Epilogue

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April 2015, Harry (and Norah's) penthouse.

"This is not what it looks like," Norah says. She slowly sets the fire extinguisher down. It's extremely what it looks like.

"Norah," Harry says slowly. "Did you try to cook?"

Norah looks around the kitchen. All she wanted to do was make a nice, homemade dinner for Harry, sit down and eat with him like a normal couple, but then two eggs shattered and the stove caught on fire and she accidentally put sugar into the recipe instead of salt. Not her best moment.

"I was being so good, I promise, but then, like. Fire." Norah bites down on her lip. "There was fire."

Harry stares at her blankly for a moment. "You set the kitchen on fire," he says after about thirty seconds.

"Technically, it's only the stove and a little bit of the cabinets. Saying it's the entire kitchen is a bit extreme, don't you think?" Norah raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms.

There's a moment where Harry and Norah just stare at each other; Norah's eyes are filled with defiance and poorly hidden shame, and Harry's are still mostly blank. It's very disconcerting. He is definitely supposed to be angry about this.

"You managed to set our kitchen on fire in less than a week of moving in," he says finally. "Incredible. Miss Jennifer is potentially going to kill you."

"I'm a woman of many talents?" Norah tries. She shifts from foot to foot awkwardly, hands held behind her back. There's flour smudged on her cheeks and eggs in her hair and she thinks that this is probably the worst situation she's ever been in. It's even worse than the time she was into a one-on-one interview with him.

"Come here," he says finally.

She shuffles forward, eyes focused on the ground. "M'sorry. I'll call someone tomorrow and figure out how much it costs and do all that stuff to get it fixed and --"

"Never, ever try to cook again. Do you understand?"

Norah sighs. "But I want to make dinner --"

And then Harry's tugging on her semi-burnt shirt and pulling her forward until they are only inches apart. His hands come to a rest right above her hipbones and he squeezes gently and it's so familiar and non-threatening that she wants to collapse in relief. "Ever."

Norah's not surprised to find that her voice had flat-lined. "You can't tell me what to do."

"You just burnt down my kitchen," he says, amused. He tugs her a little bit closer and the scent of his cologne mixed with smoke is something she doesn't want to forget. "I think I definitely have the right to tell you what to do for a little while."

Considering the fact that he didn't kick her out of the house, or break up with her, or even so much as yell about the whole fire incident, she isn't going to argue with him. "Fine," she pouts, crossing her arms.

Harry pushes forward slowly, and Norah can hear her heart pounding in her ears, the adrenaline in her system will rushing through her veins, electrifying the feeling of Harry's hands on her. He stops just before their lips meet, and Norah lets out a nervous laugh.

He's smirking, because of course he is, as he looks her in the eye. "Good. Now we're going to shower because you're a proper mess."

And, really, even if she hadn't just burnt down half of their kitchen, she wouldn't have argued with that.

September 2016, Jace and Louis' new home.

So, it's not that Norah is absolutely terrified, but she is absolutely terrified.

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