Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

81. Only You

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I stand at my front door, unable to go the extra few steps inside.

I run through scenarios in my head of how the night will play out, and what he could have possibly found. I finally muster enough strength to turn the door handle, and my eyes strain as they adjust to the darkness inside my apartment.

"Harry?" I call out meekly. "I'm home."

Nothing.

"Harry?" I yell a little louder, panic evident in my tone.

"I'm in here," he calls back to me, his tone unreadable.

I follow his voice through to the cupboard underneath my stairs. He's holding a mini torch with his mouth as he points it towards the electrical fuse box.

He pulls his shirt up to wipe his forehead for any excess sweat, and I get a lovely glimpse of his chest.

"What is going on Harry?"

"I came back from the gym earlier and was going to make myself something to eat when I noticed your refrigerator light was off," he begins. "I've been sitting here for about half an hour, and can't seem to get the power working again."

"So this is what you've found?" I clarify. "In your text message?"

"Yeah," he replies, looking a little flustered.

"Harry, it's fine," I breathe a sigh of relief. "I can just call the power company."

"Yeah, already tried that," he says, his voice distracted as he fiddles with some switches. "They can't get out 'til tomorrow."

Oh.

"Well there's some candles in my room we can set up around the house," I explain.

He looks at me and a twinkle gleams in his eyes. "I know," he grins slyly. "Come with me," he asks, grabbing my hand and leading me into the lounge room area.

"Oh my God," I exclaim.

The entire room is filled with candles of all sizes, giving the room a soft glow, making the shadows of the flames dance upon the walls. In the center of the room there is a fort type structure that he has built with chairs and sheets. It must have taken him ages to make.

"Harry this is just – wow," I remark as he kneels down and I follow him into the little area made for the two of us. Inside are pillows and cushions and what appears to be dinner.

I am slapped in the face by nostalgia, as this is something that I used to do as children all the time.

"I don't really know how to make anything good so I got us Chinese," he shrugs motioning to the Chinese take away boxes.

"It's honestly so perfect Harry. Thank you," I say and kiss him slowly, but meaningfully on his plump lips.

You still need to tell him bitch.

If only I could ignore my subconscious. I only want to enjoy this little lovely moment, but I need to tell him before I can proceed.

"What's wrong? Are you not hungry?" Harry says through a mouthful of food as he holds the Chinese takeaway box in one hand, and his chopsticks in the other. I've always loved the way he holds things. The way his hands make everything seem so much smaller by comparison.