About (Harry Styles)

52.

Elaine's POV

That night while Robin and Anne are out, Harry and I decide to watch a movie. Lo and behold, he wants to watch The Lion King again. I'm starting to think it's his favorite movie. Is he looking for inspiration again?

Before we start, Harry insists on making dinner for us. At first I'm a little skeptical. Harry being in the kitchen, cooking with knives in a highly flammable area isn't the most operative image because of his tendency to be clumsy.

"What are you making?" I ask, slightly entertained and with the curly haired man in the cute pink apron. The worst part - the cutting raw chicken part - has passed. I was on the edge of my seat for a while there.

"Your favorite," he says, a smug grin on his lips, his dimples easily concaving into those flushed cheeks. He's obviously never done this before.

"My favorite?"

"It has something to do with chicken and avocado," he hints even though it's quite obvious already. My eyes roam over to the thinly sliced chicken breast on the cutting board and the ripe green avocado on the side.

"I can see that," I smile. Folding my arms, I rest my elbows onto the counter so that my hands cup my chin.

He looks up from the frying pan to me for a second with a humored smile, showcasing his dimples again. I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing that.

His hands move in a somewhat composed manner as he focuses on the pan, swaying it back and forth to spread the oil. When he finally puts all the sliced up chicken in, he's startled by the loud cackling sounds it makes, and I giggle, somewhat remorsefully.

He's not good at this at all.

He continues to stir once in a while, telling me that it's important not to stir constantly. Even though I don't care about how to cook chicken properly, I do care that he is so passionate about this. Whatever Harry he does, whether it's golfing, or singing, or playing the guitar, he pours his heart and soul into it like there's no tomorrow.

I used to question Harry's level of commitment. Even before I really knew him, before I had even considered being in a relationship with Harry, I wondered whether he was different. But now, slowly I'm starting to grow more confident that he's a man of his words. Despite what he's put me through and despite his abrupt exit in the past, he came back; and that's what really matters to me. He had the courage to come back.

Once I finish setting up the table, I watch him bring the pan-fried chicken in one hand and the raw avocado (and cherry tomatoes, which I almost blocked from memory because he almost cut his fingers several times) in the other. He also brings over some reheated leftover "mash" from the fridge.

He politely asks me if I want to do a prayer and even though I don't want to since I don't believe in such things, I nod and smile. He stares at me with an unconvinced expression, his head slightly tilting to one side.

"What?" I ask.

"You're a liar," he bluntly points out, a faint smile on his face.

"Says who?"

"Says moi," he points to his chest so adamantly. "I know you don't want to."

"How do you know? What if I wanted to say a prayer."

"Okay," he challenges with a competitive smirk.

He extends his arm across the table and takes my hand, wrapping his long fingers around mine. The unexpected contact unsettles me, but I'm glad he can't tell how nervous I am since his eyes are shut. I stutter a few words in, trying to remember what my mother would say when she would do this. When I finally make it through, Harry looks shockingly impressed. He looks completely charmed by me, which only stirs a larger swell of butterflies in my chest.