I'm Not Your Average Girl, Harry Styles.

Chapter 28.

Delilah's POV

I couldn't concentrate on anything; my head was still a little hazy from yesterday evening.

"Delilah, hey? Are you okay?" He asked waving his hand in front of my face.

"Huh, what did you say?" I replied flustered.

"I just asked what you were thinking about, you seem totally out of it."

"This place is just..." I said not even able to finish.

"Perfect?" He answered for me.

"Yeah, where did you find it?" I replied stirring my tea around its cup.

"Unlike you I don't live in high end coffee shops." I could help but smirk at Harry's answer. "What?" He asked confused.

"Coffee shop." I repeated, he looked totally confused. "Coffee shop soundtrack." He still looked completely puzzled. He tilted his head to the side like a confused little puppy, I could help but grin. "All Time Low song." I stated still smiling.

"Should have guessed." He smiled back at me. I continued to stir my tea which I probably should drink since it will be getting colder by the second. Harry invited me out for a drink, of the non-alcoholic sort obviously. I was expecting to be sitting in a Costa's or a Starbucks but in fact he took me to this little cute tea room down a side street which I didn't even know existed. As soon as we walked in the musty antique air wafted up my nose, I didn't mind, it was a refreshing smell compared to the combusted air just a few feet out the door. There were old war posters and British flags coating the walls, there wasn't any particular placement for each one but it made the whole place tie together.  The old cash register on the counter made me smile, it was a rare sight but it was a valuable antique. I sound like I should be on Bargain Hunt right now but it was such a perfect place. I loved the fact they kept the blinds closed so the only natural seeping in was under the door or through the key hole. The tables and chairs were your typical British café set up but matched the interior so well. Me and Harry were the only couple in here, there was a man in the front corner with a top hat placed on his table and an old tatty newspaper grasped between his hands. He's the type of man you would assume every English man would look like, however that is far from the case.

"So what's bothering you?" He asked again, he wasn't going to drop the fact I had barely sparked an ounce of enthusiasm in our one word conversations.

"A lot of things." I replied vaguely.

"What's on your mind at the moment?" He asked sipping his tea, I couldn't help but let out a small laugh when he held up his pinky finger. "What? I'm very British." He said without even letting me speak.

"Or very posh." I retorted in an over exenterate British accent.

"I think you'll find that you're the posh one." He replied, I rolled my eyes in response.

"Really?" I asked sarcastically.

"'Course not love." He joked in his British accent.

"Alright then, but call me posh again say goodbye to your chances of ever having children." I threatened, joking of course.

"Deal, I won't call you posh and you leave my baby making material alone."

"Deal."

"So what's running through that mind of yours?" He said rephrasing his previous question, he was going to get an answer out of me one way or another.

"I got a phone call last night." I sighed, leaning back into my chair.

"And? I get them all the time." He stated.