"Styles, meet FBI Agent Caroline Forbes. She will be on your case and with you every day until she gathers more evidence and can turn you in, or you confess," the Sheriff informs me as I glance from him back to her, and she gives me a polite smile...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I'm telling you, darling," Harry continues, strolling right next to me in the baking aisle, dropping in our cart another cupcake dish to add to his other two at home, "I would be the best FBI Agent."
We started this whole conversation on the way to Target to buy some groceries when the man stole my badge to admire as I drove us here, looking at it as if it was the coolest thing he had ever seen.
Giving him an obvious once over as he carries over a colorfully patterned baking glove to put in the cart, I place my hand to my lips to hold in a laugh, "Yeah, sure you would, Mrs. Pots."
When he pouts at me, I can't help but laugh, something I've been able to do a lot with him the past few, very rough days, thanks to him.
All to anyone's surprise, Harry was the one who made sure I was warm and safe on the night I got humiliated and lied to.
"What the hell did he do? Caroline, please tell me," he pressed, attempting to sound less worried, but failing anyway.
He had guided me to the couch, my beyond cold body latched onto his in a way I couldn't really control. I just needed physical contact from somebody, and Harry was there.
As he had helped me onto the couch, I sniffled and broke into tears again, still shivering out of my mind, waving my hand slightly for him to stop asking me what Mike had done. I just didn't want to think of it and explain at the time when the wound of it was still so fresh.
He knelt down in front of me, a panicked look in his eyes, reaching over to grab the throw blanket to wrap around my back, and holding each of my biceps as I longed to stop crying.
"Why didn't you call me? I would've have gotten you straight away," Harry's questions turned into offended ones, that I must've not even thought about him.
To be fair, I hadn't considered that the serial killer I babysit would've wanted to help me, but clearly, I was wrong.
"You can't drive, I have your keys—" I croaked, wiping my eyes. "My phone died anyway."
I watched him grow frustrated, knowing on the inside I was right, and his aid wouldn't have been a possibility.
Feeling helpless, he brought me clothes to change into, tissues, hot chocolate, and cuddled with me on the good couch, constantly cursing at how cold I was and claiming he just wanted to make sure I was warm. Dateline was playing on the flatscreen above the burning fireplace, which actually caused me to mistakenly fall asleep on his arm he had wrapped around me.
The day after that, I woke up on the couch to two concerned faces looking down at me, Ryan and Harry, both talking and kneeling on the ground beside my head, debating on what could've possibly happened. I was so comforted that Harry cared enough to call Ryan, who despite the sadness in his eyes, owed me a really big, fat "I told you so".
