𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋! | harry styles

𝐗𝐈𝐗

AFTER I finally drag myself out of bed, I find Cody standing beside Harry in the kitchen, the two of them whispering. The smell of batter and burned pancakes wafts around the kitchen. "What are you two up to?" I ask, unable to keep the smile off of my face.

Glancing at me over his shoulder, Harry lifts the spatula in the air. "Making birthday pancakes."

By his side, Cody swallows whatever is in his mouth, his lips smeared with chocolate. "They keep getting burned. We keep flippin' them but they come out burned."

"You keep eating them anyway," says Harry  with a laugh.

Moving in beside them, I lean over the frying pan, inhaling the smell of melted butter. Harry very carefully slides the spatula under a pancake, his knuckles paling with tension when he flips it and the underside is burned instead of golden brown. His hand tightens around the spatula, and even without looking I can tell he's clenching his jaw.

"You want me to take over?" I ask, pressing against his side lightly as I reach over to turn the heat down a little.

His mouth twitches, his eyes cutting to me momentarily before sliding back to the hot plate. "I got it."

"No, let Momma do it, Harry. She makes them the best."

Harry shakes his head, whispering, "Traitor," as he hands me the spatula.

I usher them both to the table to sit down while I salvage what's left of the mix. A few minutes later, with a plate stacked high with chocolate chip pancakes, I turn the stove off and reach between Harry and Cody to place them on the table. The sudden touch of Harry's fingers against my thigh sends a ripple of goose bumps up my spine. His touch is warm, the pads of his fingers a little rough against my soft skin.

I look down at him, but he's watching Cody pour a gallon of maple syrup over his pancakes. Like I'm made of cement, I stay frozen in my spot as his warm fingers drift up the back of my leg slowly, grazing the skin beneath the edge of my pajama shorts. My whole body shakes as a shiver runs the length of my spine. The urge to stay there and let his fingers explore is overwhelming.

Instead, with more willpower than I ever knew I had, I step away from his touch and practically fall into my seat. I don't need to look at Harry to know there's a lazy grin plastered across his face. From the corner of my eye I see him scratch his fingers through his beard, hiding a smile. The smile widens as I kick him beneath the table.

"Eat your pancakes," I whisper, trying but failing to be serious.

Sitting so close, knowing that just hours before I'd been laid out beneath him, I find it hard to look at him without heat creeping into my skin. It's childish and silly and fantastic. If I could bottle up the feeling I would. Maybe put it on a shelf for another day.

After breakfast, Harry checks out the repair job on the door.

"There was nothing left behind?" he asks, checking the new locks.

"Nothing."

"And you didn't see anyone?"

I shake my head.

The muscles around his jaw tight, Harry nods in agreement. I can see he's playing it out in his head, worrying over every detail, reliving his misplaced guilt at not being here.

"You don't have any idea who it could have been?" he asks, closing the door again. He looks at me expectantly, but there's nothing I can say.

It's like my lips have been glued shut.

Nick has already shown he's not averse to harming me or mine, and the thought of something happening to Harry makes me instantly sick. On the flip side, I've already seen what Harry can do, and part of me knows deep down that just as Nick is capable of harm, Harry too has a dangerous side.