How It's Going To Be [h.s.]

Chapter 7

Harry's townhouse looked like an advertisement for a real estate company. It was nestled in a line of other townhouses on a picturesque street. His was three narrow stories and made entirely of white bricks. There were two white columns reminiscent of ancient Rome accenting the black front door. A black iron gate created a small perimeter around the front of the townhouse. Its purpose was to separate his property from the public walkway.

We walked through the iron gate and I stared up at the handsome townhouse front as Harry secured the gate behind us. There was a brass number 9 placed on the front of one of the columns indicating the street address of Harry's townhouse. I also noticed a balcony extending from the third floor.

Harry stopped me as we started up the stairs toward the front door. He pointed to the neighboring townhouse. "That house is owned by the editor of a fashion magazine. She throws these lavish parties I've never been invited to."

"Really?"

"And that one," Harry turned to point to the house on the other side of his own. "Is owned by a film director. He's had films at Sundance and Cannes Film Festivals. He's retired now. A bit odd, that one. He walks his cat." I giggled as Harry unlocked his front door and led me inside.

We were greeted with a set of stairs on the immediate left. Harry showed me around the first floor. There was a warm living room with oversized sofas positioned around a fireplace and a television over the mantelpiece. There were bookshelves filled with books and photos on either side of the fireplace.

The rest of the house had equal amounts of coziness and charm. I saw the kitchen, bathrooms, guest rooms, and eventually Harry's bedroom. Every room was filled with rich woods and intricate fabrics likely not chosen by Harry, but beautiful nonetheless.

"Wow," I muttered.

"No memory of the place?"

"Nope," I shook my head. I sat on a sofa in the living room.

"I'll run upstairs and change. I'll take your bag to my room." Harry ran up the stairs and I heard a door open and close.

I was in awe of his townhouse. It was much larger than my flat. His house was in a different part of the city where women wore floor-length fur coats. My building was in a neighborhood where women wore thrift store finds.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs echoed through the open townhouse. I turned my head to see Harry step off the last stair. He wore black jeans and a white Henley shirt. He had black boots on as well. He pulled a black wool coat over his arms and walked over to me.

"It's freezing outside, are you sure you want to go for a walk?"

"Yes," I smiled.

"Then let's go." As we passed the coat closet by the front door, Harry grabbed a scarf and pulled it around his neck.

Harry locked the door behind us as we made our way onto the front steps of his house. The air was bitterly cold and I immediately felt my body stiffen as a breeze blew by. Harry let out a long breath and watched intently as steam crept from his lips. I watched as the silvery-gray vapor rolled in every direction before it blended with freezing air.

"The park is just a block this way," Harry started for the end of the street.

I kept my eye out for photographers, but with the temperature dropping and snow falling, nobody was out but us. Harry was silent as we walked, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. His eyes were fixed on the entrance to the park just ahead.

"When it's hot out, we wake up in the middle of the night and take a walk through this park," Harry explained as we crossed under an archway that named the park. "We walk really slowly and you always make me sing."