Harry Baby

Chapter 8

I get in my car and turn on the Christmas station. The music to It's Cold Outside begins to fill my car. About halfway home, I start to get sick of Christmas music and put on 100.3. Ellie Golding's Burn is playing. I sing along with the radio to help pass the time. I'm really starting to grow tired of all this running around.

***

I pull up to the front of my house with Harry still behind me. I jog to the front door trying to avoid any black ice. I scramble throw the movie cabinet and search for The Polar Express. It's Christmas Eve, and I haven't watched that movie once yet this season. It better be here. Thankfully, it is. I rip it off

out of the cabinet and jog back out to my car. Harry is waiting patiently in his. We trade places so that I'm following him now. I keep the radio off.

Silence is nice every now and then. We drive past the lake I've passed hundreds of times. It looks so pretty when it frozen and covered in snow. Before I know it, Harry is pulling into the parking lot of what I assume is his house. It's a cute, comfortable sized bungalow. The door is a dark green and the walls are a bright white. The window shutters are black and the curtains are white and very girly I should add.

"This is your house?" I ask I getting out of my car and walking up to him.

"No it's not. I just decided to park here and walk to my house three blocks that way," Harry points in the direction we just came from.

"No need for the sarcasm, I know it was an incredibly stupid question," I playfully punch his arm.

"Beyond incredibly stupid," Harry points out chuckling.

"I like it. It's really cute," I comment still admiring the small house.

"Yeah. It's big enough that my family can stay here when the visit, but not too big considering its just me most of the time," Harry says less enthusiastic.

"Harry, quick question," I say.

"Yes?" Harry responds looking taking his attention off the view of house.

"How in the world did you afford to move from England to New York City to here?" I ask.

"How about we go inside," Harry suggests.

"Sure," I say hesitantly.

Harry opens the door for me and I enter. It's nice and warm and smells of peppermint. I notice candles at almost every widow and in the center of the coffee table by the couch.

"Have enough candles in here," I tease.

"Yeah, I have a lot," he chuckles.

"I like the smell," I comment.

"It's nice. It's actually called Christmas Eve," he says.

"I'm guessing that's why you bought them," I say.

"Yeah. I'll probably have enough for next year too."

"Maybe you can give me a few when Ally gets sprayed by a skunk again," I joke.

"Ok, but leave Ally home," Harry laughs.

"So are you going to answer the question?" I say changing the subject.

"Well I sort of have more money than I need right now. My dad is "the best" doctor in all of England," he puts quotes around 'the best,' "and my mum owns a million dollar company. I'm pretty much set when it comes to money," he explains.

"So you don't have to work a in your life, do you?" I ask.

"Someday I hope to do well on my own, but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen anytime soon."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's just me. I don't have anyone I need to support. My parents send money monthly because they have nothing else to spend it on because they have practically everything," he rants.

"Having money but no job. Not a good way to impress a girl," I tease trying to lighten the mood.

"I've been looking, believe me," he chuckles.

"I can guess what your New Years resolution is," I joke.

"You got it," he laughs. There's a brief and awkward pause.

"Would you like hot chocolate or something?" Harry asks.

"That would be lovely I say with a small smile.

Harry takes a carton of milk off the shelf on the door of the fridge. He pours some of it into a pot and puts it on the stove.

"Making it the old fashioned way," I comment.

"Yeah. It tastes better," Harry says.

"And being a baker like I was, I choose taste over time," Harry says waving his wooden spoon back as forth.

"So you attempted working?" I joke. He looks up from the pot and straight at the wall in front of him and thinks for half a second.

"Yeah," he says, "but there aren't many bakeries in the city."

"There are three in town," I say.

"If I recall correctly none of them have help wanted signs in the window," Harry says.

"That doesn't mean they're not looking for people," I counter.

"And what makes you say that?" Harry snaps.

"Because I work at one," I fire quickly. Harry doesn't respond. He stands there quietly stirring the milk.

"You're saying that if I walked into the bakery you worked at, they would hire me?" Harry asks.

"If you qualified," I answer. "You should consider it," I add.

"I will," he says taking the now warm milk off the stove.

"Can you get you get two mugs out of the cupboard," Harry points to the one above me head while he opens the one on the other side.

I grab two Christmas mugs and put them on the counter. One has penguins ice skating and the other has Santa eating cookies. Harry adds two scoops of Ovaltine in each mug and pours half of the milk into each.

After rinsing the hot pot in the sink, Harry pulls open the draw and takes a spoon out and mixes the hot chocolate.

"Here you go," he says handing me the mug with the ice skating penguins.

"I have to say, I love the Christmas mugs," I say taking a swig. The liquid burns my tongue, causing me to put the mug back down on the counter.

"Careful, It's hot," Harry laughs at my actions.

"Thanks for the warning," I say sarcastically.

"It's called hot chocolate for a reason," he says matter-of-factly.

"I'm aware of that," I say in a high pitched voice.

"Are you sure about that?" Harry says gesturing to the steaming hot chocolate.

"Ok, so I didn't think for one second," I say exaggerating the 'one.'

"I'm not even going to comment," Harry says opening another cabinet.

"Marshmallows?" he asks pulling a bag of Jet Puffed Marshmallows.

"Shouldn't they be smaller?" I question giggling.

"Maybe if I had thought to buy some," Harry shrugs. I laugh. Just then, there's a knock on the door.