sign {h.s.}

kapitel trettionio

OUR TIME IN Boston flies by. We spend the majority of the next day bumping between shops, looking for clothes that Harry thinks will fit in aesthetically with the regular Parisian fashion while simultaneously being weather appropriate. At the end of each store, he swipes his credit card without an ounce of hesitation, hardly even stopping but to send me a smile reassuring me that it is all okay.

He'd been a delight all day, following me around the shops that I wanted to go in like a lost puppy. Though, as soon as we found our way inside, he would send me straight to the dressing room and send in the most stylish outfits I've ever seen in my life, making his penchant for fashion rather obvious; simultaneously making me very jealous.

By the end of the day, we're already back home in Amherst.

For the entire duration of the car ride back, I let the thoughts swirl in my head about how endearing I find his concern to be for the entire matter. The fact that he wanted to ensure that I would fit in at all made my heart stutter in my chest. No one has ever taken such intimate concern with the nuances to my day-to-day life. This is something that I've noticed about Harry repeatedly. For him, there is no detail that is too small. Nothing that should ever go unnoticed.

Our time in Boston was brief, but he spent every second of it proving that he is the epitome of a perfect boyfriend. Yet again, I find myself reaffirmed in my choice to agreeing to be his girlfriend; to sharing that part of my life with him, and him sharing it with me.

Upon arriving back home, Harry had insisted on walking me all the way to my door. Along the way, we pass the sad sight of my car, Paula, where she lay confined to her parking space as I continue to prolong my decision on what to do with her after her most recent issue. The one that Harry had assured me would be a costly fix. My wallet suggests that I sell her.

As we walk by her, Harry reminds me of his experience as a mechanic. He assures me that it wouldn't be a problem for him to look at the car and take care of it. Though he didn't expressly or explicitly say it, the implication was obvious in his tone. From the way that his hand dipped into his pocket—the pocket where I know his wallet is idly sitting—I can tell that he is offering to happily shoulder the expense himself. To him, it would hardly be worth a second thought.

Tempting as such an offer is, ultimately, I decline.

In only a matter of days, he has spent more money on me than anyone has ever before—saving from my parents. He spent the entire day swiping his card as though for sport, gleefully carrying the excessive amount of shopping bags from one store to the next, never really caring that it wouldn't be physically possible for me to wear all of these clothes for the short duration of our stay in Paris. Again, the implication was clear. Harry, as it turns out, loves to spoil those that he cares about. Something about the small piece of information set my heart on fire.

Very politely, I opt instead to inform him that he doesn't have to shower me in his money. Regardless of what he chooses to pay for, he has my heart all the same. The wording slipped, and I blushed immediately after. He did, too, unable to meet my eye as he looked away. Though, it was impossible for him to hide the flash of a smile that large.

Once recovered, he chooses to spend the remainder of our walk informing me in more detail of our plans for Paris. Essentially, solidifying the trip.

Ever since he mentioned the trip, it has seemed looming. I've known it was coming, but it almost felt like something that had no basis on its own. Now, with an armful of clothes to wear and the luggage to pack it in, it seems like a whole new life has been given to this trip. So much has changed between Harry and I, alone, since he first mentioned this trip weeks ago. In a strange sort of way, it seems like almost a lifetime ago that Harry and I were having that first conversation when he broke down to ask me to go.