P.S. (Please Stay)

Seven

Two drinks. That was all Olivia would allow herself to have. If she had over two, her inhibitions would be too low and she would do something with Harry, something she wouldn't regret but should. Her sober mind was having a difficult enough time keeping her hands to herself, she could only imagine what an intoxicated state of mind would do to her.

Olivia sat stiffly on the couch, her hands clasped in front of her. She recalled the words she'd spoken to Harry while he was sitting on the very same couch, only days prior. She'd meant every word, but she also didn't think she would see him again. Now that she was back in his house, with Harry and his family and the memory of her confession, she felt embarrassed.

Harry sat next to Olivia, closer than what might have been acceptable, but not close enough for his liking. He handed her a drink, meeting her eyes as their hands touched over the cup. "Relax," he murmured to her. "You're wound tighter than an eight-day clock..." He smirked at the simile, but looked down at his hands. "You don't have to stay..." he told her, hating the words. "I won't be too gutted," he joked, nudging Olivia's knee with his own. He would be, absolutely.

Olivia followed Harry's gaze to his hands. "I know," she assured him. She didn't have to tell him she wanted to stay. He knew that much, she was certain.

She took a sip of the drink – a Santa Clausmopolitan, as Gemma called it – before she reciprocated Harry's knee nudge. "What's an eight-day clock?" she wondered, taking another sip of the sweet beverage. She didn't care for it, which would make her two drink maximum easier to obey.

Harry laughed, his skin tingling at her touch. "It's a clock..." he informed Olivia, a cheeky smirk on his face. "... that's only wound every eight days. Like a grandfather clock," he explained, bumping against her knee again. God, he loved touching her. "It's pretty old-school... thought you might remember when they were first in stores," he teased.

Olivia scoffed, shaking her head at Harry. "Oh, shut up..." she sighed, a smile forming on her lips. Harry always enjoyed teasing Olivia about her age, but he never had any complaints about it. She almost pointed out the fact to him, but decided it was too inappropriate. Instead, she elbowed him gently. "Where can I get tickets to your comedy show?" she teased back.

Harry laughed. Joking with Olivia reminded him of the old times. She still needed to relax, but he would help her to do so. "I'll give you a couple on the house," he told her. "Just cause you're the butt of all my jokes, so it seems only fair," he chuckled.

Harry's sense of humour was so ridiculous, but he always made Olivia laugh. "Well... I'm not the only butt in the room," she answered innocently, taking another sip before smirking at Harry. Olivia loved laughing with him. She realised over the last few days she missed a lot of things about Harry, but she missed laughing with him the most. She and Ben didn't have that kind of relationship. They had fun, of course, but they didn't tease each other the way Harry and Olivia did. Ben was too sensitive to accept Olivia's light jibes as jokes.

Harry's jaw dropped, feigning astonishment "Mum!" he exclaimed, drawing the word out in a whiny tone. "Olivia just called you an ass!" He let out a dramatic yelp as Olivia swatted his knee. "And now she's beating me!" he moaned, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Harry, love... I'm sure you deserve it!" Anne teased back, calling to her son from the kitchen. She and Gemma insisted upon making a plate of snacks even though Olivia urged them not to. But, with Harry's family in the kitchen, it meant Harry and Olivia had a few moments of semi-alone time – the privacy good and bad.

"Haha!" Olivia guffawed, tickled that Anne still liked her well enough to take her side. "Tattle-tale," she added in a murmur, pushing Harry's knee again. Every time she touched him, or he touched her, tingles ran throughout Olivia's body. She was ashamed to realise the tingles were less caused by guilt and more by excitement.