The next morning, Harry feels a bit more tired than usual. His shoulders feel heavy, his eyes barely opening fully, and his head is bustling with far too many thoughts at eight in the morning—thoughts filled with white kittens and brown hair and melodic giggles that sound prettier than any song he's contributed to in the past few months.
He's desperate for a caffeine boost, and instead of his normal tea blend, he chooses to start up the coffee maker, the wheezing and gurgling sound of the machine causing him to frown. When he reaches for the cabinet that holds all of his tea mugs, he notices the empty space where the blue porcelain one used to sit, his frown turning into a lazy grin when he remembers that was the mug Ryan walked off with yesterday afternoon.
Harry had a feeling she wouldn't be returning it last night, understanding slightly that their last interaction was probably too much for her to handle with the way her eyes were shifting and her cheeks were reddening and her hands were shaking in his kitchen. He smiles at the image of her washing his mug by hand, letting it air dry on a tea towel while she mulls over how to knock on his door the next day to return it. Would she just leave it there, sitting on the hallway carpeting without knocking? Would she maybe add a personalized post-it note in her loopy scrawl, writing thank you, signed with an x? Or would she choose to be brave and knock on his door, a shy smile gracing her lips, offering his mug up with her small hand wearing another assortment of oversized comfortable clothing that made Harry's insides swirl?
He doesn't dwell on it. He'd like to imagine her wanting to come over on her own accord, in his mind the mug was the perfect peace offering—an unmentioned symbol of him declaring, "Yes! I want you here! Please, don't be shy anymore!"
But he's trying not to think about it. Mainly because his enthusiastic toddler has been following Harry's every move in the kitchen, speaking what feels like a hundred words per minute, with every other mention being Ryan and Luna and playtime.
"I just think she's so cool, daddy. Don't you? I think she wants to be my friend. We'd be good friends, right? Me and Ryan?" Jackson asks, hot on Harry's heels.
"Sure, Bubs. Can you finish your brekkie at the table, please? I don't want you standing too close to the stove." Harry's a little exasperated because the topic of his cute neighbor and her white kitten is all that Jackson wants to talk about ever since she left their flat yesterday afternoon. And while he'd love to contemplate the inner workings of his neighbor in his own head, talking about the girl he can't stop thinking about to his overly-eager four-year-old son is slowly causing Harry to lose his mind.
He hears Jackson's slipper-clad feet waddle over to the breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen, watching out of his periphery as his son hoists himself up onto the cushioned bench under the three bay windows, placing his teddy down near him as he grabs the spoon he left sinking in his bowl of muesli.
Harry watches the coffee drip slowly into his mug, and just when he thinks Jackson has moved on to something else, he brings up Ryan's name again. "When do you think we can go over and play with Luna? Do you think Ryan could bring her to the park with us? Oh, wow, I think that would be the funnest! Right, daddy?"
The deep breath Harry takes causes his shoulders to hunch even more, his hands gripping the edge of the granite countertop as he tries to exhale the frustrations Jackson is unknowingly causing him. He's so vexed that he doesn't even attempt to correct his son's grammatical error, and Harry's wondering why he's so fucking on edge this morning.
It's not that he doesn't want to see her, because Christ—it's all he could think about during his meeting yesterday. He was so distracted with thoughts of mahogany eyes and nervous mumbles coming from full, pink lips, that the artist he was collaborating with had to pull Harry out of his head on more than one occasion.
He's annoyed because he doesn't know what his next move should be, and she's really not making it any easier on him. Does he knock on her door now? Does he wait for another potential run-in in their shared hallway? Perhaps they both catch the lift together this time? Is he reading the signs wrong?
Harry's been out of the relationship game for too long, he thinks. Casual hook-ups on drunken nights out are easy, and seemingly require little to no energy on his part, considering whiskey to be the proverbial ice breaker in any social situation. But now, when he's actually feeling things that aren't fuelled by lust, he's struggling. And it's absolutely infuriating.
"Daddy?" Jackson's small voice breaks Harry out of his reverie, and as if the universe is telling him to pull his shit together and be in the present, the coffee maker starts to beep loudly in front of him, indicating his cup was officially filled. He stands up straight and grasps the hot mug in his hand, shifting his body so that his hip was resting on the countertop and he was facing his son from his spot perched in the breakfast nook with wide, inquiring eyes.
"Sorry, Bubs. We can ask Ryan later, yeah? Daddy's got work to do and you have a Zoom date with Auntie Gem in a little bit," Harry says softly, slipping into the seat across from Jackson, stealing the spoon that was resting on the edge of the bowl and taking a large mouthful. Jackson starts giggling loudly, reaching over the table to try and wrench the spoon from his father's grasp, causing Harry to laugh along with him, his mood lifting with each sound that falls from Jackson's mouth.
"Okay daddy," Jackson says, snatching the spoon successfully from Harry before dipping it back into his half-emptied bowl of muesli. He's compliant for the first time this entire morning, and as Harry sits there watching his son devour his breakfast, he's hoping that Jackson will continue to make his day easier.
But if there's one thing Harry has learned about parenting over the past five years, it's to never expect things to go his way. Especially with an antsy toddler who hasn't been able to leave the house due to the weather and the state of things in the country, a toddler who's been pleading to hang out with somebody other than his father and his aunt who he sees every few days through a grainy computer screen. A toddler, who for lack of a better word, is going absolutely fucking mad with each day that passes.
So when Harry is halfway through his workday, the song he was supposed to have finished barely even close to completion, he feels his last bits of patience diminishing with every comment about Ryan or Luna that falls from Jackson's lips. He could barely focus when he kept hearing their names during the Zoom call with Gemma from the other side of the living room, his sister keeping his son's infatuation brewing with each prodding question she asked. He could barely conceal the groan when Jackson told her that Ryan was going to be his new best friend, because every time his son mentioned her name, Harry's head was filled with all-consuming thoughts that made it feel heavier and heavier, until the muscles in his neck ached from holding it up.
He's almost certain that his management team was going to pop a blood vessel if he didn't get this song submitted by the end of the day, and suddenly, Harry finds himself needing help—something he tries his hardest not to ask for unless the situation is dire.
While Jackson was preoccupied with the telly, Harry scrolls through the contact list on his mobile, trying to think of anybody who could pop by and watch his son for a few hours. His mum is too far away, Gemma has her own kids to worry about on the other side of the city, and he didn't even want to consider his third option—his pride too important to ask her for anything.
Quarantine was really fucking up his plan of finding a sitter, and when Jackson suddenly mentions Ryan's name offhandedly for the umpteenth time that day, it's as if a light bulb bursts in Harry's brain, the light illuminating through his skull.
Part of him feels bad even considering it, but he figures he was killing two birds with one stone—having the flat to himself for a few hours while his son could play with the two people he wouldn't shut up about all afternoon. So he leaves Jackson alone in front of Paw Patrol with the promise to be right back, heading into the hallway with one destination in mind.
When Ryan opens the door for the first time all day, her thick brown hair tangled on top of her head in a bun, a purple pen holding the locks in place with her black-rimmed glasses magnifying her deep hickory eyes, part of her should have expected it to be Harry grinning back at her.
She immediately thinks he's here to retrieve his mug, the stupid fucking mug that was resting on the drying rack near her sink, waiting to be returned to its rightful home in the organized cabinet of 4G. Ryan starts to blush, thinking to herself how dumb she looks for waiting nearly a full twenty-four hours before returning it.
It's not like she forgot about it. When she was making her dinner last night, she felt as if the mug was the only thing she could focus on, practically burning her pasta again because she was so distracted at the fact that a part of Harry's kitchenware was on the counter near her sink. And again this morning, when her kettle was whistling and she was preparing her mediocre tea, she almost grabbed his mug instead of her own, and she's wondering if there's a deeper meaning to all of this that she's not quite understanding.
She watches as Harry's eyes fall from her messy topknot to her glasses, the green of his hues widening when he takes in the large frames resting on the gentle slope of her nose, his mouth falling open a bit so that Ryan can hear the soft rush of air that falls past his lips, and it's as if he's frozen in place.
"Hi, Harry. If this is about your mug give me one moment, I forgot to wash it last night so I didn't bring it over—"
"—You wear glasses?" His breathless claim causes Ryan's mouth to close tightly, the fib she was saying seemingly disappearing. Her small hands reach up to the temples of her black glasses, as if she forgot that they were, in fact, on her face today.
For the first time since meeting Harry, he's the one that's staring at her wide-eyed. He seems as if he's forgotten why he was even knocking on her door, and when his feet start shuffling and he coughs unnecessarily into his white-knuckled fist, Ryan realizes that she's somehow left him dazed and confused.
"Erm, yeah. Forgot to put my contacts in this morning before work." At the mention of the word work, it's as if Harry's suddenly remembered his purpose for venturing towards 4H, his hands falling into the pockets of his joggers as he stands up straighter.
"Right. Well, uh, I hate to ask, because I know you're just as busy as I am. But Jackson won't shut up about you, and if I don't get this song finished, my manager and the artist's label and what feels like the entire fucking world will rip my head off. So could you please, by any chance, watch him for an hour or two?" He's desperate and Ryan is a bit confused, because why on earth would any adult consider her capable of watching over their toddler?
But the look in his eyes is borderline pathetic, and she finds herself nodding without a second thought.
Harry's suddenly smiling so brightly Ryan feels her own eyelids squint. "I owe you. So badly. Seriously Ryan, thank you." Harry disappears into his own flat before Ryan can even attempt to utter a response. He reemerges with a beaming Jackson in tow, holding a package of graham crackers between his tiny hands.
"Ryan! Finally. Is Luna awake? I have to talk with her," Jackson asks excitedly. Once he's in her doorway and spots the kitten curled up on the juniper couch that's peeking out from the narrow hallway behind Ryan, it's as if he's completely forgotten what he even asked in the first place, barrelling past her and into the flat to wake Luna up softly.
"Jackson! Where are your manners?!" Harry calls out, pulling at his hair frustratedly. Ryan notes the haphazard tufts in his hair, and wonders if he pulls on the tendrils whenever he's stressed out. "Christ, I'm sorry. He can be a menace sometimes. Anyways, he's not allergic to anything. Hates peas. He tends to cry when he's cranky, so if that happens just put him down for a nap. Bloody kid can sleep anywhere. Uh, yeah, think that's it. If anything happens just bang on my door." Harry's stumbling over his words so much he's starting to sound like Ryan, which makes her giggle loudly at the idea of it all.
It's as if Harry can breathe clearly for the first time all day once he's heard it.
"Hey, it's cool, don't worry about it. I've got some new toys for him to try out, being almost five and all," she winks and Harry smiles, loving this confident, cheeky version of Ryan that's in front of him. "How's that sound, Jackson? Reckon you can be my assistant for the day?" He's nodding enthusiastically, laughing loudly whenever Luna weaves in between his little legs.
"Yes! Will Luna help, too?" he asks from inside her flat.
Ryan giggles and Harry feels as if he's going to fall over. "Absolutely."
She pivots her body so that she's facing Harry again, noting the way he takes in her messy hair, long eyelashes hidden behind her lenses, lips a deep red color from picking at the dry skin earlier. The large knit jumper she's wearing falls far past her hands, with only her fingertips showing when she lifts them up to re-adjust her glasses on her face, suddenly nervous under his intense look.
As they're both staring at each other unabashedly, trying to remember each curve and freckle and line on the other's face, it's as if they can both feel the shift happening between them. Whenever Fiona told Ryan that she felt time stand still the first time she locked eyes with Roger in the dimly lit club all those months ago, she thought her friend was mad. But now, with Harry barely a foot away from her, the freckles around his irises twinkling and his broad chest rising and falling with each staggered breath, Ryan's wondering if this is what it's supposed to feel like. And when Harry takes a tentative step forward, barely even registering that his feet moved a subtle inch closer to Ryan's socked-clad ones, he feels his heart thumping against the walls of his lungs, beating so loudly his whole body practically quivers under the reverberating quakes.
"Ryan?" Jackson's small voice brings them both down to earth, and suddenly Harry springs back, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson when he realizes how close they actually were to one another. Ryan peers down below her hip, trying to catch her breath when she acknowledges Jackson's curious eyes watching her, waiting for her to give him attention.
"Hi!" Her voice is far too squeaky and Ryan starts to blush when Jackson cocks his head to the side in confusion, wondering why she's so shifty. "Right. Let's get started then, champ. Say bye to daddy."
Harry's embarrassed when his red cheeks flush deeper at the mention of Ryan saying the word daddy, and as innocent as it was, he suddenly needs to lock himself into the confines of his flat, putting enough space between the two of them before he humiliates himself any further.
With a shaky wave and a forced smile, Harry's gone and Ryan's left with a dry throat and a drumming heart. Before she can try and analyze the past five minutes of her life, Jackson's tugging at the bottom of her jumper, dragging her from her racing thoughts and asking her a million questions about toys.
She accepts the interruption graciously, leading Jackson away from her living room and into her workspace that's littered with children's toys ranging from stuffed animals to board games to complex Lego sets. Ryan grins when Jackson's mouth falls, a look of wonderment plastered on his tiny face.
"Wow," he sighs out, completely transfixed by it all. Even Luna trotting into the room couldn't take his attention away from the boxes of toys littered around the room, and suddenly Ryan is happy to have a friend today.
"Have you ever played with Nerf guns before, Jackson?" Ryan asks, crossing the room and holding up two brand new Nerf blasters her supervisor sent over yesterday morning.
"Yes! At Auntie Gemma's house, but it was in the garden away from her nice things. Daddy says I can't play with them inside," Jackson explains slowly.
"I see. Think you can keep a secret, champ?" Ryan says with a mischievous glint to her eyes. Mischief is a concept that Jackson somehow understands fully in his four years of life, and when he grins wickedly back at her, Ryan knows that she's completely wrapped around his little finger.
When he nods furiously and holds his hand out for one of the blasters, Ryan knows she's done for. "Let's not tell daddy about this then, yeah? Think we can keep this between us?"
"Promise," he holds out his small pinky finger, and when Ryan's larger one envelopes his, she cocks her blaster playfully and laughs loudly when Jackson squeals and runs out of the room, leaving a trail of giggles along the way.
***
Ryan isn't even sure how an hour has transpired, but once they've both collapsed onto her couch with heaving chests and rumbling stomachs, completely spent from their Nerf fight, Ryan's quite content with the way she's spent her afternoon.
"Hungry, champ?" she asks, glancing down to her left to see Jackson petting Luna who's snuggled against his side, his unoccupied hand resting on his stomach.
Jackson nods and she grabs the graham cracker package he left on her coffee table, beginning her walk over to the kitchen. Ryan's quiet as she grabs a plate, arranging a few rectangular graham crackers and rummaging through her pantry for the jar of honey she purchased last weekend at the shops. Just as she's spreading a generous layer over the crackers, she hears the sound of tiny bare feet slapping against tiled flooring, a quiet umph as Jackson heaves himself onto her barstool, his small legs dangling as he watches her curiously.
"What's that?" he asks in his usual four-year-old inquisition, and Ryan just smiles brightly before placing the plate in front of him.
"Graham crackers with honey. My mum used to make it for me when I was your age," she responds, grabbing one and bringing it to her mouth.
Jackson nods absently and grabs his own, chewing slowly. "Mmm. My mummy used to give me dried fruits for snack time."
Ryan scrunches her face in playful disgust. "That's no snack for a four-year-old," she quips.
"I'm almost five!" Jackson retorts with wide eyes, finishing his graham cracker with crumbs all over his mouth, causing Ryan to snort in laughter.
"Oh my. How could I forget?!" she teases, reaching behind her to grab a stack of napkins, placing them in front of Jackson so that he can wipe his chin clean.
After swallowing, Jackson speaks again, softer this time. "Mummy always said she'd take me to Disney World when I got older. Have you ever been, Ryan? To Disney World?"
Ryan stops chewing, wondering why Jackson would bring this up to her so innocently. "Uh, no, champ. Never been."
"Hm. Mummy said I would have to take an airplane to get there. Have you ever been in an airplane, Ryan?" His slew of questions causes Ryan to grin, finding it quite adorable that Jackson is so inquisitive.
"A few times, yeah. Never to America, though," Ryan explains, reaching for her own napkin to wipe her face.
Jackson nods again, before mumbling, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore. Can I go sit with Luna?"
"Sure thing, champ. Be out in a minute." His politeness is endearing, and when he swivels his legs and looks down at the floor realizing how far away it is from his perched position on her stool, he looks at her patiently, as if she was supposed to instinctively know to help him down.
"Oh, right," Ryan scrambles, before circling the countertop and grabbing Jackson from below his armpits, lifting him from the velvet cushion and placing him on the floor, watching as he jogs over to the couch to stroke Luna calmly.
As Ryan finishes washing the plate and filling two glasses of water, she can hear Jackson babbling to Luna about everything and anything, and she thinks it's quite cute that he's found a new friend in her white kitten.
It's only once she's entered the living space, placing both glasses on the coffee table, that she catches Jackson eyeing one of her bookshelves, his eyes locked on her Harry Potter book collection on the middle shelf.
Ryan walks over to the bookshelf slowly, watching out of the corner of her eye as Jackson stands up on the couch, leaning over the back to get a closer look at what she was doing. When she reaches for The Philosopher's Stone, Ryan hears Jackson squeal from his position on the couch, a large grin covering the lower half of his face.
"You like Harry Potter too?" Ryan asks, the red book clutched in her right hand as she sits beside him on the couch, her legs crisscrossed as she faces him fully on the plush cushion.
Jackson stares at the book, shaking his head gently without looking up at her. "My mum promised to read them to me last time I saw her."
Ryan suddenly feels very sad for the small boy in front of her, watching the way he stares at the book cover with the big red Hogwarts Express train with wide eyes, a small finger tracing Harry's figure in the bottom right corner. She's wondering what happened to his mum, wondering why he always speaks of her in past tense phrases, wondering why he's suddenly grown silent in front of her.
Ryan's never felt the need to make somebody she doesn't really know feel better before. But she's instantly filled with the overwhelming urge to change Jackson's mood, and with a tender smile, she turns the book over and flips open the cover, her eyes twinkling when his mossy green ones meet hers.
"Well, how about we start reading a little, yeah? Just until you feel tired, then I'll stop," Ryan says, and when Jackson smiles so big his cheeks start to wrinkle at the corners, she knows now that she's completely under his spell, and she's not quite sure how he managed that in just one afternoon.
"Thank you, Ryan," Jackson whispers, shifting on the couch so that he's resting his cheek on the amber throw pillow, curling towards Ryan so that he can simultaneously hear her reading to him while trying to follow along with the few words he knows. And once she begins reading the chapter title, The Boy Who Lived, she can see Luna begin to curl into Jackson's front, her head resting on his small thigh as she takes a deep calming breath, her eyes fluttering until they close completely.
When three heavy knocks bang against her front door nearly an hour later, just as Ryan's begun The Potions Master chapter, the sound practically causes her to jump out of her skin, finding herself far too emerged into the magical world of Harry Potter.
Before she can even resonate that the noise came from the other side of her door, Jackson's already shuffled down from the couch, trodding into her entranceway to open the heavy oak, revealing a surprised Harry.
Ryan quickly scrambles after Jackson, instantly regretting that she didn't let him nap as Harry had recommended hours earlier. Once she reaches the pair, Harry's eyes lift from his son to hers, and immediately he notices that her hair is no longer tangled atop her head. Instead, it's falling down her back in messy waves, and he smiles at the fact that she's still bug-eyed behind her glasses.
"Hey, Harry. I was only supposed to read a chapter or two before putting him down, but—"
"—Daddy it was so much fun. You should have heard Ryan read Harry Potter! She even sounds like Hagrid when he talks, wow it was so great!" Jackson squeals in excitement, and Ryan's cheeks immediately redden when Harry looks up at her with a comical grin.
"Is that so, Bubs? What exactly does this Hagrid voice sound like?" He's teasing her and Ryan starts to squirm, instantly wishing Harry was the nervous, fidgety version of himself the last time he was standing in her doorway.
"It's, uh, nothing really," Ryan stutters.
Harry just chuckles, deciding to drop it before she closes the door on his face. "Thanks again for watching him, Ryan, I really appreciate it."
She nods softly. "Anytime." When she feels Jackson's small eyes look up at hers, the mischievous smile back on his face, she winks at him, a nod to their earlier promise.
Harry watches the whole thing with a strange feeling churning in his gut, something that feels like longing and disbelief and unadulterated happiness coursing through his bloodstream. He's watching the pair of them silently, observing the way they seem connected somehow, as if one afternoon together has made them closer than ever before.
Before he can even realize what he's saying, he's blurting an invitation in her face, watching the way her eyes widen almost cartoonishly when he speaks. "You should come by for dinner later, as a proper thank you and all that. We make pizzas every Friday."
Ryan swallows harshly, wondering how she's gotten herself into this situation.
"You just have to come, Ryan! Daddy makes the best pizza!" Jackson says from his spot in front of her, jumping up and down excitedly at the possibility of spending even more time with his new friend.
Any other time, Ryan would have already said no, would already have come up with some lame excuse as to why she couldn't come. She's done it before, the first time when Harry offered to clean up her rug burn, or the time when he invited her to the park with Jackson, or even the time when he invited her into his home for tea. She had stumbled over her words, tried to formulate a reason to say no, tried to back out with every chance she could.
But then she thinks back to a few hours ago when she and Harry were standing in this very position, a magnetic pull forcing them to practically stand inches away from each other. When she noticed the mole near his mouth, the depths of his dimples, the smattering of stubble along his chin. When she felt as if she could nearly explode by being in his very presence.
So she says yes, agreeing to an evening with him without even considering the outcomes that could potentially occur.
It's only when her door closes, the image of Jackson gripping Harry's hand vanishing with the swoosh of the oak, when she finally lets herself panic.