Wild Love: A Harry Styles One Shot Collection

Mind the Ferns

Tan skin rippled across taut muscles, delicately framing the sinewed shape of lean, strong arms that glistened with beads of sweat mixed with dirt.

"D'you get a new landscaper, Nick?" you asked your friend, continuing to watch as the man knelt over a flowerbed while yanking out weeds. He tossed it aside into a bucket for clippings, and as if he felt your gaze on him, he turned around and spotted you standing at the window. Catching the way you straightened, affirming that you had been staring at him, he chuckled with a smirk, wiping his damp brow with the back of his hand and turned back to his task.

"Hmm?" Nick asked, coming out of the fridge with two beers and handing one of them to you. He caught sight of your shy expression and the man working hard out in his garden, nodding as he understood your question. "No, that's Harry. He owns the company, but I guess they're understaffed since Harry's covering for Marcus while he's on holiday. We hang out sometimes--he's pretty chill. Watch romcoms together. He'll be hangin' around after he's finished."

You were only half listening as your attention fell back to the man—Harry, as Nick had said—watching his back curve perfectly as he struggled with a stubborn weed, the hem of his florescent yellow t-shirt riding up to expose more tanned skin and more sweat.

"Alright, then," Nick continued, with an annoyed yet amused smile as he took a sip of his beer. "Let's head outside so you can enjoy the view."

"Sure," you agreed without thinking about his comment. Head in the clouds, you followed him toward the sliding glass door that led out to the patio, stepping halfway through before realizing what he said. "Hey!"

"What?" he laughed. "Should I have added, more than you already are?" he teased. You had to laugh because of course he was right, and honestly you didn't mind removing the layer of glass between you and this gardener from the heavens.

The laughter caught Harry's attention, and again he affixed you with a look that made you feel weak in the knees. "Hiya, Harry!" Nick called, much more obnoxiously than he would have had you not just been drooling over him.

He stood, long frame unfolding and giving you much more to focus on. Harry rubbed his soil-covered hands against his bright shirt before raising one in salutation to Nick. Not to you, though, no; instead of a wave, Harry waited until you met his burning gaze to give you a polite, gentlemanly nod and smile. Then he pulled the gloves from the pocket of his tight jeans—very tight jeans, much tighter than you'd ever seen any gardener sport—as he headed to his next task, which was sadly out of view.

Nick let out a low whistle, nudging you with his elbow. "You've got it so bad, babe."

"Oh, shove off," you muttered, taking a long swig of your beer. "When's everyone else arriving? Or am I stuck with just you?"

Right on cue, the doorbell chimed through the house. Nick curtseyed—being a proper twat like usual—before running in to meet the rest of your mates.

You made yourself at home in one of the comfier looking wicker chairs—well, as comfy as wicker could look—and continued to nurse your beer, letting your mind wander as you gazed aimlessly out at the garden.

Nick had a massive garden, lots of grass, trees, and flowers that needed tending to, so hopefully that meant Harry would be around for quite a while.

As you thought of him, again he appeared, walking down the slope of garden with an enormous bag of something—dirt, potting soil, a dead body, it didn't matter—balanced on his shoulder. His face was at ease, and you only knew the bag was of considerable weight because of the way his bicep was bulging, muscles and tendons throughout his arm tightening as he held it in place.