This Love

Chapter 7

HARRY STYLES

"So, after the cake tasting when we had our fight the other weekend, I got really drunk and Niall forced me to go with him to Pleasing. Well...he didn't really force me, but I was drunk and I just didn't want to come home to be either yelled at or ignored, so...I went, but...I didn't touch anyone and I barely...I barely looked at anything–"

"Harry?" Gabrielle calls out from downstairs, followed by the sound of the door closing.

I stand up so quickly that I get a headrush, feeling as though I was doing something I shouldn't have been. "Yeah, up in the bedroom!"

Her heels click on the steps until she emerges from the hallway in her pencil skirt and white shirt. "I'm sorry I'm late," she comes over to hold my shoulders and leans over for a kiss.

"That's okay," I watch her head to the closet. "Still wanted to do dinner tonight?"

"Yes," she sighs and trades her work clothes for a modest little black dress. "It's that new Italian restaurant, yeah?"

"Mhm," I stand to mindlessly check my reflection in the mirror. I'm wearing a button-down shirt, but it's not pressed or anything. It's the same kind of shirt I'd wear to work or out to a pub.

"Okay, let me just reapply my lipstick and we can go," she passes me to get to her vanity, and I watch her purse her thin lips to apply the deep maroon color.

"You look really nice," I tell her.

"Thank you," she beams and drops the little gold tube in her clutch. "You look pretty handsome yourself."

I offer a faint chuckle as she gives me an air kiss so that she doesn't ruin her lipstick or transfer the color onto my face somewhere. After she steps into her kitten heels, we head out and settle into my car so I can drive us to dinner. I wasn't planning on telling her the truth about what I did that night when I made these reservations last week, but I think subconsciously I knew that I was going to try and butter her up before I would decide to tell her. I still don't know if I'll have the nerve to do it, I only know that taking her out to a nice restaurant will help my chances of her forgiving me.

"Just do valet so that we don't have to do street parking," she says, "it'll take us forever otherwise."

Rather than arguing and reminding her that I hate paying someone else to park my car for me, a fact she's more than aware of, I let her have her way and pull up to get in line behind the other cars who have the same idea.

I've never had a thing for restaurants like this, and I'm reminded of that when we step inside to hear the upbeat jazz music playing under the sound of pretentious laughter and thin wine glasses clinking together. Gabrielle, though, would fit in with any of the women in here. I wouldn't be surprised if she found someone she knows.

"Hi, did you have a reservation?" The hostess smiles impossibly wide at us.

"Yeah, for Styles," I answer.

"Styles," she repeats after me, checking her list. "Of course, right this way."

Gabrielle leads the way to follow her to a two-person table in the middle of the room, but a little further back rather than being in the center. "This is so nice, don't you think?"

"Yeah, really nice," I agree and scoot my chair in closer, but I think I could have done with a burger and whiskey instead of what seems to be dainty pasta dishes and wine as I glance around the tables beside us. I understand then that this is the kind of restaurant where you leave starving still.

"Let's get the bruschetta," she says as she inspects the menu, but she's not asking.

"Okay," I look at the entrees, but I'm unable to come up with a decision before Gabrielle's asking if I want to share my dinner with her. That means she'll choose the two entrees she can't decide between, but I'm fine with it. She has good taste.