That Summer Feeling: SUMMER 4EVER [H.S.]

3. Tis the Damn Season

LATE SEPTEMBER - LAST FALL

"It was a fucking disaster."

Harry pulls away from our lengthy hug and throws himself on the couch. His suitcase and bag were left by the door. A heavy sigh flies past his lips as he tilts his head backwards and runs his hands across his face.

"What happened?" I'm immediately by his side, already missing his touch again.

He sighs again, hands dropping to his lap. His eyes are shut, a wrinkle in between his eyebrows. I reach down and lay my hand over his, gently moving it to intertwine them. My heart leaps when he squeezes my hand back.

"Harry?"

His eyes suddenly open. The green I've missed over the last three days didn't meet my eyes as I had hoped. Harry gets up, his dirty white sneakers creaking the wooden below us as he turns the corner towards the stairs.

"Harry?" I repeat, head twisting and watching his every step. I let a sigh out of my own.

He's not in a good mood. Anyone with eyes can see that. The frown on his face has been practically permanent since he's walked in.

His flight arrived on time. 6:32 pm. I cleaned the entire house, wanting him to walk into a nice space after his trip to New York where he spent a whole day traveling, a whole day in his merger meeting, and then another day traveling back.

I wanted to be there at the airport as soon as his plane touched down and pull him into the tightest hug. Three days might not be a long time but we haven't gone more than a day without seeing each other since I've moved here.

But Harry insisted that he would get his own ride back. I still wasn't comfortable with driving around here and he wasn't either especially when it came down to one of his prized possessions: his car.

So I was happy and slightly nervous to stay home and wait for his arrival. I sprang out of bed this morning and cleaned every surface and corner of his house to occupy my nerves. I finish every errand run and was almost done with the dinner I cooked for us when I heard the door slam.

I could sense it in our tight embrace. How stressed and exhausted he was. I assumed it was just the flight and jet lag. But as soon as I asked him how the trip went, he tensed up. Remained silent until he spoke his first five words since arriving.

I want to follow him. My first instincts are to hold him and find out what's going through his head but the oven annoyingly beeps. I quickly enter the kitchen, stopping it with a push of a button and turned it completely off after confirming the lasagna was ready.

I hear heavy footsteps coming down from the stairs. I exit the kitchen just in time to see Harry pass the living room with something small in his hands that I could barely make out.

"Where are you going?"

"Gonna get fucking high."

I hear the sliding door to his backyard open a few seconds later. I sigh, glancing back at the dining table. The plates and silverware were set. I bought a nice bottle of wine and was looking forward to being with him again and asking about his short trip.

I don't know if I should take his words as an invitation so I play it safe and stay in the kitchen, allowing him to have some space to calm down for a few minutes. I complete menial tasks to keep busy— washing random plates, wiping down the counter, and turn the oven back on to keep the food warm. I have a feeling it'll be a while until we eat.

I grab the navy blue throw blanket from the couch and wrap it around myself, knowing my beige skirt and Harry's white pullover with a cute lamb in the front that I've taken a strong liking to wouldn't keep me warm in the early fall breeze of London.