Capture

Spaghetti and Frozen Peas

"I'm sorry," I whispered, finally lifting my head from Harry's chest. His warmth had calmed the storm inside me, just enough for me to pull myself together. I met his eyes—soft and green, steady like some kind of grounding force I didn't know I needed until now.

"It's not your fault, Emma," he said gently, brushing off my apology like it was unnecessary. "Honestly, it was the least I could do."

He pulled me back into his arms and I let myself melt for just a second longer. There was something so instinctive about the way we held each other—like the universe had decided this moment was owed to us after the chaos of today.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked once more, pulling away just enough to study my face.

"Yeah," I said, managing a reassuring smile. "I'm okay now."

He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and my heart stuttered. His fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to, brushing softly along my skin. He bit his bottom lip, eyes still focused on mine. There was something unspoken hanging between us. If I leaned in just slightly... but he didn't move. Neither did I.

Instead, I reached for his hand, hoping maybe he'd take the hint. That's when he winced.

I looked down and gasped. His knuckles were raw—bruised, a little bloodied. I hadn't even noticed. "Oh God, you're hurt!"

"It's not that bad," he said quickly, trying to pull his hand away. Typical guy.

"You might've broken it, macho man."

"Emma, it's fine. I didn't break it."

"Sit," I ordered, tugging him toward the kitchen and pointing to the barstool. "You're not walking around with busted knuckles like it's no big deal."

I rummaged through the freezer and grabbed the only ice pack substitute I had—frozen peas. Not glamorous, but it would do.

"Frozen peas? Really?" he teased as I turned back.

"Shut up and keep your hand still," I said, placing the bag gingerly over his knuckles. He flinched slightly, but didn't protest. "It's all I've got. Unless you want to use a pack of waffles."

He smiled, eyes never leaving mine. There was that flutter again, somewhere deep in my chest. I wasn't used to someone looking at me like that. Especially not after the wreckage that was Liam.

My stomach rumbled loudly, betraying me.

"You hungry?" I asked, cringing slightly.

"You don't have to cook for me."

"I want to," I said simply. "You helped me. Let me do this."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but I grabbed a wooden spoon and pointed it at him like a weapon. "Sit. Down. Peas. Hand." He laughed in surrender and held the bag obediently against his knuckles.

I filled a pot with water and got it boiling, rummaging through half-unpacked boxes until I found enough ingredients to attempt a simple spaghetti. The kitchen was small, still unfamiliar, but in that moment, cooking felt like therapy. Something normal to latch onto.

"What's on the menu?" Harry asked, leaning his chin on his uninjured hand, eyes following me as I moved around.

"Spaghetti. If we're lucky."

"My favorite."

Figures. Of course he'd be charming even when barely trying.

As the noodles boiled and I stirred the sauce, I found myself talking—telling him about work, my new coworkers, how much I liked the atmosphere. I was surprised by how easy it was to share, how he actually listened without waiting for his turn to speak.

"So what made it a mixed bag?" he asked.

I hesitated, pouring us each a glass of wine to give myself a moment.

"Liam showed up," I said finally. The words tasted bitter, even now.

Harry's expression darkened. "At your job?"

"Apparently he delivers there a lot. And he's best friends with my new coworker. Go figure."

I didn't mention how my heart had jumped at the sight of Liam, how part of me had tensed like I was about to relive something I hadn't finished processing. I also didn't mention how good it felt when Harry had stepped between us.

I poured the wine and handed him a glass.

"To punching people in the face," I said with a weak smile.

He grinned. "Cheers to that."

As we clinked glasses, I felt something loosen in me. A little knot of tension I hadn't noticed until now.

We talked more over dinner—me, mostly asking questions. About his job in surveillance, his family, his favorite Marvel heroes. He made a joke about working for the Avengers and I played along, laughing until my cheeks ached. He wasn't just funny—he was warm, generous with his attention, and surprisingly open.

Still, every so often, my mind would drift back to Liam. To the way he'd looked at me earlier, like I was a problem he hadn't finished solving.

Harry had noticed too—I could see it in the way he didn't push, the way he let me come back to the present at my own pace.

After dinner, we shared cookie dough ice cream like a pair of kids, making jokes about superheroes and how he was going to blame me when he gained ten pounds. I told him it was part of my evil plan. He countered that I'd have to keep feeding him pasta if I wanted to keep him quiet.

Somewhere between the laughs, he told me about his sister, about being a mama's boy, and even about his high school band. I filed every detail away like a keepsake. I didn't know why, but I wanted to remember everything about him.

Eventually, he stood up, stretching with a wince. "I should head back," he said, peas still in hand like a badge of honor.

I walked him to the door. "Thanks again, for everything."

"You don't owe me anything," he said, smiling. "I'm just glad you're okay."

I watched him disappear down the hall, my apartment suddenly too quiet without him.

That's when my phone rang—Casey. "Jesus Christ, Emma!" she yelled the second I picked up. "What happened to you? I've been freaking out!"

Guilt washed over me. I'd completely forgotten about our call in the stairwell.

I explained what happened in vague terms—how Liam had shown up, how Harry had intervened.

"Wait, wait. Who the hell is Harry?" she asked, scandalized.

"My neighbor. The one I texted you about."

"And you pulled him into your apartment and fed him pasta? Girl, that's a date."

"It wasn't a date!" I argued, though my voice lacked conviction.

"Was there wine?"

"Maybe."

"Was there flirting?"

I hesitated. "...He knows about my Marvel obsession?"

"Emma. Come on."

I sighed. "It wasn't like that, Case. He just... helped. He was there."

"Mmhmm," she said knowingly. "So is he cute?"

"You're hopeless."

"You love me."

I smiled despite myself. "I do."

After we hung up, I cleaned up the dishes in a daze, then collapsed into bed. My body was exhausted, but my mind raced—images of Harry's smile, the warmth in his eyes, the tension in his voice when he talked about protecting people.

I still didn't understand Liam—his intentions, or why he seemed so connected to everything I was trying to move on from. But for tonight, I let those questions drift.

Because tonight, there was Harry.