Silk || hs

Grilled Cheese

The remaining part of Saturday and the majority of Sunday is spent doing homework and trying to not think about Harry. One minute I'm freaking out about him because I simply can't get John's stupid voice out of my head, ominously telling me that I should be wary of Harry and all his mysteries. Then the next minute, despite all my suspicions regarding Harry, I'm gushing over my phone at the cute snapchats he keeps sending me. Why can't this just be simple flirtation where I don't have to worry if Harry is playing me?

That'd be too easy, my subconcious reminds me, and I scoff out loud at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. I should just throw caution to the wind for once and allow myself to have a bit of an adventure with this. Yep, I think that's what I'll do.

When Sunday morning arrives, I struggle to get out of bed to keep writing that damn english essay. I would put it off until tonight, but since I'm supposed to see Harry at around lunchtime, and I don't know what he's planning, I think it best if I do myself a favor and just get the paper over with.

So, after too many undeserved breaks and an entire bag of M&Ms, I finally submit my mediocre essay to TurnItIn and start to get ready for lunch with Harry. He said to dress casually, so I throw on a pair of jeans and nice shirt and try to fix the monstrosity that is my hair. Nothing is really seeming to work for my hair right now, so a french braid it is. After slapping on some mascara and filling in my brows, I get the text from Harry saying that he's here.

Checking myself one more time in the mirror, I walk outside and immediately regret wearing jeans. One would think that afer all this time living in the South that I would learn, but apparently I'm an idiot who wants to impress a boy bad enough that I'm willing to roast alive. It's stupid, but I can't help it.

Harry's truck is sitting outside my dorm, its glossy, black paint shining in the sunlight. Before Harry, I don't think I was ever a huge fan of trucks, but I don't know, seeing him sitting in one makes a redneck truck like this seem like the only car I could possibly want a man to drive. I know, I hate myself too. Harry just looks that good in it.

When I climb inside, Harry flashes that dimpled smile at me that makes my heart flutter. Ugh, why is he so gorgeous?

"You look nice," Harry compliments me, starting the car and driving off.

I laugh, thinking back to the last time he saw me with my hair a mess and the pervious night's makeup smeared across my face, "Thanks, much better than yesterday morning, I hope."

"Oh, definitely," Harry says in a very serious tone that is meant to offend me.

I playfully roll my eyes at him and stare out the window at the moving pavement, "Careful there, you sounded a little too adamant about that one."

A soft laugh falls from Harry's mouth and he glances over at me, "Hey, I think I can give you a hard time about it after you got your makeup all over my clean sheets. I had to wash them again."

"Fair enough," I concede, sneaking another glance at Harry and that adorably amused smile of his. "So, what is that we're doing today?"

Harry grins at me from the driver's seat as we roll to a stop for a red light, "Well, I figured we could have a cooking battle. After you practically couldn't shut up about grilled cheese sandwiches for nearly half an hour the other night, I simply needed to try this supposedly superior grilled cheese of yours... if you're up for it?"

My initial response to this plan is one big hell yes. If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that making grilled cheese sandwiches is a passion of mine. After years of experimenting with different cheeses and breads, I have undoubtedly created the perfect grilled cheese for any occasion. Of course, my drunk self told all this to Harry the other night. I had forgotten until just now.