under the covers [hs au]

chapter sixty-six.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?

"Are you going to let go of me?"

"Oh." Harry released her with an oomph. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Samira crossed her arms over her chest, holding a tight simper that hurt her cheeks. "How have you been?"

"I'm okay—doing well," He chuckled, tilting his head. "Do you . . . um . . . do you have time?"

"I do."

They sat in wooden rocking chairs on the other side of the roof, and Samira held an enchanted gaze. She couldn't stop staring with a rather impressed expression, like a proud friend, marveling at the changed shade in Harry's eyes.

"Will you stop staring?"

A snicker left Samira's lips. Her right leg rested over her left, and she held her chin up with her fist.

"I can't."

Harry laid both arms on the manchettes of the rocking chair, holding a sheepish grin.

"So?" Samira began. "What have you been up to these days?"

A quiet, amused laugh left Harry's mouth, and he rubbed his eyes. Then, leaning close, Harry intertwined his hands, rings rubbing with a clink.

"A lot, actually. I got a dog."

"Really?" Samira elevated her eyebrows.

He pointed his phone toward Samira, and she squinted her eyes and inched close. It was a picture of Harry smiling and holding a tennis ball next to a big dog with its tongue stuck out—a golden retriever—at an unfamiliar park. Samira cooed, zooming into the dog with a wholehearted frown.

"Awwwww," Samira whined, handing the phone back. "She's so cute."

"He, actually." Harry smiled.

"Name?"

Pursing his lips idiotically, Harry bit his lips.

"You're going to make fun of me."

"I doubt it."

Harry cringed; his face reddened.

". . . G . . . eor . . . gie?"

And his cheeks turned deeper and deeper in color between each syllable.

Before Samira could wheeze, she covered her face, laughing to herself.

"I can't even look at you."

"I told you you would make fun of me!"

Harry had been doing a lot more than she thought. He'd spent a lot of time traveling to different countries, taking a piece of what he'd learned with him—Japan, Ecuador, Morocco, Germany—many places, she'd lost count. Harry showed her the delicious food he'd eaten and the spices and ingredients he'd learned more about.

"That many places in a year?" She asked. "You're not in Liverpool anymore?"

"No, um, I'm with my mum now in my hometown."

"You two are good?"

"We're perfect," Harry chuckled, caressing his arms. "Aside from how much she wants me to garden with her. And church with her on Sundays isn't so bad."

Samira's mouth parted, just a little.

"Looks like someone became a believer, after all."

"Absolutely."

"You're still wearing the sabr necklace." Samira pointed at the bar pendant on Harry's chest, the same necklace he'd snatched from her, still paired with his cross.