Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Thirty Four.

Bells chimed as the door of the boutique swung closed behind Harry, the warm outside air hitting his skin. "So do you need anything else?"

"No," Sophie smiled, hugging the dress bag to her chest. "I have everything."

Harry smiled back, "Great."

The dinner time rush had started, and chatter could be heard from the outdoor seating area of a nearby restaurant as families sat down to eat together. The noise popped a reminder up in Mrs. Styles mind. "Oh yeah, dinner should be almost ready by time we get back. Joseph's been cooking while we've been gone."

"Be glad it's my dad's cooking," Harry muttered quietly, so only Sophie could hear. "Mom's is usually burnt."

Sophie giggled, casting her eyes down at the red bricks that made up the sidewalk.

Mrs. Styles turned her head to look over her shoulder back at the two, "What's so funny?" She didn't give much time to answer, because once she caught sight of Sophie's hands full with her dress, she halted. She reached out, "Let me carry that for you."

"No, no. It's okay, I've got it," Sophie politely declined, but Harry's mother was already taking it from her arms.

"Nonsense, I can hold it."

Harry watched as the dress was taken away and his mother continued to walk ahead with Sophie's mom, leaving the two trailing behind together. He looked away, keeping his eyes on the far side of the street as the sunlight reflected off the shiny windows of the shops passing by. He was avoiding doing what he knew he was supposed to be, but that resulted in the toe of his shoe getting caught on the uneven surface of the brick sidewalk and he nearly tripped over.

The little stutter step caught Sophie's attention, and she smirked. "Walk much?"

He snickered, "Not usually, no."

She smiled fondly at him, the dusting of freckles across her cheeks giving her a cute childlike appearance. If only she had a snaggletooth and pigtails, she'd look just the same as she had the day Harry met her in the first grade. She hadn't changed much, only her once youthful charm had turned into a unique beauty as she aged. She had a certain way about her, she was shy, but friendly and welcoming. Warmhearted and kind, but very soft spoken and sweet. She was one of a kind.

The thought influenced Harry to walk a little closer to her, just enough so his arm brushed against hers when they swung slightly with each step. Only until he turned his hand to catch hers, fumbling gently with her fingers until he managed to interlock his with hers. Truthfully, he was scared. Unaware of what he should expect, he assumed the worst.

The worst never came.

She looked over at him questioningly, and the words, "I need help walking," smoothly passed his lips.

She giggled and gave his hand a light squeeze, a tinge of pink on her cheeks as she glanced to the ground.

It worked.

Just as his mother had said, it worked. Mom was right.

Mom was always right.

The car was parked not too far away, and soon they were approaching. Harry did not miss the look of approval he got from his mother just before they disconnected to go their separate ways to get into the back seat of the car.

"Are you coming for dinner, Mrs. O'Donald?" Harry questioned as they drove back in the direction of which they lived.

"Harry, I've told you a thousand times to call me Sandra."

"And I've told him a thousand times it's disrespectful to refer to elders by their first name," his mother butted in.

"You're too hard on him, Rach," Sandra dismissed. "I don't like being called Mrs. O'Donald, it makes me feel old."