RUNAWAY [[A Harry Styles and Marcel fanfic]]

c-twenty one-

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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“We’ll see.” I wink. Game on Harold. This is a challenge

“Care to join me in the kitchen then?”

“Ah sure!” I exclaim. It is going to be fun...yeah? Maybe? Ugh, I don’t know.

As we try to enter the kitchen together, the two of us are stuck between the doorframes, my shoulder pressed tightly against his sides.

“Ouch hahaha.” I laugh. My other shoulder hits the wooden doorframe hard. Harry laughs in response too. I see him rubbing his arm. “Really, that did hurt.” He takes a step back and lets me in first.

“Grab the apron from that shelf.” He says pointing towards one below the china-plate rack.

“This one?” it’s a red green plaid apron. Looks more like a bagpiper’s uniform to me, but okay, we’ll survive.

“Yes, wear it.”

“What about you?”

“I can manage without one, you’re new at this.”

“Brand New” I try to make a joke, I see myself failing miserably, however, I carry on. “I don’t think I have even stepped inside a kitchen and-“ I stop mid-sentence when I see Harry’s face hardening. Shut up Abbey, not a great time. “So what are we making today?” I quickly change the subject, rubbing my palms together in fake excitement once I secure the apron’s knot behind my back. On the inside, I’m terrified at the sight and the walls look like they’re closing in on me, it is so small- ‘SHUT UP ABBEY’ my conscience never shuts up.

“We’ll start with something simple, you know, like…” he thinks, looking at the overhanging chimney. His thick English accent gets my heart racing. “Umm… like, like..like…” his fingers move to his chin and he scratches his stubble a few times gently, his eyebrows furrowed deep in thought.”

“Spaghetti? I saw you have a packet in the cupboard.”

His face brightens. “Sounds good to me.”

“Sounds great to me.” I grin.

“Alright fine, find a knife from one of the drawers. I will get the vegetables.” Harry says as he walks to the refrigerator. While Harry collects some red and green peppers, (I am not saying that I am not peeping at his perfectly round buttocks graced with the white waist band of what looks like a brand new Calvin Klein underwear) onions, garlic cloves and tomatoes. Meanwhile I am successfully able to differentiate between a butter-knife and a chopping knife.

“Wash these for me?” he says handing me out four bright red round tomatoes. I hold them under the tap as water gushes. The appearance does not change what so ever so.

To be honest, men who cook look hell melting hot.

“You want to give chopping these tomatoes a try? I can, if you can’t.” Is he tantalising me? Anyway…

“I might as well give it a try, what’s the damage?” I laugh nervously. I am about to make a joke out of myself.

I hold the knife tightly at the grip. With Harry staring at me work, and the chills surfacing on the back of my neck, I just cannot seem to concentrate. I have seen my chef at work and cookery shows were always too cranky to watch. This is easy, okay, well… I laugh nervously. We can do it.