Pirouette [h.s.]

extra - kittea

Phoebe's POV

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At my side, Harry's energy ricochets off of the walls. He looks composed, but I can see the sparks jumping across the hairs on his arms. I can hear the hum of his heart buzzing like white noise. See the upturning ticks tugging at the corners of his lips. He's so excited, and it's the most endearing thing I've ever seen.

"Honeybee, if you don't hurry up and get your shit, I'm going to lose mine." His voice stretches across telephone poles - thin and wiry. Held together only by the last twinge of control he has.

I pull my shoe on, giving him a sideways glance. He's sat on a stool at the island, knee bouncing up and down ever so slightly. His other foot twitches back and forth against the railing on the seat. The appearance of comfort-finding, but it's nothing more than restless energy. I smile at him and, for a brief, fleeting moment, he's put on pause. Smiling back, with the galaxy reflecting through his eyes. Until I shift my glance and kick the shoe off, and I see them go wide in exasperation. White snow taking over endless mountain grass.

"Bee!" He gasps, arms flying out sideways.

My hair falls in front of my face to mask my laugh, "Sorry, babe, I just wanted to wear those ones instead." I pick up a different pair of shoes, fitting the sneakers into the open space in the closet, "They match my outfit better."

He lets out a frustrated groan into his palms that sends Stitch into a frenzy. He stands up onto his back legs, resting his paws in Harry's lap. A small whine escapes him while he tries to lick at Harry's face. I call his name and he's quick to run to me, sniffing at my shoes and happily nudging his nose against my legs until I pet him.

With an all-too-dramatic flourish, I stand up and pull my purse from the table, "Well, are you ready or not?"

Harry follows me to the front door without a moment's hesitation, swatting at my butt with a nearly inaudible growl rumbling deep in his throat. His hand crosses past my chin, taking it between his fingers to leave a loud, exasperated kiss against the corner of my mouth.

We call our goodbyes to Wonton and Stitch, and Harry proceeds with a jump clean off of the front porch steps. He all but skips to the car, leaving the passenger door hanging open while he runs around to get behind the wheel. The moment that the engine vibrates underfoot, Harry peels out of the driveway. His eyes stay on the road ahead except for occasional, indulgent glances at the GPS on his phone, the rearview mirror, me.

A week or two ago, while laying in bed, Harry flopped to face me. I had been scratching mindless patterns into his back while we soaked up the silence of night. The moon shone through the window and I smiled at it, thinking about Luna's pipe dream of proposing to Tate herself. She won't; he wouldn't let her if she tried. But it fits them. Lune, and her immense power. Forceful genuinity. Delicate spearhead. Sharpness softened into a curve. Tate, and his suave gentleness. Quiet pride. Endless love. For his best friend, and for Harry. We're so lucky to have them.

My moonlit wandering was interrupted by the suddenness of Harry's eyes boring into my own. He gave a gentle smile, pecked my nose, and curled a piece of hair behind my ear. "Bee, I have an idea."

"And what would that be?"

His voice was always syrupy and warm, but something in it changed when the sky turned. Morphing into a sea of melted chocolate. Soothing and endless. Rumble strips and hot fudge. "Let's go to that new cafe down the street."

I couldn't help but to laugh softly, enamored with the gentleness that oozes from his skin. Confused by the persuasive coaxing of his fingertips along my jaw. I mirror him, with my fingers trapped in locks of hair, "Why would I say no to that?"

"Because...there's cats."

The next morning, before he so much as poured coffee into a mug, Harry was reserving our time at the illusive new cafe. KitTea. He'd giggled like a schoolgirl when he told me the name. Within the following 24 hours, I'd made a list of rules - ones that we reviewed each morning leading up to today.

Rule #1: We are not adopting a cat.
Rule #2: We are not adopting two cats.
Rule #3: No, Harry, we are not adopting any cats.

Sitting in the parking lot, I'm not so sure that he remembers them. Harry barely cuts the engine before the soles of his shoes smack the concrete. Regardless of his impatience, he still detours to my door. Charisma and care. Sweetness bursting at the seams. He's holding the cafe door open before I can even shut the car's.

As I pass into the shop, I rub my hand across his arm, both in thanks and in an attempt at comfort. Anything to quell the static lightning zapping through his veins. He lets me lead the way to the front counter, grip steady against my waist.

"Reservation for Harry," I smile at the worker before glancing up to Harry, whose eyes are firmly fixed on the door to our right. He leans his chin against the side of my hair, murmuring a quiet, 'They're so cute.' in my ear, "Could I also get an iced chai, please?"

Standing in the cat room, it's hard for me to decide whether Harry or the ten-year old birthday party is more excited. Squeals from preteens mirroring the wide-eyed looks from my husband. Hushed whispers and giddy smiles, alike. One wall in the room is dedicated to biographies of each cat, and Harry bounces between petting a new friend and desperately trying to find their name.

One sweet grey kitty weaves between my legs as I lean into an old couch cushion. Her eyes are big and bright blue, standing out against her otherwise shadowy face. She looks up at me with a tiny mew before jumping into my lap. Harry, who had been sitting across the room with a wand toy, points dramatically at the cat currently making a bed of my thighs. He quietly approaches and squats at my feet, leaving a kiss to my knee before petting the raincloud.

"Her name is Bluebell," he nearly whispers, reading the papers behind my head.

My bottom lip pouts out on its own, "Don't tell me that."

A sparkle of mischief glimmers across his eye. Malicious innocence. A Congressman in his own right. "She loves you so much, pretty baby."

I flick his forehead. "Stop it or you're sleeping on the couch."

He laughs out an exhale and nestles his head next to the small cat. Bluebell shifts slightly, unsure at first, of the big man's head so close to her own. But the moment he starts scratching at her ears, she relaxes again. I watch the two of them while sipping my drink. Silent alarms screaming mutual admiration. Safety. Security. Kinship.

"What if I talk to Tate?" His words startle me out of my daze. When I meet Harry's eyes, they're staring up at me, full of sunset clouds.

I smile down at him, running my nails across his scalp, "You're going to adopt a cat...for your friend? Don't you think Maisie would eat her?"

Harry feigns shock, "Who's Maisie?" He laughs and catches my hand as it reaches to smack his bicep, "I'm kidding. She's a good dog, I think she'd be fine with it."

"You think!" I choke on the chai, effectively scaring Bluebell away. She scampers off to a strawberry-shaped house, happily curling up inside. Harry stands and holds out a hand to help me to my feet.

"C'mon, Bee, let's go con Tate into getting a cat."

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Oh, hey...it's been a minute. 

Missed writing, and missed them, so here's a random little blurb. See you in another year. Happy almost-Valentine's Day!

(Spoiler: Maisie has a feline sister)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.