Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

7. Prying Eyes

If you enjoy reading my story, and would like a sequel, please show some love by voting, and leave some comments telling me your thoughts about the story so far!

♡

I'm not waiting for long before a heavily tinted Range Rover pulls up outside the front of the store. I squint a little to make out the figure inside the car, fairly confident it's Harry. It seems like something he would be driving around, especially if he values his privacy. The window rolls smoothly down to confirm my suspicions - Harry. Ear to ear grin on his face, arm hanging out the window. He jokingly winks, and tilts his head back for me to join him in there.

"Hop in toots," he asks, in a really bad 1930s American accent, and I can't help but laugh as I run around to the passenger side.

"I didn't know I was going on a date with Pippi Longstocking," he greets me, heavily amused with himself while I shuffle into the car. The confusion must be written all over my face, because he tugs playfully on one of my braids.

"Ha-ha, very funny," I say, mock rolling my eyes, unable to keep the smile off my face, but trying to at least pretend I'm a little annoyed by his comment. But the truth is written all over my face - I absolutely love being taunted by him.

"No, no, I'm only teasing. I like the braids," he says as he reverses out of the parking space. His arm moves instinctively over the back of my seat, while in reverse, and it's comforting to have that kind of contact with him.

"So, I know you've agreed to be tour guide for me while I'm here, but I didn't think it was fair on you considering the circumstances," he says matter of factly, before clearing his throat. I'm assuming he's referring to the limited places we could go, as he's far too recognisable.

"The circumstances being you," I retort, but he purposely ignores me and continues with his sentence.

"But," he adds quite huskily, "I know a guy who has an exhibition at an art gallery here in Melbourne, and he's offered to open it just for us." Except the way he says 'us' sounds more like 'ohz' with his accent and I swoon internally and try my best not to react.

I tell him I think it's a great idea, though am a little nervous as I am not so knowledgeable in fine arts. I know a few pieces, though I don't want to seem unintelligent in his eyes.

We pull up outside a historical European looking building and wait for a few people to pass before we head briskly inside. I've never personally been inside, but it's on my jogging route most days, and it occurred to me that I've never actually thought about what was inside. I love that I'm shown places in my neighbourhood in a whole new light, and especially love that it's shown to me by Harry of all people.

As we enter the building, we are immediately greeted by a staff member who offers us a tour. Harry and I look at each other to gage whether we should go along with the tour, or if we should just wing it, and I don't know if he's picking up on my body language, but he soon decides we'll just be left to our own device, and explore on our own. Great choice.

"No, that's alright mate," he says, "We've got it from here, but if we need a hand, we'll know where to find you," and he pats the guy warmly on the shoulder as we walk past. We head towards the mahogany staircase and we then pass a female staff member on the way up. Harry says a friendly hello, and the woman is rendered speechless. I shoot her a friendly smile, trying to say with my eyes I know exactly how you feel sister. As we pass, Harry places his hand briefly on the small of my back, leading me in the right direction, and I wonder what she must be thinking. Would she think we were dating, or some kind of cheap fling? Regardless of anything, I can't express how lovely it feels, even the seemingly insignificant touches from Harry. Like his hand on my lower back, or earlier in the car when he rested his arm right beside mine on the console. I feel like I'm suddenly 14 again, but I am so overly giddy, and what feels worse is that I can't exactly express it to anyone. Normally I would have Scarlett to confide in, but right now she's still probably still in fits of laughter over the apparently unbelievable idea that Harry made me an omelette.