CLANDESTINE | HS |

NINETEEN

Logan

He's perfect.

Harry is the perfect man.

The perfect person.

His thumb draws back and forth across the back of my hand, his fingers entwined with mine as both our hands lay on my thigh.

We stayed so long at my moms house that I practically had to push him out of the front door, his promise to come back to show Warren some of his woodworking skills lingering in the air.

It took all of fifteen minutes, if that, for Harry and my mom to strike up their own friendship.

I just sat back with the warm feeling in my chest spreading through my body, watching as they talked as if they had always known each other.

Not once did his gaze stay on the scarf around her head.

Not once did he ask what was wrong with her.

Not once did his expression turn to one of pity.

"Can we go to my house?" I ask, turning to face him. "Please?"

Harry looks over at me, the red light casting a glow across that perfect face I think about all day long. "Are you sure? Your car is at my house."

We've never stayed at my apartment — we've only ever stayed at Harry's house.

"I'm sure." Leaning over the console, I press my lips to his cheek. "I want you in my space."

And I did.

Harry took up space inside of my brain that belonged to him, just like parts of him were starting to take up space in my chest that felt like it belonged to him more and more every single day.

The rest of the drive was filled with mindless chatter between the two of us, laughter filling the cab of his truck.

Pulling into the parking garage and turning off the engine, I reach down to grab my bag at the same time Harry makes his way around the front end of the car to open my door for me.

His fingers instantly lace through mine as if just a small part of him feels the need to touch me at all times.

As we make our way to my door, I think about it.

The way he smiled down at me as I rested my hand on his chest in front of my mom, introducing them.

From that moment on if we were next to each other, he touched me in one way or another.

His hand on my thigh as we sat at the dining table.

His arm around my waist as we looked at the doghouse he built.

His pinky hooked with mine as he went through family photo albums.

I didn't mind though, I liked knowing he was close.

I like feeling his skin against mine.

Honestly, I just like being with him.

It didn't matter if it was watching him look at pictures of my embarrassing blue eyeshadow phase or if it was watching documentaries on the History channel at his house.

Harry was the person that made everything feel right.

Something I'd never felt before.

With anyone.

________

"So... This is it."

I spread my arms wide and turn around in a circle in the middle of my bedroom, turning to face Harry with a smile on my face.