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

46. Summertime and Butterflies

"Go away."

"I'm just trying to help—"

"Lacey no—" Harry's hands gripped a powdery ball of flour he's put away to rest twenty minutes ago while I'm behind him, trying to take over the cutting board beside him.

In the meantime, we'd already drank one glass of rosé each and he cut the rest of the ingredients and prepared something that made the room smell slightly fishy. He used his leg to shoo me away after I took the opportunity to jump down from my seat when his hands were full.

He hadn't allowed me to help him cook dinner tonight and as much as entertaining it was to watch him work his way around a kitchen, I couldn't sit still. Not when he looks that damn good in a white button-up, opened all the way and an apron tied around his small waist, while his ringless fingers prove they had talent in everything they touch. Now he's trying to fight me off like we're two kids messing around in a kitchen.

"I won't hesitate," he says after he spins around and holds up his flour-covered hands, threatening to touch me with them.

"Fine." I roll my eyes, and a smile tugs at my lips when I spot a fingerprint of flour on his nose that I gently wipe away. "But can I at least help with something? It can be the tiniest thing, I don't care. I just don't want you doing all the work while I do nothing."

"If you must insist," he says after he lets out a dramatic defeated sigh, "go on and sit. Let me rinse my hands first."

"And I thought you were the dog," I tell Ziggy, quietly snickering as he wobbles around the kitchen with his short tail wagging, waiting to catch a piece of food that falls.

Harry raises his brows at me when I look up. I stare back at him, fighting a grin. "What? I didn't hear a please."

He sighs again, shifting his weight onto one leg. "Please go and sit down?"

"That's better." I hide my smile from him as I step over to the same stool I was sitting on beside the wooden island in the middle of my kitchen. "What's my job then?"

He goes to the sink and washes the sticky flour from his hands. "Your job is to sit there and look pretty— and would you look at that?" He grins as he looks at me over his shoulder. "You're a natural."

I roll my eyes when he wasn't looking, hiding a smile as well. "Harry, I'm being serious."

"Fine. Did you wash your hands?"

Without saying anything, I stand back up and meet him at the sink, patiently waiting for my turn. He smiles at me as he rinses the soap off, purposely taking his time to do so. He shuts off the water and moves away, grabbing a dry towel in one hand and flicking water from his other hand at my face.

"Harry!"

I hear him laugh as he practically runs away from me to the other side of the kitchen when I threaten him by pointing the end of the sprayer at him. "It was an accident!"

"An accident. Sure," I lightly scoff as I turn around and begin washing my hands after I dab the water droplets on my face with a paper towel.

A wide smile spreads my rosy cheeks when I feel his arms wrap around my waist and his lips apologetically kiss my cheek over and over until I'm giggling underneath his hold.

"Now what?" I ask him after I take a seat again and sit up straight for my task. My hair is still bunched up in a clip from when I threw it up a few minutes, still on my mission to cook with him. A few strands fell beside my face from my attempt to take over Harry's cooking.