And What If I Were You

Chapter 1 - Part 6

Friday, July 8, 2016

Harry's Country House

Buxton, Derbyshire

8.20pm. Date number four...

"Are you sure I can't give you a hand?" Louis calls out from his spot on the couch.

"Absolutely not. You're my guest," Harry replies as he busies himself with dishing up their dessert. "Besides, I still haven't worked out how I'm getting these tarts out of the baking tray, so I need time to cover up any disasters without you seeing. Don't want to ruin the facade I've carefully constructed."

"Alright, have it your way." Louis chuckles. This man. He's gonna be death of him. Such an enigma. Who the fuck is this honest with someone on the fourth date?

Louis takes a sip of his wine, watching on as Harry glides around his kitchen with a graceful ease, fiddling with the little blueberry tarts he'd baked earlier in the day.

Their first date had been wonderful. Louis had arrived at Harry's house filled with nervous excitement about the evening ahead and getting to spend more time with him. They'd texted back and forth over the days between, Harry sending him picture after picture of Giselle glaring and shunning him just as he'd predicted.

The evening had flowed easily, good conversation and great food, Giselle following Louis around just as she had before. By the end of the night Louis was completely smitten; his face hurt from smiling for hours and his ribs were sore from laughing so much. Harry had given him a kiss on the cheek in parting with the promise of a second date the following weekend, this time at a restaurant closer to the city.

The second date had been wonderful for entirely different reasons. Harry chose the venue, and even he would easily acknowledge that the painfully pretentious French restaurant–complete with snooty waiters and a dry sort of ambience–was more reminiscent of a museum than anything that resembled a comfortable dining experience. It wasn't ideal. Nor were the ridiculously large white plates that had tiny pieces of carefully placed meat and vegetables, with sauces drizzled precisely over the porcelain surface, presumably to create an artful flare, but all of it missing the mark by a country mile.

Louis had done his best to be the perfect dinner companion though; listening intently to Harry's stories, laughing at his jokes, smiling and batting his eyelashes with enough frequency to let Harry know his intentions. Spending time in Harry's presence hadn't exactly been a hardship, he was hilarious and sweet and fucking gorgeous of course, and he gave Louis his undivided attention and respect in return.

It was obvious to Louis that Harry was trying to impress him, but it was also clear as day that Harry was merely putting on airs and graces and that the real Harry—the one Louis had met on the installation day and then again on their first date—was hiding just below the surface. Louis had desperately wanted that other version of Harry back.

By the time the dessert course was served, Louis had been just tipsy enough to let his guard down. And really, he couldn't have been blamed for the snort of laughter that had accompanied his murmured 'You've got to be fucking kidding me'. The chocolate torte that was placed in front of him was no bigger than a large strawberry. He felt, more than heard, Harry's laughter from across the table and when Louis looked up, his dinner date had his hand over his mouth, eyes crinkled almost shut as he stared down at his own plate. Harry's lime and raspberry sorbet was balled in something resembling an egg cup, a single frosted mint leaf on top and chocolate covered coffee beans scattered around the plate like little animal droppings.

They had both devolved into fits of giggles and that's when the date had really begun. Harry let his guard down, Louis set his naturally witty banter free, and the evening went from a potential right-off to one of the best nights of Louis' life. They had clicked from that moment on, but while they grabbed a kebab down the road from the restaurant to quell their grumbling stomachs, Louis did make Harry promise to let him plan their next date. They'd sealed the deal with a proper kiss this time, albeit still chaste.