Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

90. Making Up or Breaking Up

"Really?" I ask, unable to keep the grin off my face. "Where do you have in mind?"

"Somewhere... tropical," he decides after thinking for a while.

"I would love that," I reply, "I know this is meant to be your Summer over here in England, but even the national news is stating that thirty degrees Celsius is a heat wave," I laugh. "Either there is no news to report on, or you're all just an exaggerative bunch of pansies."

"Well thirty is hot," he defends.

"Harry, in Australia, I would contemplate whether or not thirty is hot enough to go to the beach."

"Ooh, I'm from Australia," he mimics, trying to put on a high pitched voice, "On thirty degree days I like to wear winter coats and mittens."

"Oh, shut up," I say, shoving him squarely in the chest, and he holds his chest, pretending to feel hurt.

"What are our plans tonight my dear?"

"I don't really have anything in mind. Maybe order in?" I suggest.

"Or," he states. "We could go for dinner and drinks. I have this business type thing that I'd like for you to come to. Very relaxed."

"Ooh business," I say, mocking him. "Well I'll have to get changed first. Put on a fresh face of make up because I look like shit."

"I actually think you're beautiful," he says, kissing behind my ear. "Too beautiful for your own good."

"Anything else you'd like to add, because you are so far up my arse right now," I comment jokingly. "I'm going to go downstairs and find something nicer to change into. Make yourself at home."

"Don't mind if I do," he says, sitting sideways in the cream coloured tufted wingback armchair, his feet hanging in the air.

That's Harry though. You give him an inch, and he'll run a mile.

How am I meant to stay mad at this guy for when he is such an infuriatingly lovable bastard?

Downstairs I choose a lovely white crotcheted looking dress, which is quite short, but very lovely. I'll keep my hair down, as it has somehow stayed decent from the night before, and I apply a good amount of make up to my face to hide the dark circles underneath my eyes, and I look surprisingly fresh faced despite how I currently feel.

"So what do you think?" I ask as I reach the top of the stairs, to be met with a quietly snoring Harry with one hand on his chest, and the other dangling off the chair. My heart softens at the sight of him laying there, and I walk over to him, and sit lightly on his chest. He looks around quite dazed before remembering where he was and smiling.

"I must have dozed off," he yawns, stretching out. I put my hands on his warm exposed chest, and lean in to kiss him.

"What was that for?" he asks, looking pleasantly surprised.

"I want you to know that I appreciate you coming here. And that I want things to work just as much as you do."

"Don't get too soppy on me," he says, his lips twitching into a smile.

"I want this to work and I think we need to take things slowly. Just until things are back on track."

"I agree," he nods. Looking down at my new dress, he pauses before speaking, "Well, hurry up and put on something nice before I take you out. I can't be seen with you looking like this. And would it kill you to do your make up?" he says, jokingly rolling his eyes, and I pinch his arm.

"Who knew you were such a sadist?" he jokingly comments.

"Only when it comes to hurting you," I smile, leaning in to kiss him again. He teasingly slips the tip of his tongue into my mouth, and pulling back, turning my insides to mush. I press my tongue up against his, urging him to reciprocate, and he does so within seconds. He sits up in his position, with me still sitting on his chest. He grips onto my hair as the kiss deepens, eliciting a moan from me against his lips. I pull away, holding onto his chest as our foreheads rest against one another's, as we try to catch our breaths.