Bad Friend

22. Conversations in the Dark Part 1

It was two weeks later when Harry's last weekend with me rolled around that I came up with something for Harry and I to do together. Since we started going out in secret, Harry had been the one to plan all of our dates. I had offered to do one, but he always insisted to the point where I stopped asking and just let him. For whatever reason, he got a kick out of coming up with fun things for us to do out of the public eye, and because my imagination never really extended beyond my art, I was more than happy to let him.

On Wednesday, though, an idea had come to me, and I told Harry I had plans for us this weekend. He seemed intrigued by my declaration, and had been trying to get me to tell him what my idea was ever since. Despite his best efforts, I had kept my mouth shut. There were so many times where he would kiss me, or refuse to kiss me, where I almost gave in and told him, but I managed to keep my lips sealed up until Friday afternoon when he kept me company while I made a list of things I needed to restock in my workroom.

"Pleeease," he whined. He was sitting in the chair where my clients usually did, his feet dangling off the edge like a little kid's.

Setting down the piece of paper that I'd been writing down the supplies I needed more of, I turned towards him. Raising my brows at him, I asked, "Every date you've taken me on has been a surprise. What makes this so different?"

I was going to have to tell him in a little bit, seeing as my idea was an overnight excursion that required packing warm clothes, but it was kind of fun being on the other side of the whole date planning thing. Harry was always so smug when he impressed me with his dates—the speakeasy, taking me on a boat around the harbor, sunset dinners. It seemed like he was always trying to outdo himself, and while I didn't really need all of that to have a good time with him, I would be lying if I said it didn't feel nice to be doted on in such a way. It was cute how hard Harry tried to make everything absolutely perfect. It made me want to do the same for him.

I knew I had to tell him, but I decided to drag it out just the tiniest bit longer, having found his pouting both amusing and adorable. Walking up to him now, I slipped my arms around his neck after he'd sat up in the chair from where he'd been laying on it seconds before. I kissed him quickly on the lips, my fingers playing with the collar of his soft t-shirt. Harry seemed to have a lot of vintage graphic t–shirts, and it made me the tiniest bit jealous. One of these days I was hoping that one of our dates could be a shopping spree at whatever store he got his incredibly soft and very interesting looking pieces. Maybe once he was back in LA, that was something we could actually do. I wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Los Angeles in general, but for Harry and the potential of buying cute clothes, I would make the drive up anytime he wanted me to.

"You're cute when you pout like that," was all I said before slipping away from him and going back to taking stock of my shelves. As I made a note to buy more treats for Cher, I felt him come up behind me. My hair was already in a bun, so all Harry had to do was move the collar of my shirt—my father's shirt—a little to the side so he could press open mouthed kisses to my skin.

I smiled at his touch, but tried to stay focused on what I was doing, though when his teeth grazed my ear, the hand holding my pen faltered. "Tell me now?" he breathed quietly against my jaw, his hands reaching under the longer hem of my shirt so he could rub tiny circles into my skin.

My hands stilled and I focused on my breathing. It was moments like this when I questioned my reasons for keeping my plans from him, but then I thought about how happily surprised I was whenever he took me somewhere and how I wanted to do the same for him. The idea of seeing him like that steeled my nerves, at least for a few minutes until Harry tried to wheedle it out of me again.

"How about this," I said, turning around and propping myself up on the counter.

This close to his face, I could see every single detail on Harry's face. I loved studying him up close—counting the freckles on the bridge of his nose, admiring the unique shade of green in his eyes, holding back my smile at the slight stubble he was trying to grow on his chin and jaw. He was so effortlessly beautiful it was almost unfair, and surprising that he'd fallen in love with someone who had features as plain as mine. I tried not to dwell on that, though, opting to focus on Harry's innate beauty instead of my possible lack thereof. Sometimes I even found myself sketching him in between sessions at the shop. But those sketches I hoped Harry never saw. I would show him whatever he wanted if it meant avoiding the embarrassment of admitting that I drew him like a lovesick teenager when he wasn't around.