Harry Styles Short Stories

Pickles From the Jar

"Here is your tomato pesto melt, sir," the waiter said while setting a plate in front of Harry. "And you're Italian," he added, setting a sandwich in front of me.

When the waiter walked away, we started on our food. I immediately went for the pickle that came as a side. Harry smiled at me as i bit into it and hummed joyfully. He slid his pickle from his plate to mine.

"Thank you," I smiled. This had been a common occurrence in Harry and I'd relationship since the beginning. He always gave me his pickle if it came with his order.
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"You ready to go?" Harry asked me as I put my earrings in.

"Mhm," I hummed, grabbing my purse and letting him take my hand and lead me to the car.

His mom was hosting a family lunch today. Harry, Gemma, her partner and I would all be there.

"Do you know what we're having?" I asked on the drive there. "Yeah, mum said she's doing a 'make your own sandwich bar' thing," he responded.

At lunch we lined up at Anne's kitchen island to build our sandwiches. She had every sandwich topping you could imagine. Harry was in front of me and I watched him build his sandwich. Spinach, tomato, cheese, onions, and pickles. Pickles? Harry doesn't like pickles.

I laughed. "Harry, those are pickles," I pointed out.
He turned to look at me. "Yes, I know," he said with a grin.

"I thought you didn't like pickles?" I questioned. "No, I do. I like them quite a lot actually," he answered. I stood there confused. "But you always give me yours," I responded, shaking my head. "I know," he said.

"If you like them 'quite a lot' why do you always give them to me?," I asked, mocking his British accent when quoting him. "Because you like them," he explained. I gently pushed his shoulder. "Finish making your sandwich you goof," I giggled, feeling flustered at his confession. My heart warmed at the realization that he was giving his pickle to me just because I enjoyed them.

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Pickles From The Jar by Courtney Barnett