Bookshop *(h. s)*

eight

As soon as Emerson walked into her apartment, Amelia had begun bombarding her with questions. Did you have fun? Did he try anything? What did you do?

Emerson tried her best to answer the questions as nicely as she could. The truth was that she was very tired and wanted to go to bed, but she pulled through for the sake of her aunt.

She knew that she had promised her mother to take care of her, whether it was directly or indirectly, and for Amelia and Chris, this was like a proud parent moment.

Amelia, after all her worries had been put to rest, told Emerson to get some sleep. She complied and made her way to her bedroom. There, she fell asleep to the sound of Harry's voice lulling her into a dream land.

Harry was no different in the aspect of being tired. He, too, fell asleep to the sound of Emerson's voice but he could imagine her face as well.

That brought them into the next morning. The rain from the previous days was forgotten as the pedestrians of the street marvelled in the sun. The only evidence that the gloomy weather had in fact been there, was the green of the grass and the blooming of flowers. Spring was here.

Chris and Amelia had both slept in after a fun night of activities in the bedroom. Emerson may be blind, but she wasn't deaf.

She, though, had awoken to the sound of someone knocking on her door. Confused and dazed from the deep slumber she had woke from, she made her way to the front door. Of course, she put on the robe that always had a home on her desk chair.

Their door had a chain across the top for more security. The neighbourhood they lived in wasn't dangerous by any means but Amelia, of course, had insisted on getting one. She told both Chris and Emerson it was for the sole reason Emerson could be the safest possible. She had never been more grateful for that dreadful lock than she is now. She had no idea who could be outside her door. Apparently, the person on the other side was impatient because they knocked once again. The sound startled Emerson.

Quickly, she opened the door but failed to remember the lock she had been thinking about moments prior.

Stupid chain. Or lock. Whatever.

She reclosed the door and opened it more slowly this time. Once she felt the tug of resistance, she stopped.

"Can I help you?"

The person cleared their throat before speaking.

"Yeah. You could, actually."

With the sound of the persons voice, Emerson perked up and smiled very brightly. She closed the door, undid the chain and opened the door wider.

"Hi, Harry," Emerson beamed.

Harry smiled at the sight of her having just woke up. Her hair wasn't too messy, but she had bed head. Her pajamas, which consisted of shorts and a T-shirt, were wrinkled, too.

"Hi, Emerson. How are you this fine morning?"

Emerson didn't know how early it was or if it was even morning in the first place but nonetheless, she answers his question.

"I'm well, thanks. How are you this fine morning?" Emerson tried her best to imitate Harry's deep voice but couldn't do so.

Harry chuckled. "Offended. My voice does not sound like that."

Emerson laughed and did the voice imitation of his voice again. "Of course, it does." She also added a strong British accent as if that would help prove her point. What her point was? She didn't know.

"Yeah, yeah. But in all seriousness, seeing you has made my day very much better," he said. All the words that he spoke were spoken so smoothly and so good in his accent that Emerson had to try hard not to swoon. It wasn't just the way he said the words. It was the words he was saying. They caused Emerson to, you guessed it, blush.