch your belongings. Once you have everything you need, you slip your purse into place and trek closer to Harrison, who grabs your arm and enlaces it with his own on your way out.

"So calling people by the wrong name is just your 'thing'."

You grin at his observation and follow his lead out of the pub, saying, "Yes. That's exactly my thing, Harry."

"You're never gonna stop, are you?"

"Why would I stop? You all get so cute when you're annoyed," you say casually, pinching his cheek like a granny would do. He slaps your hand away from his face with his free hand.

"Now tell me about your audition, darling," you ask him, matching up to his step on the way to his car.

Harrison's telling you all about his new acting job when he holds the door for you at the bistro he was talking about. It's an inviting place, not too extravagant but decent enough to make you feel underdressed in flats and no jacket.