On his last night in Hawaii, Harry Styles sets his sights on a fiery pro-surfer, who pushes him outside his comfort zone and decides to take him on a little adventure he'll never forget. One that lived past its expiration date. He could've never gue...
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(HARRY'S POV)
Sunny grabs my wrist and tugs me from the bar and down the path that leads towards my beach house. We stop to get ice cream on the way, and I swipe my fingertip over her bottom lip, wiping off a bit of the excess strawberry residue that she hadn't licked off yet. I suck it off my finger and jut out my lip, nodding my head in approval at the taste. She chuckles and bends over, taking a large bite from my vanilla cone.
She refuses to answer any of my questions about where she's taking me as we wander down the street. Just when I think she's either bringing me to the beach or my place, she takes a sharp turn down a dirt trail that's surrounded by trees and hauls me up a hill.
"Is this the part where you kill me?" I joke, and she swats my arm.
"Dammit! How did you guess?" she giggles.
When we get to the top, I see a navy-blue shipping container that has been converted into a house. It actually looks pretty cool and is exactly like something I could picture her in. There are windows scattered along the front and there's a large garden of sunflowers framing the landscape. She pulls me through a bright yellow door and flips on the light to illuminate the modern open space.
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The entire back wall has been cut out and replaced with glass windows and doors, which I bet looks beautiful in the daylight. I glance to the right and see a king-sized bed in the living area and a massive bookshelf as the headboard that's filled way over its capacity with novels. In the corner on the other side of the bed is the world's tiniest kitchen; only having a fridge, stove, microwave, and a makeshift wooden island that doubles as a table to eat at.
There's no couch, no tv... but there is an entire studio's worth of equipment and instruments scattered around on the left-hand side of her home. I can feel my eyes grow wide at the beautiful sight, wishing I could mess around in here and make music with her.
"Do you play all of these?" I ask in bewilderment, pointing to the baby grand piano, drums, violin, cello, sax, and her collection of basses and guitars and other similar stringed instruments.
"Every single one," she nods.
"Who the hell are you and where did you come from?" I stare at her, needing answers right this second.
"My grandma always pushed me to try new things... to be creative in every possible way. She said I was a prodigy at everything I picked up, and told me that when I was old enough, I needed to get out of South Carolina and make something of myself. Music and writing always made me happy, so I wanted to learn everything about it. Even went to a music conservatory for a bit while I lived with her." She shrugs it off like it's not one of the most impressive things I've ever heard.
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