𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋! | harry styles

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OLD School's idea of casual is white linen cloths and a wine list thicker than the bible. Obviously, he deserves to be teased.

"I can't believe this place calls itself a restaurant, and there is not a single chicken wing on the menu."

He lowers his menu binder to the table. "I think the Statler chicken has a drumette if you're really feeling homesick."

"Actually that sounds pretty good, but so do the veal chop and the swordfish and the pumpkin tortellini."

Harry folds his hands on top of the menu and gives me one of his trying-to-figure-you-out stares. "Are you one of those girls who says she's starved and then eats two bites and says she's stuffed?"

"I wish! No, I'm the girl who finishes pretty much everything in front of her and then orders dessert."

His grin widens. "My kinda gal."

He proceeds to order the tortellini for us to share as an appetizer and a bottle of pinot noir we sure as shit don't sell at Hooters. By the time I get three-quarters into my swordfish, I'm stuffed to the gills.

"I hope you won't be too disappointed in me if I can't handle dessert."

"Suit yourself, but I'm ordering the donut holes."

"Like Munchkins?"

"Munchkins? That's like comparing an Annie Leibovitz to a bathroom selfie!" It seems I have pushed a button. He is adorably passionate all of a sudden.

"So that would be a 'no'?"

"These donut holes come out piping hot from the kitchen, crispy on the outside, tender and caky on the inside, rolled in cinnamon sugar, and served with a side of hot fudge dipping sauce. Does that sound like something you'd get at a rest stop on the highway?"

"What it sounds like is a person getting all hot and bothered over there."

"Just sayin'." Fuck. That dimple.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier so I could have saved room?"

"My bad."

"Yeah, you don't look sorry at all."

Harry flags down the waiter and places the order. When the donuts arrive, steam and deep-fried goodness rising from their wire basket, Harry lights up. I have a feeling I'm about to see his "O" face.

"Would you like to be alone with your donut holes?"

"Nope." He plucks one out of the basket, dips it into the hot fudge sauce, and holds it over the dish while the excess chocolate drips off.

I'm literally on the edge of my seat, anticipating his first taste, but I should have known better. That's not Old School's style.

"Ladies first." He reaches across the table with the donut between two fingers and a look of wild yearning on his face. "No pressure," he says.

I'm powerless in the face of this man and his decadent pastry. "I hate you right now," I inform him before leaning in for a taste.

Okay, the donut is fucking ridiculous-warm chocolate giving way to the slight crackle of sweet crust against my teeth-but the best part is the expression of pure joy on his face as he watches me. This is a man who truly delights in giving pleasure. I let that sink in as I savor the tastes lingering on my tongue.

I kind of love that he doesn't ruin the moment by demanding any declaration from me afterward. There's no I-told-you-so, no hasty offer of another bite that would only cheapen the first. Instead, in what might be his sexiest move yet, Harry dips what's left of the donut hole back into the hot fudge, closes his eyes, and places the whole thing onto his tongue. He chews deliberately, as if committing every sensation to memory. I'm completely mesmerized by his appreciation of that single bite of food.