Return To Love | Harry Styles

1 - Old Lesbians & Mick Jagger.

Not Mick Jagger. Not close. Maybe in some decades, who knows?

He rushes over to her and the older women also rush into the kitchen. Zara calmly composes herself without looking at the man standing next to her with a respectful distance and Freya struggles not to laugh.

"Are you alright?" he asks, calmly.

"Yeah - yeah, I didn't expect to see you there," she manages to say.

"Harry, stop scaring my chef," Imogen frowns.

Is this the guest? He is so lanky in person. He's tall for sure but there's something fragile in his frame. He looks a little too domestic than he's been portrayed in the media and she cannot explain it.

Zara struggles to avoid direct eye contact with him because she's very aware of who he is and she keeps her eyes on the pasta bowl.

"It's fine," Zara speaks up.

"He's our guest, Imogen's little rock star nephew," Freya smiles.

"And she's our chef, my golden girl," Imogen smiles.

The women are not so subtle with what they're doing and Zara fights scowling their way.

Zara finally manages to look at him and he has a small dimpled smile. He doesn't look like what she's seen online and it's weird how he looks better. There's a little tiredness and spark to his eyes, and she cannot help but smile a little.

"Harry," he stretches out his hand.

"Zara," she takes his hand in hers for a gentle shake.

"I reckon that's the extra pasta bowl you made for him," Freya asks already picking it up.

"I'll take that," Harry takes it from her with a cheeky grin.

"Why don't we old ladies leave you two alone?" Imogen doesn't wait for an answer before dragging Freya out with her.

Zara exhales and turns to see Harry staring at her. He looks like he's waiting for her to say something and she's not sure if she's supposed to say something.

"It's not as spicy as it looks," she points at the bowl of pasta.

"I'll be the judge of that," Harry reaches for a fork.

Zara quickly gets a spoon and points it at him.

"For the twirling effect," she clears her throat.

"Thanks, chef," he helps himself to a kitchen chair and digs into the bowl of pasta.

Zara rests her elbows on the slab, watching him with intentional curiosity as he smoothly twirls the pasta and shoves a forkful into his mouth. He gently chews and she gulps as the red pepper flake oil stains his lower pillowy lip. He licks his bottom lip and goes for another forkful with a satisfied hum.

"I take it that I'm right," she cannot help but chuckle.

Harry stops himself from replying as he instantly flushes rosy pink around the cheeks and shakily exhales. Zara widens her eyes in realisation and rushes to get him a glass of water.

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry," she places the glass next to him.

Harry downs the water quicker than expected and bites down his now very pink lip. He sniffs and smiles at her.

"'S not that bad," he manages to say.

"You look like you inhaled fire," she fights herself from laughing.

"First taste screamed delicious and the second one went straight to my brain," Harry clears his throat.

"I miscalculated my portions, I am so sorry," Zara gulps, going professional.