Diary Of A Tour Girl

Diary Of A Tour Girl - Chapter 31

Flora p.o.v

Harry puts the key in his front door twisting it as we both stumble forward through the threshhold, eager to get inside due to it being pitch black and freezing. 

I'm staying at Harry's overnight for the first time ever which is a little nerve wracking, we only finished the shoot and hour or so ago and then stopped over at mine for Harry to drink tea with mum and pick up my stuff, and now we're here. 

"You started packing yet?" He asks as we pass some large boxes stacked in his hall. The final documents of the house have been finalised so now we just decorate it and then we can move in. 

"No... I don't exactly have much to pack. I'm moving out of my bedroom, remember?" I laugh. 

"Oh yeah, well I flew the nest two years ago, I'm professional" He says. 

"Whatever you say" I laugh dumping my bag in the hall and shrugging my coat off, turning and catching sight of myself in the hall mirror, my make-up is still very much in tact and my hair is still in the curly updo I had for the shoot, I pull hair pins out aimlessly letting the curls tumble down my shoulders. Smirking at how out of place my hair and make-up looks with the faded skinny jeans and wooly jumper I wore to the shoot this morning.  

I shake the last of my updo out rubbing my heavily made-up cheeks tiredly, i'm actually quite scared Harry is gonna freak when I wipe all this slap off but he'll have to get used to it living with me and such. 

"What do you want for dinner, Floz?" Harry shouts from what I remember to be the kitchen. 

"Whatever you fancy" I shout back, I could probably eat a dead dog right now if there was nothing else, I didnt eat or drink on shoot at risk of ruining one of the ridiculously gorgeous dresses I had to wear. 

"Shall we cook?" He calls as I walk through, pulling off my wooly jumper and putting it on the chair where the heating has already caused a flush on my cheeks.

"Sure, but you're head chef, 'cus I am useless" I say hopping up on one of his breakfast stools. I love his kitchen but it's nowhere near as cool- or big as our new one will be. 

"Oh come on I need dinner cooked every night when I come home, you're my housewife now" He laughs. I just give him a steely look. 

"Alright, sorry, well help me then?" He asks. 

"Sure, what's cooking?" I ask. 

"Secret" He beams at me. 

"Ugh" I mutter at him. 

"Chop these onions, you can do that for me right?" He asks, passing me a knife and placing an onion on it. 

"Harry I'm not stupid" I mutter taking the knife and stepping into the place in front of the counter. 

"You said you couldnt cook" He trills lightheartedly from where he's watching me with probably critical eyes. 

"Shutup" I hiss in annoyance as I hear the tap run and him go into a cupboard, I suddenly realise my eyes are streaming as I continue to chop with agitation, taking it out on the poor onion. I wipe my stinging eyes realising the heavy eye-make up is probably smudged all down my face. 

"Don't cry about it" I hear Harry's voice right in my ear almost making me slice the tip of my thumb off. 

"It's the o-" I begin angrily. 

"I know" He says softly,placing one of his warm large hands on the side of my jaw and tilting my head to his as I blink the vapour out of my eyes.