ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 17

The red light on my video camera flashes, signaling the beginning of the YouTube video.

I breathe in a slightly nervous lump of air, and fix my composure, leaning on the marble kitchen counter a bit. "Hi! Welcome back! I'm Amber," I exclaim, trying once more to create a proper introduction for the video. I steal a glance Harry's way, whose features stay fixed on the camera, and feel the corners of my mouth slightly lift from the crease between his full brows, creating a very determined facade.

"Hello, I'm Harry," he rasps as if nobody knows his name, "and we're baking muffins today!"

We continue with the intro, showing the products we got at the store and putting them on the counter near the huge mixing bowl. "So... While we make the batter, I was thinking we could ask each other a question with every ingredient added in the bowl..." I start, opening the recipe on my phone and put it down on the island, already preparing to smoosh the bananas.

I don't even know why I thought of playing this game, but I just feel like the people watching the video don't actually know anything about us. Plus, it doesn't hurt to get to know each other better in the process, right?

"Like the 20 Questions game?" He asks, measuring the sugar, and waits for my cue to pour it into the mixing bowl.

"Yeah, but the amount of questions depends on the number of ingredients." I finish crushing the bananas in the container and nod for the sugar to be added. "I'll start. Uhmm... What's your favorite movie?"

"Easy. 'The Notebook'." He pours the cup in his hand into the pot, as I stir it all together. I honestly don't think there's anything that could mess the cupcakes up. It's so simple.

"I've never watched it." I laugh and I swear I saw his eyes bulge out a bit from my response. If I had to guess by just looking at him, I'd put all my bets on the movie's genre being Romance.

"Really? What's yours, then?" he asks, adding the next ingredient to the mix.

"It's a close call between 'Titanic' and 'Me Before You'," I say, watching a sly grin come up to his face. "What?" I question his reaction.

"Nothing." He adds in the baking powder but keeps the joyful expression lingering on the corners of his lips.

When I start preparing questions to figure out what his deal is, he cuts me off before I can even begin, coming up with the easiest question there is to ask, "What's your favorite color?"

"Yellow." I shrug, finally finding a whisk after searching in multiple drawers. I swear, he has at least 20 fully packed drawers in the spacious kitchen.

"Why?" He opens a pack of chocolate chips, almost spilling them all, but somehow manages to make them into the bowl.

"I hate all the other ones." I take over the bowl. "What's yours?"

"It used to be black." I notice him glance at his ocean baseball cap I made him buy. "But now it's hard to choose between pink and blue."

"Really?" I question, earning an approving hum from him, as he subtly fixes his rose spectacles lost in his curls. "Do you have a nickname anybody calls you?" I turn to the next question I had on my mental list, grabbing a teaspoon and scooping the baking soda with it.

"Erm..." He strokes his barely visible stubble on his chin in thought. "Do you know James Corden? Well, he calls me Harold." He laughs, scratching the back of his head.

"Uh... My friends tend to call me Hazz or just H. And..." the corners of his mouth tug up, "...and there was this one pretty weird girl who got so wasted she called me a fusilli-head. I think it's because of my hair."