We get to the movie theater and decide on what to watch.
"What about The SpongeBob Movie?" Harry asks, clapping his hands.
I shake my head. "Mockingjay?"
"Nah, I never read The Hunger Games series. 50 Shades of Grey?"
"Harry, I am not going to watch that movie with you," I tell him, playfully smacking his arm.
"Why not babe?"
I look at him funny. No one has ever called me 'babe' before. I never really liked it that much either, but when he said it, it just... fit.
"I'm just... Not into those kinds of movies," I blush. He nods understandingly.
"We could, you know, always go back to my place, and... watch something there," Harry says, scratching the back of his neck.
"Okay."
We get back in his car and drive to his house. It's a yellow house, kind of run down, made of concrete. It's very small, too.
"I know it doesn't look like much. But it's cozy," he says as he opens my door for me. My heart swells at that small act and I smile, mumbling a thank you.
"So... What am I supposed to call you when my parents ask?" He thinks out loud while we walk up his driveway.
"My girlfriend? My... Friend? I mean we kissed, but I don't know if that means we're dating. And I don't know if you actually have feelings for me, and-"
I stop him by pressing my lips against his.
"Harry. Call me whatever you want. I don't care. And for the record, I do like you... A lot." I play with the hem of my skirt. I look back up at Harry, who is smiling and shaking his head at me.
"Come on," he takes my hand and opens the front door.
"Harry? Is that you? Oh, thank goodness. I'm running late for my meeting, I need you to make dinner for Sam," a woman with brown hair tied in a ponytail and a briefcase walks out of the kitchen. "Oh my! Hello, sweetheart! What's your name?" She asks, her eyes flickering down to our hands.
"Um, I'm Abby. Abby Tomlinson," I reach out my other hand to shake hers.
"I'm Anne, Harry's mum. Sorry, I'm already late for a meeting and I have to go," she stumbles out the door. "Harry, Please make dinner," she says and closes the door.
Harry lets out a breath. "Uh, sorry about that," he says.
"Harry! I'm hungry!" A child's voice whines from another room.
"Sam! You're almost 9! Can't you make yourself dinner?" Harry yells.
"Harry, please!" Sam pouts, walking into the kitchen. He looks just like Harry, only smaller. "Who's she?" He asks, pointing his finger at me.
"Her name is Abby," Harry explains.
"What's she doing here?"
"We are going to watch a movie."
"Ooh! Can I watch one with you guys?"
"No, Sam! Make yourself dinner. We're going to my room," Harry takes my hand, leading me out of the kitchen.
"But Harry!"
"It's okay, Harry. I can make him dinner," I pull my hand out of Harry's and walk back into the kitchen, tying my hair up.
"Abby, it's fine. He can make himself dinner."
"He's not going to shut up until someone makes him something. And do you really want him watching a movie with us?" I giggle. Harry huffs and shoves his hands in his pockets.
