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misskathcake · 2 years

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Should Bunny Keep Driving?

Author's note 💌

There's just no way that my creative juices would flow if it didn't contain my newest (and concerning) Formula 1 obsession. Since I'm not blessed with Harry Styles F1 content, I decided to bring F1 to my Harry Styles universe because I'm quite delusional like that 😂

This surely won't be the last F1 AU I'd be composing, so I kindly suggest you also avail my F1 fangirl starter pack if you want to fully join me in this wild ride: read the entire Dirty Air Series by Lauren Asher, and binge seasons 1-4 of Drive To Survive. But unlike me, please don't do all that in a single month 🙈

Anyway, enough rambling on my end. I hope you lovelies enjoy this one because it certainly did wonders to my mental well-being. It reminded me why writing is a passion I could always find solace in, no matter the rough and dull moments life inevitably brings my way. I could only hope this brings some brightness to someone out there, happy reading! 🥰🧡🏎️

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There’s a lot to be said about my profession as a Formula 1 driver. Many would say I’m living the bachelor dream: driving fast cars on most weekends of the year, with money and women free-flowing my way like every drop of champagne being popped on the podium. Some - like my sweet dear mother - would prefer to call me a ‘reckless adrenaline junkie’: being strapped on a death vehicle for a living is worth no benefit; surely an occupation only lunatics will take. All other versions of such claims I have heard, but one I haven’t is the assumption that Formula 1 drivers are inept in basic navigation.

Well thank fuck no tabloid or social media post has said anything about that, or there’s no denying I would be the laughing butt of the joke for the rest of this season. I could already picture it, in bold and underlined letters: ‘Harry Styles, McLaren F1 team’s Golden Boy is found lost in the streets of Italy. Can he make it back in time for the Imola Grand Prix?’

Well looking at the way the doors of my bright orange vehicle had remained stuck towards the roof, there’s no telling that I can actually make it to free practice tomorrow. All I had wanted was to have this day off from any racing obligation, to enjoy the brightness of Emilia Romania, Italy even for just this single day.

What had I told my teammate Nick Grimshaw when I turned down his idea of golfing to make plans for my own today? Oh, that I ‘wanted to get lost in the beauty of an Italian summer.’ Now isn’t that bloody fucking ironic as I’m standing here under the heat of the blazing Italian summer sun, my too hightech for my own good sportscar failing me in God knows where, when all I wanted was to go to this specific beach where I can sit on the smooth sand and peacefully watch the sunset.

“So much for spending billions on car upgrades,” I walked my way back into the interior of the car, trying my best to figure out what was wrong with the technological system that had caused the engine to stop at the side of this random Italian street.

I’m not one to feel regret on a daily basis, choosing to believe that everyone should be kinder to themselves, and that giving yourself a hard time for something that occurred in the past won’t help anything. Well in this scenario, I can’t help but feel even just a smidge of regret when James Corden, McLaren’s CEO, my friend and ultimately my boss, had first offered me to use a vintage McLaren on my solo Italian trip today. Knowing how much of a grandpa I can be with today’s rapid technological development, I feel like an absolute bloody idiot for not agreeing to that, and instead chose this green energy-powered vehicle that looks more like a worthless pile of steel and metal.

Realizing that my lack of knowledge with advanced cars had not been strengthened in the gap between this morning and right now, I sighed for the nth time this afternoon and stepped-out of the car once more. Standing at the side of the street, I tilted my head to look at the immaculate crimson and yellow Italian homes, noticing in dismay that it’s backdrop of the sun will start to set in about an hour from now.

With nothing left to do but actually call for help, I tried to reason with my stubborn and prideful self that calling for the towing company does not negatively affect my competency as a racing driver. Only that it does. I know deep inside that even just a tiny bit, it does say something about my lack of initiative in furthering my knowledge in my field. But I know that situation needs to be rectified after I get myself out of this current dilemma.

“Harry, you’re no good alone.” I found myself saying to no one in particular but myself, definitely learning a thing or two about accepting your own flaws as a good character development thanks to my older sister. Accompanied by those words of conviction physically ringing in my ears, I pulled out my phone, ready to make the dreaded call of defeat.

Except she arrived just in time to halt my actions.

She, being a blonde girl about my age, riding a bike while singing along to some pop song I heard my friend Niall singing in the shower, that particular time we flew over together for the Monaco Grand Prix. But it’s not that specific song that had ceased my movements. It’s her bright yellow bag slung to her shoulder, the color a perfect match to the colorful bikini top she was wearing under some denim dungarees. While being under the rays of the Italian sun, she just looked so golden.

I don’t know how long I had stood there like a fool just staring at her glowing presence, but I was brought back to my wits when the music stopped playing. In a blink, I noticed that the girl had halted her bike just in-front of my broken car, frowning in my direction.

“Hey, are you okay?” She called out, even her voice sounded so bright in my ears I’m starting to wonder if this woman is sunshine personified.

“I’m good.” was my reply like the aforementioned damn fool that I was that not only didn’t know how to operate the newest models of sports cars, but apparently, I also can’t find my words when talking to gorgeous and kind strangers.

She didn’t seem to believe my words, head tilted in curiosity. She side-stepped from the seat of her bike and walked to stand in front of me at the side of the street. With about two feet separating us, she placed both of her hands on her waist.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both British considering your accent,” she offered me a kind smile, “and back from where I’m from in England, people standing on the side of the barest of streets with an open car a few feet away from them, usually doesn’t mean the person is doing well. But that’s just me,” she shrugged, “I don’t know how things are from your part of England.”

Call me entitled or jaded, but it’s been a long time that someone aside from my close circle had been at ease or even just possessed the confidence to tease me. So long in fact that I let out a snort from her words, followed directly by a bubble of laughter that has got me bent in half, with my hands placed on my knees for support. All the while, this funny lady continued to stand just a few feet away from me like my absolute out-of-the-blue guffawing hadn’t alerted her that I was nuts.

“You’re definitely not okay then,” confirming my belief, she chuckled along in my sudden fit of insanity.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I straightened up, remembering my manners. “It’s just been a long time since I heard something that funny at my expense and said directly to my face. And, it’s just been a long day.” My eyes travel unwillingly to my hopeless vehicle, a sigh leaving my smiling lips upon remembering the task I was supposed to do.

I noticed her own eyes following the trail of my own, her whistle of appreciation to what she saw is not lost in my ears. “You’re definitely having a long day if you got this baby to cruise around Italy with.”

Sounds to me like she's a car enthusiast. And why that interests me, I don’t know. “Not long enough I believe, since the baby stopped here and barely even crawled.”

My humor somehow landed on her, the sides of her lips curving when she looked back at me. “You’re quite funny,” the sincerity in her tone made me return her smile. “And I’m not just saying that because you just laughed like you were losing it a few seconds back. But what I find way more hilarious is how a McLaren racing driver like yourself, gets stuck in the middle of nowhere-Imola like you don’t know how to operate the newest release of your company’s top of the line sportscar campaign.”

So, she knew who I was…of course she knew who I was if I decided to parade around Imola in the bright orange monstrosity of a car, while wearing my infamous bright colored outfits complete with glitter details of an embroidered strawberry on the breast of my Gucci tee. It’s not the first nor last time people recognized me randomly on international streets, but it surely is a novel occurrence for me to feel bashful under her knowing gaze.

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling my ears pinken at the realization she knew who I was under this current unfavorable circumstance. “I wish I could say my mechanical skills in fixing cars came as natural as my humor does. But I am afraid I’m just a useless F1 racer who only operates on adrenaline.”

The woman lifted a brow in amusement, “And you don’t have that right now because your car stopped working?”

“Exactly!” I pointed at her like I can’t believe she understood my words, “The car isn’t moving so I don’t have adrenaline to properly function like a human being. I’m basically a damsel in distress right now just waiting for my pit crew to come rescue me.”

And as if a shining personality isn’t enough to blind me, the girl surprises me when she suggests the unthinkable: “Then let’s fix it! What’s exactly broken so we know what to target?” Then she began to point-out different parts of the car that only true car enthusiasts take time to know about. I guess that answers my earlier question if she was into cars; but that doesn’t really help anything when she lost me at her first suggestion.

She probably noticed I remained standing there looking at her like she was speaking a different language, because she stopped in the middle of her sentence and gave me her own bashful look. “I’m sorry, I probably creeped you out just rambling like that without introducing myself. I’m Sophia, by the way.”

Mesmerized by her character, I met her outstretched palm and returned her fairly firm shake. “I’m Harry, nice to meet you, Sophia.”

“You too,” she nodded, “it’s great to meet you too, I mean. I know we don’t really know each other, but I was serious about helping you fix your car.”

And I don’t know what it is in my gut that told me she really meant her word, but the women in my life had always told me to trust my intuition. And right now, my intuition is telling me to accept Sophia’s unbridled kindness. “And I was also being truthful that I don’t know my way around these high-tech cars unlike I do with vintage ones. So, I can’t really answer your list of questions earlier. But feel free to check the car out yourself.”

I watched as Sophia just stood there mimicking my static stance from earlier, my words seeming not to register in her mind like I thought it would. “Are you serious?” She asked, her blue orbs widening when I nodded my head with conviction.

“This baby is all yours.” I motioned with my hands for her to enter the car, my grin of fondness making its reappearance when Sophia let out a squeal of uncontained excitement as she entered the vehicle. I followed right after her when she called for my name. Based solely on my intuition and her earlier encyclopedia worthy car knowledge, I was fully content to give her full reins to analyze the problem. But when she turned to look at me from her position at the driver’s seat, still asking for my help, I nodded without a second thought.

In my defense, she said the word ‘please’, a pout I’ve come to alarmingly realize I couldn’t resist painted on her lips. Those two on Sophia are a lethal combo. I just knew straight ahead that if she used that more frequently around me, I was done for and she can basically get anything she wanted from me.

Though, something tells me Sophia isn’t that type of person to take advantage of others. Not in the way she patiently asked me questions about the car; questions that were genuinely similar to those my mechanics have asked me during race debriefs. And call me a narcissist all you want, but this occupation of mine with all its glitz and glamorous perks, also comes with undeniable faults that a regular person with a nine-to-five job won’t probably bear to understand.

Not once did Sophia deter our conversation with anything else than strictly being the possible ailments of my car. If it was anyone else in her position with less than good intentions that she clearly exhibits, I’d for sure be feeling extremely uncomfortable right now. It’s very rare for strangers to not have any ulterior motives when it comes to interacting with me, and my usually guarded heart feels a sense of relief that Sophia seems to be one of the very few that I can learn to trust. But hey, I am a Formula 1 driver who rides spaceship-like vehicles that operate on 300 kmph on the regular, who says I’m still right on the head with my perception of reality?

I’m learning to trust humanity more though. My mum and Gem had made it pretty clear that my happiness on the outside and guarded on the inside persona, will just make me lonely in the long-run. I needed a companion in life like the both of them had found in their partners. And to be honest, I’m done feeling like a lone wolf too, that’s why at the start of this year’s season I had made a personal vow to actually commit in allowing myself to trust the dark and bleak society I have come to be wary of. It would allow me to find the genuine ones no matter how miniscule they may come nowadays.

I’m officially calling this interaction with Sophia as me trying; trying to connect with new people while using a pair of fresh eyes that hold no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with befriending beautiful strangers in a random street somewhere in Imola; especially if they’re here acting as my knight in shining yellow handbag.

“I suggest we don’t touch anything.” Sophia let out after her whole list-down of questions she asked me about the possible problems of my car.

“What?” I was stunned at her change of perspective, my brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean let’s not touch anything? It seems to me seconds ago that you know your way with cars much more than me, or any of the current drivers on the grid.”

My statement made her giggle, the crinkles of her eyes catching my gaze like the sound of her laugh isn’t adorable enough to attract all of my attention. “I’d take that as a compliment since you seem like an honest person. But regardless of how much of a car encyclopedia I am, that still doesn’t qualify me from actually breaking apart this bloody expensive car.”

“Then why’d you ask me all those things then?”

“Maybe because I wanted to see for myself if you’re really a racer who knows no shit about cars, or you were just waiting to impress me with all your overflowing knowledge about it like a stereotypical testosterone-ego filled motorsport driver.”

I snorted unattractively, enthralled by her honest words despite its teasing tone. “I hope I didn’t disappoint then, that I’m not your typical racing driver. That I’m really just a big fraud of my kind who’s basically a big disgrace in our industry since I know close to nothing about the thing that makes my job work in the first place.”

I don’t know what kind of reaction I was waiting for, but it certainly wasn’t her loud laughter echoing around the quiet Italian street, nor the way her hand had comfortably, almost mindlessly, pushed me lightly on my shoulders like it’s for her own good that I should stop making these jokes about myself. I liked it though, her reaction. Far too much.

“Well, I’m hoping this isn’t your attempt at running away from the Imola grand prix this weekend, considering I don’t think you’re that bad of a driver regardless if you don’t know how to properly fix one.” Sophia proceeded to give me a carefree smile, as if she hadn’t just complimented me for the first time.

And how I felt like preening at noting such a random thing, I have no idea. It seems to be the overall theme for my afternoon. “Sadly, no. My boss wouldn’t have lent me this car if he had heard any inklings that I was going rogue for an Italian holiday, no matter how lovely that sounds now.”

I saw the interest flash in her eyes after that, “So if you’re not on the run from your racing obligations, then what’s so pressing you had to drive a car you barely know anything about?”

I didn’t see any harm in sharing my plans, especially when my current situation makes it seem more like canceled plans now that I’ll only be able to accomplish the next time I visit Emilia Romania. I tried to keep my disappointment at the minimum when I told her.

“Nothing that special, actually. You see, today’s my only free day from any race or media stuff so I just wanted to head to this specific beach and watch the sunset. Just to have some time for me, to be one with the peace and quiet of the ocean.”

I am unsure what she sees in my expression after I had said that, but one look at Sophia made me believe I did a piss poor job at concealing displeasure. A frown is etched on her forehead, corners of her lips turned downwards, her eyes wide with sympathy dancing in her irises.

That look on her face stunned me on my seat once again. I decided that I wanted to remove that saddened look on her face, her face that should always be full of life and brightness like the sunshine that she is. But more importantly, what had gotten me dazed like an utter fool being hit unknowingly by cupid’s arrow, is this sudden realization that had completely turned my perspective of this entire situation in another fucking direction.

How do you tell I woman you met barely an hour ago, a woman as charming, kind, honest, and simply a compelling woman like Sophia, that I don’t give a single fuck about the sunset and the beach anymore when I’m content just staring at her pools of ocean blue? That her aura is enough and more to compete with a stunning Italian sunset?

But before I could even act more like a fool in front of her by trying to articulate those gobsmacking thoughts of pure sappiness and vulnerability all in one, Sophia beats me to it by asking me her own question.

“What’s your thoughts on just calling someone to fix your car? And while they’re doing that task, you and I head together to that beach you were keen to go to, watch the sunset, and even eat some gelato while doing all that. You game?”

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What the actual bloody fuck was I doing?

Did I seriously just instruct a Formula 1 driver on what to do with his car while simultaneously making plans with him like we’re suddenly best friends who go on regular beach trips and watch sunsets together? More importantly, did I just unknowingly, idiotically, ask him to get some gelato with me? Because with my barely functioning social skills, that’s basically as tangible as a first date as I can get.

What the actual fuck. This is Harry Styles we’re talking about. Regardless if I’m a Red Bull girl at heart, this man I just talked my mouth off to is popularly called, McLaren's Golden Boy: the one who will win the historic team another Constructors Championship title and the World Driver’s Championship, after more than a decade of being stuck in the midfield. I appreciate talent when I see one, and Jesus did I ever see pure and raw talent in this man’s season last year. Seriously, if the new car regulations didn’t take place this year, I bet my entire handbag collection that he’ll already be competing for those titles alongside Red Bull and Ferrari like it’s as easy as breathing air.

Speaking of air, I think I just lost my own supply when my question was left unanswered, hanging in the air that I couldn’t seem to breathe, unwanted and so out of place. To top it all off, Harry graced me with his ‘thinking face’ that I’ve seen in various media, sporting a very appealing pout on his lips. Aside from my appreciation of racing abilities, I am also very grateful for the F1 driver’s physical assets. I have eyes, alright? There’s no denying that Harry’s curls, plump pink lips, doe-wide green orbs - and don’t even get me started on the dimples on his cheeks - more than just appeals to my ovaries.

In a nutshell: his fucking hot and adorable in one whole kind and crazy package.

But there’s no time to think of that. I shook my head mentally to get rid of those unhelpful thoughts and tried to find my words on how to salvage this situation and overall, my pride. I don��t want to be that pitiful girl who tells her nonna that time she was turned down by a famous racing driver because she accidentally made plans with him. She’s just not going to be that girl, and surprisingly, it seems like Harry also shares the same thoughts.

“If I agreed to this, would you allow me to choose your gelato flavor for you?” Harry’s reply was certainly not the kind of answer I thought I would receive. I was so intent that he would kindly reject me, that when his words were no way near that direction, I couldn’t contain the laughter of unadulterated glee and surprise to leave my lips.

“I’ve certainly never trusted anyone to choose my gelato flavor for me. But considering how you trusted me in fixing your car, I don’t see what’s wrong in reciprocating your confidence in my character.”

If I wasn’t already fazed by his presence alone, Harry continues to further astound me on my seat when the craters on his cheeks willingly presented themselves in my view. “Then let’s go get those gelatos!” he even clapped his hand like an excited, overgrown child. “Can you actually believe that I’ve been in Italy for more than 24 hours already and I still haven’t gotten a scoop of gelato?”

I gasped in faux bewilderment, “That is simply unfathomable, Harry! We should definitely take quick measures to fix that and put some gelato in you, like a proper Italian experience.”

And the next thing I knew we were both heading out of his car, walking side by side with my bike in our middle, heading to the gelato parlor I knew was somewhere near the beach he had planned to go to. Majority of the time we had walked, Harry was on the phone making a call to his team, following my request of allowing them to fix whatever the problem was instead of my inexperienced hands. By the time his call ended, we already reached our destination.

“After you.” The gentleman that Harry is notoriously known to be, had the door opened for me with his hand motioning that I enter first before him. I returned his dimpled smile while saying my thanks, allowing him to stand beside me afterwards as we viewed the different gelato flavors on the glass freezer in front of us.

I turned to him with an encouraging smile. “I think this is the time where you pick my ice cream flavor for me, which will once and for all tell me who you really are as a person.”

A glint of challenge began to flicker on his emerald gems. “Is that so? Are you suggesting that if I pick a certain flavor, it would dictate if you still want to be my friend or not?”

Harry’s question had almost gotten me to do a double-take, to ask him to repeat his words slower. Because surely, this charming, trusting and kind influential man didn’t just imply that he wanted to be my friend. But that lightness depicted on his grinning face didn’t scream deceit nor contained any ounce of joking. He looked sincere. I can go even farther and say there’s an air of hope laced underneath his infectious smile.

I found confidence in whatever it was I saw before me, so I returned his smile, allowing him to see that whatever gelato flavor he chose, I’d still want to see where this interaction goes. Because fuck what gelato flavor he choses when we all know I’d be more than pleased in just being in silence with this wonderfully odd man, than finding the time to fuss over what I’m eating. And that’s a first if you know anything about how I indulge with my food.

“As long as you don’t pick pistachio or any flavor with nuts in them, then we’re good. There’s no person who can be my friend if they let me eat nuts since I’m allergic to them.”

Something like wonder washed over his face, dimples disarming me completely out of the barely remaining remnants of my functioning bearings. “You’re in luck then. My older sister is also allergic to all kinds of nuts. That means you just befriended the best nut protector in all of Europe.”

Harry stood there inside the gelato shop with his hands on his hips, chin raised in full confidence like his words, all the while I just found him stinkin’ adorable at how he’s not afraid to be silly in front of me. Not most guys, especially racing drivers, would be confident in their own skin and personality like him.

If my awestruck smile can be any indication, I think I felt like the luckiest girl in the world for experiencing this Italian summer anomaly. And since he’s been nothing but honest and courteous around me, I decided to tell him just as much when we’ve got our gelato cones in our hands, walking quite quickly to catch the sunset at the beach.

The majority of our short walk consisted of Harry asking me why I was in Italy, considering we were both British sounding individuals in foreign soil. I told him I was currently in my summer break before entering my last year of university, that being half-Italian from my mum’s side I had always enjoyed staying in Imola every summer in my nonna’s residence. By the time we found the perfect spot at the beach where we have the best view in the house to see the sunset, Harry and I comfortably sat beside each other on the soft sand with our elbows nearly touching.

“Alright, I’m assuming it’s not an everyday occurrence for you to invite racers to have gelato and watch the sunset at the beach.” Harry’s pink tongue poked out to lick his gelato cone, eyes situated at my face while mine got stuck at his mouth, like it’s the first time I saw anyone eating gelato in Italy.

I snapped my gaze back to his awaiting ones, I shrugged my shoulders lightly. “It’s not really my thing to do every summer.” I confirmed, a mischievous smile formed right after. “Especially not towards McLaren drivers, by the way.”

My apparent dig at his racing team caused Harry to almost splutter-out on the sand the bite of gelato he was enjoying. His contagious laughter became the perfect background music to the orange hues of the setting sun.

“You’re not a McLaren fan, I got it. Message received well and bloody clear.”

I returned to my own gelato cone, ate it away as I watched Harry tilt his head at me, a look of curiosity mirrored on his smiling face. “You’re a Tifosi then?” he asked, referring to what you call die-hard Italian Ferrari fans.

Now that was my turn to laugh, surprising the man beside me if his widened green eyes could be any indication. I shuddered at his words to display what it did to me. “God, if my family heard you say that, they’ll for sure have hurled you already at the ocean.”

I watched amusedly as Harry did a double-take at my response, he seemed to be growing intrigued at this specific topic. “You’re not a Tifosi fan, and your entire family isn’t. Please tell me how that is your answer when all of you have Italian blood.”

Harry has a very valid point considering how the entirety of Italy values and reverses their beloved Ferrari team. But I guess it’s not just our meeting that is an anomaly in Imola. “As much as I spent almost half my time every year here, on Italian soil, my entire family and I just never got the Ferrari appeal.”

“The color red not doing it for you?”

“More like their team orders and strategies.” I lifted my hand in peace for my next words, “I know you love Mitch with all your heart cause he was your first teammate ever in your rookie season and all that but, he’s bound to get all the bad luck any Ferrari driver gets once they’re signed to the historic team. He should go find a better team where he can really display his hard-earned skills and not get stuck in all their unhinged racing strategies.”

Judging Harry’s reaction, he was more charmed at my honest take then offended on the behalf of his best friend. “Your honesty amazes me, I like it very much.” If a blush coated my cheeks at his admission, then I hoped the orange rays of the sunset covered it even just a bit. He then nodded his head like he agreed with me. “And I also can’t say I don’t share a part, if not all, of your sentiments. I mean come on! They did steal Mitch away from me so Ferrari is definitely one of the last teams I’m taking offers with when my contract is up with McLaren.”

I giggled, dusting off my hands from the crumbs left by my now finished cone of gelato. I gave the ridiculous man beside me a look that silently asked if he was being serious. “Harry, I don’t know how to say this to you, that won’t come as a shock, but you’re McLaren’s Golden Boy. Meaning whether you win them a championship before or in 2025 when your contract ends, they’re not letting you go out of their sights. You’re this sport’s next generation of champions. And seeing that McLaren gave you a poor excuse for a car this year, they have to do better by you in the following years so you can actually showcase your natural flair for racing.”

I wasn’t prepared for the intense aura that Harry exuded towards me after my rant. I just complimented the man like any regular, sane human, and he gazed at me with his captivating green irises as if I was the golden girl of the historically successful, multi-billion, Formula 1 team. It’s unnerving yet empowering how much I realized my words affected him. Yet at the same time, how his silent reaction also affected mine.

Harry then smirked at me, arching a brow that spoke promises of chaos. “Careful. You keep painting me with bright words like that and I’d truly be convinced you’re a McLaren fan.”

A noise of disbelief emerged from me. Harry laughed at my scoffing reaction as I regaled him with my own version of a curved brow meant to threaten those who try to speak foully of me. “As if. I’d rather chug an entire barrel of Red Bull in a heartbeat than start wearing your team’s eye-burning orange outfits.”

If we were talking while standing up, I would bet all my university credentials that Harry would have stumbled on his feet and fell flat on the sand butt-first after he had heard my cleverly hidden admission. Kudos to him that we were comfortably sitting down when I broke to him the unfortunate news that I am in fact, a Red Bull fan as great as they may come.

With his jaw hanging open, Harry’s large open eyes almost look cartoonish at how they might pop-off his face from the clear shock he experienced. “You’re a Red Bull girl?! No fucking way!”

I don’t know if it’s because of the cheery and beaming colors of clothes that I wear, my Italian heritage, or the fact that I’m often described looking like that girl on the beach who always looks relaxed, calm, and positive. Because most people found it such a polarizing idea that I’m a Red Bull fan. It’s not the first time I had elicited a similar reaction like that of Harry’s, some have honestly even given me quite an interrogation as they tried to find out why someone like me, with this serene and smiling personality, would be so engrossed in a team where aggression, extreme competition, and favoring alarmingly dangerous tactics, are what they’re widely known for. They don’t understand why that became my jam.

I just beam at people brighter every time that happens, always believing that my opposite personality has nothing to do with what team I root for. I adore Formula 1 racing to begin with, for crying out loud! That doesn’t sound like a relax and chill support in any angle of that word you try to examine.

I offered the same carefree nonchalance towards my new friend, who would for sure understand more than a regular person what I mean, when he holds a big role in the sport as well. “Yes fucking way. I've been a Red Bull fan since the very beginning. For me, they’re the epitome of the high risk, high gain mentality that motorsport embodies. I even got my family to get on board with the same team, which is saying a lot since some of them are quite partial to your other good friend, Jeff, in Mercedes.”

Harry whistled, impressed at my apparent life goals that colored his tone. “You are talking about quite big matters, cause if you’re an F1 enthusiast, it’s either you love or hate Red Bull. I guess you just did the impossible by certifying your entire family for being gaga over the bull.”

His specific choice of words brought a laugh straight out of my lips. “I can’t really say we’re that crazy over F1 and Red Bull in general. But I guess we might have the tendency to act like absolute frantic fangirls whenever Niall gets on the podium which is pretty much every other weekend, considering Louis and him are killing it these past few seasons.”

If I thought Harry’s reaction couldn’t get any better, color me impressed myself when he abruptly turned to sit facing me, with his legs crossed touching the side of my foot. “This is turning to be a fucking crazy afternoon!” he placed a hand on his chest as if I had personally hurt him. “Not only did I learn that you betrayed our fellow English compatriots by declaring your allegiance to an Austrian team, but I also lost to a bloody Irish leprechaun? You wound me, Sunflower.”

I thought I just stopped breathing right after that single word left his now pouting lips. Sunflower. He called me by something that isn’t my name. He gave me an endearment. A very unique one that you just don’t call people you’ve met for only an hour.

I didn’t know if he was conscious enough that he had called me such, but the way his faux pout transformed into a soft smile after witnessing the proper look of enchantment written all over my face, I would assume that he knew what he was doing.

Now that made me pout. “That’s unfair!” I whined like an embarrassed fool after her crush found out they had the hots for them since forever. Said crush only laughed at my misery, gentle hands reaching to remove my own palms that I have used to shield my face from his annoyingly charming mug. “You can’t say things like that and expect my ovaries would still be in-tact!”

Harry only howled louder at my dramatics, unfortunately remaining successful in unveiling my burning cheeks for all his glory to see. “I didn’t even say anything!” he countered, smiling so innocently that can probably fool anyone but me. “I just called you after a flower. I think that’s hardly enough evidence to hold me responsible for the apparent state of your ovaries…Sunflower.”

I simply just groaned at the absolute menace that he was, copying his seating position with our folded knees touching. Conceding to a meaningless battle that I knew I wouldn’t win with just a single glance at his impossibly precious grin. I allowed the pinkness of my face to shine on its own, feeding my curiosity like I had anything more to lose that can further embarrass me.

“Why Sunflower, then? If you’re trying to compare me with a flower, find something that resembles the color of my face because apparently, you of all people unleashed my hidden talent: blush as red as a tomato when near Harry Styles.”

“I’d still think you’d look stunning even as a tomato.” Like clockwork, my cheeks turned darker at his honesty laden words. “But I still prefer Sunflower because it’s got nothing to do with your looks. Spending time with you even for just a little while, I can’t deny that your aura reminded me of pure sunshine. You’re so bright in all regards of that word, and I don’t even think you know it yourself.”

Even if the tone of his voice is as light as the wind, I still felt the heavy weight of his contemplative stare, his expressive green irises mapped my face like he was simply confirming what he was describing. As if he was trying to make sure that all the words he used to describe me were able to exemplify how he really saw me, and I felt seen, in a good way.

“And I believe Sunflower fit you perfectly rather than simply calling you sunshine.” Harry reached over to curl a piece of stray blonde hair behind my ear. “If you’re called sunshine that means everyone gets to experience your brilliance. But if you’re Sunflower, only the few smart and lucky ones will be able to have you. And Sunflower, there’s no way in this world that I want to share this afternoon with you with anyone else. I get to keep it as mine, just our time together and no one else's.”

Was my heart even still in my body? Or did its rabid pumping propel it outside my chest and towards Harry’s calloused hands where they want to be right now?

“I think you just took my heart.” was my brilliant reply to all his mind-numbing words. Of course dummy old me would be stupefied when an F1 driver suddenly bares his deep thoughts about me to me when there’s already no denying I quite fancy the curly muppet. And I just confessed my thoughts in a complete 360 downturn from his own much creative one.

But because Harry Styles is apparently a rarity of his kind, he only laughed joyously at my appalling lackluster words. “I’d be happy to have that too, not just our time this afternoon, Sunflower. That is of course, if you still want to see little weird ‘ol me after today.”

Did he just ask me out? Like actually asked for my consent unlike how I dictated this afternoon for him earlier? I have to keep this man if he continues acting like that.

“Oh, fuck it.” I rolled my eyes for my own sake, my last words solidifying itself at the forefront of my mind. “I’ll just get it out of the way and say that of course, I’d still want to see your weird mug after this afternoon. There’s no bloody way your charming butt could get away that easily from me, considering it’s all your fault that you didn’t know how to fix your car and imprisoned my kind heart in your hands now.”

“Yeah, of course it’s all my fault.” Harry nodded with the widest smile I’ve ever seen on his face, nodding seriously at my accusations. “And I’d be willing to do anything for you just to make up for it.”

He shouldn’t be making promises he can’t keep is what I thought. But I’d keep that information with me when the time I need things to work in my favor comes. Just from this interaction alone, I can already tell this racer has got a thing for making me flush.

“Good thing you know all about your misdoings. But before you do whatever it is to make it up to me, can we just pretend I didn’t just say yes to you asking me out and let’s first have this very important conversation that my parents have always told me I should have with a boy that’s interested in me.”

Just mentioning my parents instantly caused a change in Harry’s demeanor. Smile gone, brows furrowed, lips pouting in concentration like I’ve noticed he loved to do. Harry looked like he wanted to take out some pen and paper to write down whatever it is my ‘parents’ had to say.

“Let’s have this conversation then.” He said with a tone of conviction, the slight tremble of warriness was something I detected with just his first word alone. “I’d rather not upset your family without even having the chance to taste your nonna’s cooking.”

“The good thing is it's not about being conceited then. Why would you think my nonna would invite you over to her place? Let alone cook for you? Just so you know, she doesn’t give a flying fuck about hot Formula 1 drivers like the entire female population.”

Harry smirked, probably because my cheeks turned as dark as the burning sunset in front of us after inadvertently calling him hot, with me being part of that demographic of females. “I don’t need to be successful, and as you said without my coercion, hot, racing driver to get your nonna to love me. I have dimples.”

He didn’t even have to explain the significance of that. This shithead literally knew what he was doing when he decided to just dimple at me to prove his point. My nonna might not be into watching Grand Prixs with me, but considering we share the same blood, chances are she’s also weak at the knees for charming boys that have dimples.

“Okay, I get it.” I huffed, failing to hide my flushed smile at Harry’s giggles. “Now stop distracting me with your magical dimples from the real agenda we have to have a serious conversation over.”

“Alright, I’ll keep my lady-magnet weapons back.” He fucking better or else I’ll not be able to be the only lady he attracts in this Italian beach, we can’t have that.

“Now prepare to listen because I won’t repeat this again: we better discuss, in full-length, your honest, non-scripted, thoughts on Formula 1 and its teams and drivers. I can’t be dating a McLaren driver who plans to convert me to their too bloody bright orange side. I’m a Red Bull girl whether I’m with McLaren’s Golden Boy or not.”

As I’ve come to expect, Harry just looked at me for a few moments like I’ve just grown two heads. But what makes him someone that might fit perfectly with my sometimes unhinged self, is that he bounces right back to banter with me; like a perfect reflex to step on the pedal when all the lights are out at the beginning of every race.

His infectious smile graced my presence once more, Harry’s hands reaching for mine. I stared at the effortless way his large palms engulfed my much smaller ones, rough calloused hands finally meeting the delicate touch of my hands for the first time. With our hands locked together, Harry rested it comfortably on his lap, his eyes too captivating to veer my own stare from.

“I’ve got the whole afternoon and evening left to discuss this matter,” he told me, fingers squeezing my own. “And can I just say I really do appreciate your parents for instilling such appropriate measures to test possible suitors. God, imagine if you didn’t inform me about this and I would have already brainwashed you to join McLaren by gifting you that bloody, broken orange monstrosity of a car.”

I copied his faux horrified expression, “The horror of that thought.” We stared at each other, lips moving upwards at the same time, our shared laughter ringing the quiet of the beach. All the while the darkness of the fading sunset was not enough to conceal my view of Harry’s familiar bashful smile that he had given me at the gelato shop.

“I’m down for everything you’ve said, just not the last bit.” Slowly, I watched with bated breath as he lifted our interlocked hands near his lips. “It’s not a question of whether you are or aren’t, you’re going to be with the McLaren Golden Boy.” He kissed my knuckles so tenderly I almost thought I became part of some summer romance story.

I should have found that statement irritatingly conceited and a total red flag for egotistical jerks who would like to dictate who I am or not. But I didn’t. I found the statement irritatingly toe-tingling because I'd somehow lost the plot a long time ago when I first became immersed with the sport through finding the drivers on the grid to be smoking hot. Granted that I have reached greater lengths than that through finding absolute enjoyment in learning about everything concerning F1 that is deeper than the physicality of their drivers, there’s no fucking way the 12-year old in me isn’t living her dream of finding her own racing driver to call her own.

It’s not like the man who’s softly rubbing circles on the back of my hand is like mine mine, but he could be if his confident words and my dangerous attraction to attractive adrenaline junkies could perfectly meet in the middle.

Afterall, we did have the remaining of the day to make that happen.

🌻🌻🌻

I was sitting on the colorful couch located in my nonna’s living room. Her rarely used flat screen television displayed the start of free practice when my phone chimed with a new text. I reached for it from my lap, a smile already threatening to break my face once I saw who it was from.

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Are you sure it’s totally okay for you to watch the free practice at your nonna’s? Don’t want the sweet poor thing to have sore eardrums from all the noises of the cars.”

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“I really appreciate your concern, but she’s currently in her afternoon nap as we speak and she’s a heavy sleeper so we’re all good. Now stop being a sweet little thing and get in your car! The race is about to start, stop being a muppet and focus!”

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“You’re one to talk! It’s kind of your fault that I’m still not yet in my car cause you’re not here with me in my garage where I want you to be. Now everyone should just settle for my MIA cause I’d fucking gladly just spend my entire day texting you.”

That should be concerning, no? Harry just basically admitted preferring to spend time with me than do what he does for a living that will earn him money so he can actually go live his life. But I guess what’s more worrying is that I actually didn’t give a damn either.

I’m smiling here like a fool on this wide couch, phone in hand, body curled like a tight ball from the damn stampede of wild animals in my tummy because an F1 driver chose me over his beloved car. If that isn’t the making of a true love story, I don’t know what is.

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Well aren’t you a poor Bunny, huh? But as much as I’d like to keep texting you (like, honestly what’s wrong with me?), I realllly don’t want you to stall the free practice I’m about to devour. Better get your bum-bum on that car! And btw, even if I was free today to go to the paddock, who said I’d be at your MCLAREN garage? Bunny, I think you’ve just forgotten the golden rule of ours.”

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Not forgotten, Sunflower. No brainwashing of joining the orange side, as said perfectly by the best mama and papa Red Bull fans. And this time, I’d actually listen to you without complaints. My trainer’s looking at me like he’s planning to ban me from eating any more cheese this trip.”

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Oh. no. We simply cannot have that happening!”

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Sunflower, you really get me. I seriously can’t have that cause you know, I have to be polite and finish all the food Nonna Red Bull fan will give me. But, I’m off to the car now, happy? I better hear you calling me Bunny after this session! Byyyeee hugsss!”

I didn’t bother replying after that. I locked my phone and dropped it back on my lap as I watched the man I was just texting on the screen. The camera followed him skip and hop on the pitlane, heading to his garage like a real-life adorable bunny. I giggled silently, the exact same image is what actually gave me the idea to call him that in the first place.

Despite the sun completely setting already yesterday, Harry and I spent the entire afternoon and early evening talking to each other as the sky turned from orange to inky black with stars blanketing our view of the Italian beach. We conversed about everything and nothing all at once; from personal life and our families, to racing and things we like and don’t. Having a genuine conversation with just about a full hour of being with him, I felt like I’ve known him for years.

We were on the topic of our thoughts on this current F1 season when the bunny hopping was brought-up. I can’t exactly remember the details because I was so immersed feeling Harry’s warmth around me, having found ourselves in a very cozy position: his knees bent with legs wide open, myself slotted perfectly in the open space, my back against his firm chest, his strong arms wrapped around me so tenderly. How that happened, I also don’t know.

But what I still can recall is how I felt his button nose begin to nuzzle the side of my neck during a comfortable lull in our conversation. And for some reason, with my eyes closed basking in his simple affection, I got the image of a cute bunny with tiny whiskers nosing my skin the same way. That mental image then led to me visualizing all the times I have seen Harry on the screen of my television during races, hopping and skipping like a bunny all around the pitlane and paddock every time he was headed somewhere - might it be the media pen or towards his fans to spend some time with them.

So, I laughed, disrupting the concentration of the man who was trying to scent me in some way. He looked at me with a cute frown, asking what had made me laugh, I gladly told him my thoughts with giggles barely being concealed.

Harry fruitlessly began to deny it which made me only giggle harder. “You’re such a bunny!” I tapped his scrunched-up nose because he looked so sweet and I just couldn’t not touch him. “You don’t even have to feel embarrassed because I like it, it’s adorable, Bunny.”

To be honest, I was just teasing him by calling him bunny. But then I saw and felt Harry Styles actually preen like a pleased feline after I said it. And let’s just say after that, his shameless affection seeking self - a very big side of him that I got to get acquainted to really good and really swiftly - had been directly asking me to call him Bunny every chance he got. Lucky him I was a self-proclaimed weak woman around his presence.

So much so that right now, as I watched the Imola Grand Prix’s free practice session begin, I just betrayed my Red Bull family by being more attentive and demanding of a certain orange car with the number four on it, to drift by my screen more frequently. I was at the edge of the couch every time his helmet camera was the one being displayed. My arms flying out in glee every time he managed to overtake another car in front of him - thank fuck it wasn’t a Red Bull car though or else I would have felt even more guiltier - and my arms would instantly fold across my chest with a sad pout present on my lips every time his shitty shoe box of a car just couldn’t keep up with the insanely fast pace of his competitors.

I knew I had it bad when both free practice sessions ended with Harry’s positions going from P10 to P15, which if it was race day itself, he would have barely made the scoreboard and the latter won’t even allow him any points. It was bad because I wasn’t the one who had a pretty shitty race and yet it’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I wanted to take that look of utter dismay off his face and just put it all on me instead. I didn’t even feel this this type of way when Niall Horan had to DNF during the Austrian Grand Prix, which also happened to be Red Bull’s home race. That wasn’t a fun time for fangirl me. But this, this isn’t a happy time for my entire being.

Coming to terms that my last straw of self-preservation is not seeing Harry hop to the post-race interview like he would normally be doing now, I retrieved my phone and made a hasty, yet wholehearted decision.

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“I don’t know about you, but that session made me really hungry. What do you say about dinner at my nonna’s place? Promise she isn’t mad and actually didn’t wake-up the entire time you were making a raucous on her TV screen. Text me your thoughts when you're finished with whatever post-practice stuff you have to do, Bunny. Hugggss!”

🐇🐇🐇

I thought my Italian luck had turned around for the better after I had met Sophia, like the damsel in distress I was when my McLaren broke down on some random road yesterday afternoon. I swear her presence alone in my mind was enough to put a spring to my steps that everyone in my garage has noticed after I arrived early in the paddock for our pre-practice meeting with all the race engineers.

Rob Sheffield, our Team Principal who basically runs the whole racing show in McLaren (don’t tell James I said that cause he thinks he’s still the main man behind everything), even had a go at my apparently ‘oddly more cheery attitude, that’s borderline disturbing’ when he announced at everyone present at our motorhome’s conference room about my downright embarrassing incident yesterday.

“Styles, if you just told me you couldn’t handle our newest release, I would have personally allowed you to bring your own pit crew around Italy if that meant I wouldn’t even have the chance of having a missing driver for this weekend.”

Everyone laughed at Rob’s clear teasing, myself included even if most of them probably thought I’d be more sheepish at my faults like every time I almost trip from plain air with how clumsy I am. But I wasn’t. I laughed along with my entire team while not saying anything, just like the moving image of Sophia branded on my mind where she cackled like no tomorrow around my arms at the beach. That was after I told her stories of the god-awful dancing-zumba-warm ups that occur inside the McLaren hospitality outside of the public’s view.

I may have laughed extra harder when Rob looked at my red cheeks from exerting too much pure joy with a weirded-out expression. All I could remember while looking at his face is when Sophia and I had proceeded to lose our breaths, hands grappling at each other on the sand to find support, when I shared to her the detail of Rob’s constipated looking face when one of our engineers tried teaching him how to twerk during the aforementioned dancing warm-ups. The man didn’t know any better of what he was eagerly subjecting himself into.

Though I wish I had the same bright disposition for the entirety of my work day. Too bad when you drive rockets for a living, everything is unpredictable. Speaking of, I can attest with statistical data from my team that this year’s MCL36 is a poorly executed car so at the start of my year and until today, I already expected to have a less than stellar few races unlike last year’s performance.

But fucking come on! For the last race in Australia, the team really made enormous progress with Nick and I being in the top ten, scoring some much needed points. Without stroking my own ego too much, I was the best of the rest being the only car behind the top teams of Red Bull, Ferrari, and the similarly downright unfortunate team this year of Mercedes.

And then I went to this practice session this morning with vivid happiness and determination beaming out of me, only to have DRS issues allowing everyone else to overtake me in the straights. Don’t even get me started on the random lock-ups my car went through in every chicane and hairpin I passed through. By the time I boxed after completing the session, all my optimism was lost and I was near to throwing a rage fit. Mind you, to my uncooperative orange monstrosity of a car and not my team, I’m not a massive prick, narcissistic racer or not.

I was about to do it, removing my helmet and balaclava ready to give a stern talking to my car, but I was intercepted by my trainer, Harry Lambert, smiling far too gaily for being around a seething F1 driver. Before I can snap at him like some daft asshole, Lambert swishes my phone from left to right in my line of vision.

“I know you always tell me to keep your phone for you every race session, so this isn’t a new thing in our routine.” He said, clearly stalling to whatever he really wanted to tell me. “But, I have noticed today that your screen-time conscious personality has been glued to your phone when you’re not doing anything. And I’m not here to reprimand you about it, the complete opposite actually.”

Lambert’s growing smirk made me speak-up in a dry tone. “I don’t really care if you snooped my phone, Lamby. No need for you to apologize.”

“I wasn’t going to, anyway.” He sassed at me, handing me both my water bottle and phone. “I think you’re the one who’s about to apologize to me after I tell you my amazing self, cleared all your scheduled meetings this afternoon after a little birdy left you a message.”

I’ve never opened my phone the same way I would press the throttle when the lights turn out every race weekend. I’ve also never replied with an affirmative ‘yes!’ to any text message before like I would exclaim every time my race engineer tells me on the comms after a smashing race that I’ve hit a podium win.

Too bad my Italian luck seemed to be growing until that point only. Now that I’m knocking on the sage green wooden door of Sophia’s nonna’s home, the door opens and I’m met with two beautiful women. One was smiling at me like I just bought her an entire gelato shop, while the other was scowling in my direction as if I'd devoured all the trays of her favorite gelato flavor. Looks like my luck wasn’t going up any higher than before.

“Bunny, you made it!” Sophia attached herself to my front like a magnet, arms curled around my neck as my own rested on her waist. I hugged her tight to me, her giggles ringing in my ear as her feet lifted just a few inches above the ground from how flushed her body is connected to mine.

“Does this mean you missed me, Sunflower?” I couldn't help but mutter in her ear, my own giggles escaped my lips when she shyly admitted to missing me with a simple nod as her nose found its way to gently nuzzle my earlobe.

And then we both hear a throat being cleared loudly, Sophia and I stiffening from our cuddle with eyes growing wide from the stern sound. She’s back on her feet in an instant, my body grew cold without her warm energy clinging to me as she returned beside her nonna, who, speaking of, apparently remained scowling at me. If it was even possible, I’m sure her face turned even sour after I hugged her granddaughter in front of her.

“Soph, bellissima,” Nonna Red Bull fan turned to her now blushing granddaughter, “I understand how affectionate you could be with people you trust, but per favore, introduce me to your friend first. I don’t just let strangers enter my home for dinner; let alone allow them to cuddle my granddaughter.”

“Nonna, fermati, por favore.” Sophia whined at her grandmother’s words to stop, eyes avoiding my amused irises that was quickly replaced by a tinge of fear when I instead caught that of her nonna’s threatening blue eyes.

Nonna Red Bull fan huffed, impatience wrapped around that simple noise. “If no one is going to speak, I’ll do it myself.” She extended her hand to me in greeting. “I’m Angie, welcome to my home here in Imola. And you are?”

I accepted her ringed hand, trying my best to ensure that my hand was not trembling. “I’m Harry Styles, nice to meet you, signorina Angie.” And because I was raised by my mother to greet everyone in full kindness and respect, my instinct was to place a kiss on the back of Angie’s hand like I would usually do when I meet my mate’s Italian nonnas.

I almost pulled back to apologize when I remembered her seconds-ago hostile aura aimed at me. But the fear in me from doing something I shouldn’t, quickly diffused when I heard the unmistakable breath hitching of both Angie and Sophia.

“Oh,” Angie slowly retrieved her hand back from my hold, the surprise in her eyes returning to hard edges like she couldn’t be fooled by any of my respectful actions. “Harry Styles. I’ve heard about you.”

I chuckled, right hand coming to scratch the back of my neck in a clear nervous tick. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Not really.” Was her quick and no-nonsense reply, features unimpressed at my surprised reaction.

“Nonna!” Sophia’s widened eyes looked at her grandmother like she was being impolite. “You can’t say that in front of our guest!”

Angie just huffed once more. “It’s partially your fault, mia bella, when all I know about your new friend is everything I see in social media. If you would have kept me in the light about all this, then maybe I’d have a different answer. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

I gulped, unsure of what to say without hurting the feelings of anyone. If I agreed to Angie, then Sophia would think I’m blaming her for not telling her nonna about me since our personal interaction yesterday. But if I side with Sophia, then there are high chances that Angie might put some food poisoning on my food later on if her ‘don’t mess with me, young man’ face she’s giving me right now could be any indication.

In the end, I settled for being truthful. “Honestly, I’m more impressed by your sincerity more than anything, Angie.” I couldn’t help but grin with the craters of my cheek denting. “I bet my own grandmother isn’t also impressed with how I come across in the media. But I can assure you that whatever it is you saw, it’s only half, if not a false, part of my entire story.”

I don’t know what it is with what I just said, but Angie had turned off her hostile energy like a snap of a finger. Nonna the Red Bull fan now looked at me like I just offered her to personally make another batch of her favorite gelato flavor after I had just devoured it earlier. Before my mind could refocus from this whiplash like reaction, Angie had an arm around my back as she ushered me to their outdoor balcony where my dinner was apparently waiting.

“I want to hear all about your entire story then, Harry.” Angie’s hand went up to tap my cheek in affection. “But I have to get all the food from the kitchen before you can have your dinner.”

“Oh, let me help you with th-”

"Nonsense, tu prezioso regazzo.” Angie shook her head adamantly. Did she just call me precious in Italian? “You are our guest and I don’t allow any of my guests to lift a single finger to help.” She then turned to Sophia, who I’ve realized remained very quiet this entire interaction. “But you, bellissima, are not a guest. I don’t trust you with my delicacies but I hope you can safely guide Harry to the dinner table outside without any mishaps. Now go ahead, bring him safely there.”

Just like with anyone who has the right mind in not wanting to face the lethal wrath of an Italian nonna, Sophia followed her grandmother’s request in a heartbeat. Curling her arm around my bicep, she slowly led my still-stunned body outside their patio doors and towards the immaculately early dinner set-up in the middle of Angie’s spacious back garden.

“Sunflower, I wasn’t imagining it, right?” I frowned as I pulled Sophia’s chair beside mine before I took my own seat. “One second your nonna wanted to give me bodily harm on her doorstep. Then the next, she tended to me like I was some prince of the entire F1 grid. Was I just imagining all that?”

I was quite sure I was turning crazy from all the ups and downs of my luck in this Imola race weekend. But I guess it wasn’t enough to compete with the absolute crazed way Sophia rolled her eyes when I looked at her from beside me.

“She’s crazy!” Sophia exclaimed with frenzied hand movements. “It’s all because of your damn dimples! Dio, lo sapevo! I already called it yesterday when we were talking, that my own nonna will be my competition once you showed her your secret weapons. Bunny, what have you done?”

If I thought I was already lost for words from Angie’s swift change of heart, I guess her little Italian descendant had her beat in that regard. I didn’t know which part of Sophia’s very informative statement I could tackle first, though one spoke directly to my narcissistic tendency, unfortunately for her.

I smirked at a clearly wired Sophia, “Did you just call my dimples my secret weapon?”

I saw the way Sophia stiffened slightly on her seat, as if getting caught, before she rolled her eyes in uncanny irritation. “Of course that’s what you would focus on, you egotistical racer.”

There was no real heat in her words. Both of us know each other pretty well at this point, that I’m mature and grounded enough to not be a stereotype, cocky, has-it-all driver. Besides, my cheeks were also dimpling from her joyous reactions yesterday when I told her stories of how my mum and Gemma kept me in-check. Let’s just say it involved a whole lot of toilet cleaning every time I was back home, and a lot less of cruising around the streets of England in my flashy, orange whip. If that doesn’t keep me humble and grounded, I don’t know what will.

Thus, despite her annoyed exterior, I’m still putting an extra effort in grinning at Sophia. “Jesus, if I knew all I had to do to get you to like me was to use my secret weapon - na-uh, don’t give me those eyes cause I’m just quoting you - then I would have just smiled at you the entire time without exerting any other effort.”

Sophia huffed when I made sure to prove my point by tilting my head to the side to give her the best seat in the house to view my dimples. “As if! That would have been absolutely creepy if all you did was smile at me yesterday. I wouldn’t have liked you very much if you did nothing but that.”

“Really? Are you sure about that, Sunflower?”

“Absolutely, you don’t have to ask twice. Any person with a right mind would have responded the same as me.”

I chuckled, inching my dimpled face towards her faux scowling one. “I don’t disagree about that. But you see, haven’t we established since yesterday that we’re kind of not like the normal people who have the right mind?” I wiggled my brows in suggestion, easily cataloging the radiant joy my silly face gave her beautiful one.

Sophia tilts her head to the side, the action being too adorable for my eyes than it should have been for such a simple gesture. “You do consent in getting yourself strapped-down to a death-vehicle most weekends for a living, and you don’t necessarily have adequate skills to fix cars even if your whole life mostly revolves around them.”

I adore the way her blue irises light up my green ones from just her words alone. “And it’s very unlikely for Italian women to stop by a random street and help useless, probably dubious, F1 drivers without asking or expecting anything in return.”

Our words lingered in the quiet of the warm afternoon, our smiles a mirror image, faces just about three inches apart. And then something clicked. Something akin to equal perception released in our energies.

“You’re right,” Sophia nodded, any sense of shyness stripping-off her entire being. “I would have still liked you just as much - if not more - if you just dimpled at me the entire day yesterday.” And then she shook her head, as if she couldn’t understand the gravity of her own admission, her crazed smile from earlier returning. “Oh my god, I’m crazy, aren’t I? Nobody should find the idea of your dimpling face, just that, unmoving, as something highly endearing and borderline heart-melting. What is wrong with me?”

I felt the deep chuckles vibrating from my chest before I felt Sophia’s equally robust giggles on my skin when I closed the gap between our faces. With my forehead touching hers, I diligently nosed down the bridge of her own, creating a path of unadulterated fondness for this glowing person in my orbit.

“It’s not just you, Sunflower.” I reminded her with full conviction, “We’re both not quite right in the head; we’re both kinda crazy, baby.”

“Well, I hope you two are not crazy enough to not appreciate the feast I’ve prepared.”

Unlike earlier, Angie’s presence wasn’t unwelcome and it didn’t make Sophia and I jump away from our close contact. Our eyes locked once more instead, elation pouring ten folds in just one look. We suddenly laughed because it felt like the only thing that made the most sense in all these rapidly growing emotions bubbling inside me. The same maddening sensations that’s also screaming at me in certainty that Sophia feels this sweet-havoc within her too.

Despite Angie’s urgent protests, I couldn’t stop myself from helping her with placing the deliciously smelling plates and bowls of food on the table. But best to my ardent efforts afterterwards, Angie had me sitting back on my seat as she began to pile food on my plate, her stern blue eyes now showing ‘even if I like you now, don’t mess with me, young man’ was enough to shut me up.

I didn’t complain though, especially when I watched in great amusement at how Sophia tried to intercept her nonna from serving me. I’m afraid to admit that her earlier remark of Angie being a competition to my heart, might be quite true to some extent. Sophia noticed just as much on my smirking face directed at her futile attempt to sprinkle some chili flakes on my fresh slice of pizza - right after Angie had just done it.

“La mia belleza,” Angie swatted Sophia’s hand holding the jar of chili flakes, “can you please sit back on your seat? And Harry doesn’t need any more of that, I already placed some on his food. You aren’t trying to burn the tongue of our guest, no?”

The laughter I tried my strongest to keep at bay almost spilled right out of me. I don’t know what it is, but watching a pissy Sophia, who followed her nonna’s orders like a child who was just scolded from stealing a treat in the cookie jar, did it for me.

It was the perfect moment to tease her. “Yeah, la mia belleza.” I looked at her narrowed gaze with a brow curved upward. “Angie has already got me covered, which by the way,” my focus shifted to her grandmother. “You picked the slice I wanted and gave me the perfect amount of chili flakes as well. I don’t know how you do it Angie. You seem to know me so well already.”

I made sure to wink at nonna Red Bull fan just like I would do every time the cameras zoom-in to my face before I close the visor of my helmet. The reaction is equally just the same, and I’m starting to truly believe that my dimples have something to do with the way her cheeks pinken. That shade of rose reminded me of the person sitting beside me. I returned my focus on Sophia who actually looked like I had betrayed her in some way.

I assured her smoothly with my next actions, instead of fruitless words she’ll just dispute. I stood up from my seat and reached for the tray of pizza and placed a slice on Sophia’s plate, before I proceeded to sprinkle a considerably more amount of chili flakes on her serving compared to mine with an added drizzle of hot sauce.

“There you go,” I finished by filling her glass with lemon juice. “Dinner just the way you like it, Sunflower.”

“You remembered,” Sophia’s whispered words of unmistakable awe made my eyes crinkle with a smile. “Bunny, you remembered.” she repeated with a tone of disbelief quoting her words.

“That you like really spicy food? I did.” I answered my own question when Sophia remained looking at me with a dumbfounded expression that I once again, found fucking adorable. “I remember every little thing you share with me, Sunflower. I don’t take your words for granted.” my hand gravitated to rest on the bare meat of her thigh giving it a gentle squeeze. “Now I don’t know if you forgot, but I remember telling you that if you’re not quick enough, I have no mercy in eating your food for you.”

That seemed to do the trick, Sophia sprang back to functionality with that bright grin stealing my wits away. “Not me, Bunny. You don’t wanna mess with me and my food.” She made a show of taking a big and messy bite from her pizza slice, my laughter shared with Angie as she shook her head amusedly at her crazy granddaughter.

Sophia’s fucking crazy all right, but she’s so bright like sunshine and so bloody unapologetic for who she is that it truly squeezes my soul that she doesn’t care how she looks in front of me unlike any other girls I come across. Sophia’s a rare one and my belief is only reinforced as the three of us conversed over an early dinner with Angie trading Sophia’s childhood stories for my own.

The entire time of us chatting animatedly, Sophia’s hand somehow found its way to entwine with my own that’s resting securely on her thigh. She might be oblivious to it being in the middle of telling her nonna some tidbits of my life that I shared with her yesterday, but I certainly felt the heat of Angie’s knowing gaze that was directed at our determined singular hands feeding ourselves. I might have felt my cheeks burn just a bit, unsure if I was crossing some line while being in her home. But like earlier, Angie’s expressive eyes sent the message loud and clear to me. In her eyes I read, ‘keep holding my granddaughter’s hand, don’t mess with me, young man’ Like there’s anything else I’d gladly fucking do than just that.

So my hands were tightly confined in Sophia’s delicate hold when Angie brought-up the topic of my current race weekend in Imola. The conversation surfaced after I’ve cleared my name in her presence by sharing the simple realities of my life that the media doesn’t know about.

“I honestly was unsure on what to feel when mia bella here told me that we’re having a guest over this afternoon,” Angie admitted to me, frank as I’ve learned her to be. “It’s not even about that she’s basically inviting someone over to my home, because she knows that la mia casa è anche la sua casa. I was just worried because she said you were a Formula 1 driver, and I’m pretty sure, Harry, that you know how Soph gets with her racers.”

“My racers?!” Sophia gasped loudly, features appalled. “Nonna, I do not say that!”

Angie snorted before I could have the chance to do the same. “Oh, please! You know what I mean, tu pazza ragazza.” hearing Angie call her granddaughter crazy so plainly, is the undoing of my unattractive snort. I felt the hard squeeze on my hand, a clear warning separate from the daggers I feel being thrown on the side of my grinning face.

Angie noticed the exchange, amusement written all over her face. “Harry, don’t worry. Soph’s glares are the bare minimum of her crazy side; you’re safe right now.” I didn’t care that I full-on laughed after that poor attempt at reassurance, my hand separating from Sophia’s as I used it to cover my loud guffawing.

“Nonna, this isn’t funny!” Sophia whined at her cackling grandmother who ignored her to continue this topic with me.

“Harry, understand my concern here.” I nodded adamantly like I really was hell-bent in understanding her dilemma despite the giggles that continued to spew outwards from me. “Mia bella here is crazy about the sport itself; she knows her shit about cars to put it simply. That’s why I understand how passionate she gets whenever we have watch parties of the race weekend here, but Gesù Cristo onnipotente! When the drivers are the ones in question, my crazy girl is in a whole other dimension! Especially about this certain driver that I feared would be him that she was talking about that would come to dinner today.”

I already knew who Angie was referring to. One look at Sophia’s flushed cheeks told me that it’s not a surprise to anyone she’s close with, whether it's someone like Angie who doesn’t particularly enjoys watching Grand Prixs or those around her that do, they all know how much of a wild fangirl my Sunflower can get. Especially for a certain blonde-head that could be found in the Red Bull garage.

“What was his name again?” Angie asked me, faux confusion coating her features. “I can’t seem to remember it, Harry. Maybe you can help me here, darling.”

I sensed where this was heading, and I was all for it. I might be known to hop like a bunny around the paddock, but best believe I pull some of the best pranks in both the garages and pitlanes outside of the media’s eyes. Though I couldn’t say others shared that similar mischievous trait, especially for the lady beside me who let out a groan of dire agony.

“It would be my pleasure, Angie. Does this man happen to have blonde hair that totally looks like he spends more than two hours getting it that way like a total vain lad?”

Angie clapped like I was on the right track, “Yes, I think that’s him! The one who’s also always laughing for no reason. I was honestly concerned why my Soph was laughing along with a crazy-looking man.”

“He’s not crazy, you two are the ones crazy!” Sophia’s indignant proclamation is carried away by the wind. Angie and I smiled deviously, still trying to act confused.

“I think we’re talking about the same person, Angie. Did his name start with the letter ‘N’, do you reckon?”

“Oh, yeah. Was it..Neil?” It was difficult to not blow our cover at this early in the game considering that I remembered Niall’s face every time someone misspells his name in a live broadcast. Sadly, it happens more often than not; it didn’t even spare his podium finishes.

“I don’t know anyone named Neil, though.” My thumb and index finger pinched my bottom lip in thought, like the immaculate actor I was born to be. “I do know someone that might be named Nail, though.”

It wasn’t lost on me that everyone dining on the table knew what I was referring to by saying that single word, not in the way we all shared vibrating laughter including the seething lady we were teasing to begin with. Everyone from their mother to their grandmothers remember the iconic moment: Niall Horan getting his maiden win in the historical track of Monaco, only to be called on the podium as ‘Nail Horan’ and the reckless little shit didn’t waste time popping the champagne directly on the announcer’s face and cursing him off like the person just killed his parents right in front of him. That was a fine moment immortalized forever in the internet, definitely causing my friend a hefty fine as well by the FIA stewards.

“Oh, that was brilliant, Harry!” Angie clapped. “That moment was a perfect depiction of how crazy Nail Horan is.”

“It’s Niall Horan, you freaking donuts!”

We were quiet after Sophia’s outburst at the quiet of the Imola afternoon. All of us probably took a few seconds to register what she said, more specially, what she called Angie and I. When it clicked moments later, it was Angie’s wheezing laughter and Sophia’s burning face that accompanied the uncontrollable, gleeful shakes of my body. There was nothing in me to stop this alarming amount of fondness seeping into my bones that’s more thrilling than the adrenaline I feel every time I’m whisked away on the racetrack.

In their own unstoppable accord, my arms wrapped itself on Sophia’s hunched body, pulling her flush to my chest where she found the perfect hiding spot on the crook of my neck. “Of course you unleash your inner Gordon Ramsay at me the first time I insulted your Irish racer.” My lips succumbed to my indulgent thoughts as I pressed a kiss on her pink skin.

I feel her own warm lips on the skin of my neck, parting to reply without any sense of denial. “Be thankful I didn’t drop you any F-bombs like Chef Ramsay would have done if he was in my situation.”

I nodded my head vigorously, her hidden face not being able to see the smirk I gave a grinning Angie. “Oh, I’m so thankful, Sunflower. So much so that I’d gladly tell you about this totally inside scoop about Gordon Ramsay himself being a guest at the Red Bull garage in one of the races and he totally called your Irish racer a donut too after he crashed himself just exiting the pitlane. I guess we’re both donuts then.”

That little tidbit wasn’t as hilarious as Sophia huffing an extremely vexed, “Bunny!” her body disconnecting from mine as she shoved at my chest. I quickly reached for her palm again as I clasped it tightly in mine. “You’re talking rubbish just to spite me.”

I met her pierced gaze with my own fierce beam of utter thrill, “I guess we’ll never find out the truth then because you’re stuck with a McLaren, English racer who will be over for every Italian-nonna dinners from now on.” My shoulders shrug as if it didn’t take note of the absolute weight of my statement.

Because we’ve already established many times already that I’m a lunatic racer who faced no fear in the presence of high speed and high adrenaline, I met Sophia’s stunned eyes and parted berry lips of surprise headstrong. There was no questioning in her eyes who sought if I spoke of the truth, not when whatever worries may come to her, were swiftly hindered from growing when my thumb rubbed reassuring circles on the top of our entwined hands. That’s when I knew my Sunflower really did feel these electrifying feelings for me like I did her: when an effortless touch of my finger flooded her eyes with serene happiness at my bold stance.

“Well can I just say that I’m glad it’s you, Harry, who had dinner with us. It’s been such a lovely afternoon.” Both our attention returned at Angie’s words, her own smile brimming with elation at whatever she just witnessed between her granddaughter and I.

It made me feel floored when her bright features alone spoke of the thundering truth: Angie, the nonna Red Bull fan, does not object that I spend many more dinners at her home. If she hadn’t spoken again, I genuinely think I would have shed a tear at feeling this elated.

“If I would have just known that the racer with the kindest heart is the one that invited mia bella to the track, I would have personally dropped her off at the paddock and tell her that she’s going to have a much banging time being around you than fussing over her perfectly fine nonna.”

That’s true, I did invite Sophia to join me for the entire Imola race weekend. The scene went like this: the shining stars that blanketed the dark ocean sky were our only source of light, we stood on our feet, Sophia’s warm arms that were now clad by my jacket went around my shoulders, mine were secured across her lower back, eyes mapping each other’s faces like every contour of our skin must be examined in the radiant serenity of the Italian night breeze. It was the classic, ‘we’ve talked for hours and now the sun is down and we have to leave each other. But there’s this invisible string between us that’s pulling us closer together, making us want to stay for just a little bit longer. So, one of us better think on their fucking feet on what else we can talk about, instead of smiling like fools who just lost their minds believing they’ve found their soulmates who’s gloriously standing in front of them now.’

And I was the one who decided to be that person. But I guess grinning like a fool also led to me asking something quite foolish and frankly, highly egotistical for someone who’s already comfortable in my narcissistic skin.

Where did I find the balls to ask the most rare sunshine of a person that I’ve barely known for 24 hours to join me on my Imola race weekend both in the paddock, pitlane, and in my garage? Who the fuck do I think I am? I swore I’ve never felt that nervous under her scrutinizing gaze after I’ve asked the question, not even when I was signing-away my life in James’ office when I reached an opening to the doors premiere league of motorsports.

“I’ll just tell myself I misheard you and you didn’t actually say the word ‘banging’,” Sophia shook her head, face twisted at her nonna’s previous words. “And nonna, we’ve gone through this already. It’s totally fine that I joined you today, Harry was absolutely sweet and understanding about it.”

How else was I supposed to react otherwise? Anyone who would decline a boy’s offer in favor of spending time and taking care of their grandmothers will always be on my book of people to trust and admire. I knew I liked her a lot more than little at that point; despite the saddened pout I gave her that was totally meant for her to embrace me tighter without asking for it and really having lost all my ego.

“Yeah,” I agreed in sincerity. “I would have totally felt gutted and absolutely guilty if I knew she ditched her nonna for a boring old racer like me.”

Sophia looked at Angie with a triumphant smile, like saying, ‘See? You have nothing to worry about.’ But Angie just shook her head at us in clear disagreement.

“I don’t understand you youngsters nowadays. Angie mused, “Back in my day, I’d ditched anyone and everyone just to spend time with my summer love.”

Her pure nonchalance had poor Sophia choking on the sip of her drink right beside me, my hand automatically coming around to soothe her. All the while, my face transformed into a smirk of interest at this new turn in our conversation.

“First you use the word ‘banging’ and now you want to talk about ‘summer love’? Nonna, I think you need more nap time.”

I chuckled at the dry look Angie directed to her granddaughter, “And I thought the young ones can’t get any more boring! Yet here you are, mia bella, concerned about my nap time. Haven’t you learnt enough from the countless times I’ve told you about mine and your nonno’s summer love?”

The way Sophia vehemently shook her head in dread at her nonna’s question got my interest piqued more than ever. Especially when she caught my gaze, her face filled with more horror when Angie called my name with apparent excitement underneath her tone.

“Why don’t I tell Harry about nonno and I’s story? Maybe he can actually learn something and be the one to teach every unromantic bone in your body.”

Sophia gasped, “Excuse me? I am a very romantic person! It’s not my fault your and nonno’s story have just lost the spark of love for me when I’ve heard from the ages of zero to today.”

My eyes sprang to the same sounding gasp coming from Angie this time. “Oh, stop with your foolish words, mia bella. It’s not doing any good for dear Harry here who’s absolutely at the edge of his seat waiting to hear my timeless love story.”

If the exchange wasn’t happening so quickly, I would probably have been concerned at Sophia who turned her neck towards me in record time, hands coming up to grip my bicep. “Harry, tell her no.” But then more words continued to flow.

“Earlier you wanted to burn his tongue with too many chili flakes, and now you want to put words in his mouth?”

“I did not do any of that! Nonna, this is you saying things like wanting to tell your love story because you just miss nonno; you’re projecting like a teenager missing her boyfriend.”

“I am not a silly teenager, too obsessed with her man! Besides, can you blame me if I was when all I’ve had for the past month is scheduled FaceTime calls with my husba-”

And then both heated Italian ladies stopped like they were just catapulted into the ocean, the mass of water silencing their frenzied words. Except I was left more confused on my seat when both ladies began to speak in rapid Italian that my rusty knowledge of the language did not allow me to understand a thing. What I did catch was their apologetic looks when they realized I was still at the dinner table.

“Gesù Cristo, how impolite of me.” Angie walked to the side of my seat, the feel of her gentle palm felt comfortable on my skin when she cupped my face to look at her. “Ragazzo prezioso, apologies for the way I disregarded you and that I have to cut this dinner short. You see, my aged brain has forgotten that my husband and I do have scheduled FaceTime calls every day at this time of the afternoon since he’s not here and is having a hiking trip with his mates all the way in Peru.”

I was sure my non-toxic masculinity heart actually melted in the pure saccharine that coated Angie’s admission, the hopeless romantic in me lighting up. “Now, don’t let me be a villain in your bewitching love story, Angie. That’s the last thing I would want to be as your guest.” Angie giggled, the youthful sound I knew only came from those who still feel like a teenager drunk in love.

“Besides, I think Sophia here wouldn’t mind that she be the one to tell me the beginning of your summer romance,” I chanced a glance at Sophia, amusement dancing in my eyes at the look of utter aversion my suggestion washed her in. I don’t let that deter me from smiling like an angel at her nonna. “Doesn't she look the most thrilled at having the honor to be your storyteller? Your real preziosa nipote.”

I expected the snort that Angie let out, one look at her precious granddaughter and you’d detect the sarcasm hidden in my flowery words. But whatever witty retort I thought Angie would mutter, I never thought for once that it would render me stupefied on my seat.

With another loving tap delivered on my cheek, Angie smiled at me with her soft eyes brimming with affirmation. “I’d rather spare mia bella with that hardship, I’m not that cruel. Anyway, you’d be here for all the other dinners I’d prepare next so I have plenty of time to teach you the ways of love, ragazzo prezioso. No need to hurry in that fast car of yours.” and then she winked at me, saying her last goodbyes for the day amidst my shell-shocked expression.

It was just about after Sophia’s return after following her nonna’s orders of fetching the freshly baked brownies in the kitchen that I had returned from my stupor, “Did your nonna just agreed for me to crash all her dinners without telling me directly that she did?”

At my clear astounded tone, I watched Sophia try to cover her laughter as she sat in front of me in Angie’s previous seat, delicately placing the tray of chocolate goodness between the two of us on the table. “Technically, she acknowledged your RSVP after you’ve somewhat invited yourself over in your earlier declaration.” I accepted the spoon Sophia handed me, my eyes not missing a beat at the undeniable flush that escaped her ‘traitorous cheeks’ as she liked to label them. I might actually say the same thing when my own cheeks dented in their own accord as I smiled at such a simple observation.

I couldn’t help it. I felt so light upon hearing that admission from Angie. “Your nonna likes me. Your nonna Red Bull fan actually fucking likes me.”

My dopey tone is what probably initiated the roll of eyes Sophia gave me, “She’s not the biggest F1 fan in general, so I can’t fault her for easily trusting the enemy in her home.” She shrugged like my triumphant energy was misplaced. “Besides, we’ve already established that you got her weak at the knees since you showed her your dimples at the entryway.”

That made me snort like a pig, her bitter tone only fueling my teasing antics. “She likes me more than my dimples. Sunflower, let’s not project your own flaws onto your lovely nonna. Not everyone would only like me just for my dashing dimples.”

Sophia’s jaw dropped, my taunt hitting right where I aimed it. “Did you honestly just imply that I only liked you for your looks?”

I shrugged, neither denying or confirming her question. “I mean, that’s all you’ve complimented about me tonight. how was I supposed to believe otherwise?”

“Please,” Sophia breathed out like her answer was rather obvious. “I’m not going to shower you with verbal compliments because I’m just not that type of girl, and come on! There’s no chance I’d help in further inflating a McLaren driver’s already narcissistic head.”

I whistled at her bold remark, eyes filled with mischief. “And that’s really not helping your case of only liking my physical attributes.”

I started this exchange knowing how it elicited a fire in Sophia’s demeanor; one that’s glimmering with fervor every time I bantered with her. But the other fact that I knew so wholeheartedly it still leaves me feeling speechless, is how one look from her soulful eyes alone, I knew my Sunflower appreciated me bounds away from what she can just see in my appearance, much more than just my alluring billionaire-bachelor-racer persona.

She’s a rare person who wouldn’t settle for that, wouldn’t settle to be known as something so minimum. I heard it in her next words. “I like you much more than just your physical and superficial attributes that I’d give you the revered position of being the first to have a slice of Angie’s scrumptious brownies.”

See? She’s a one-of-a kind human being who believes anything with chocolate holds a superior power that can answer anything. Unfortunately for me, I actually would think chocolate runs in my veins if I don’t just get regular health check-ups for my profession. ‘I love chocolate’ is a statement that cannot suffice to describe who I really am.

I lifted a brow of intrigue, “A revered position, huh? Sounds like something I’d be into.”

Sophia proceeded to nod her head, the single, confident action alone speaks volumes of the truth that she actually likes more parts of me because she knows me. “Yup. I can personally attest that this position I’m bestowing to you is much more coveted than a pole position in racing.”

“Oh really?” With my elbow resting on the table, I rested my cheek on my own palm as I watched Sophia begin to get some of the gooey brownie on her fork. “You’d know it’s much more coveted because you've experienced a pole position yourself? Bloody hell, Sunflower. Have you actually driven an F1 car before and chose not to tell me?”

A fork full of chocolate heaven made its way on my parted lips. Sophia feeding me herself is a brilliant surprise I truly did not expect, nor were her next words. “I haven’t had the chance to drive one, actually.” She then fed herself some brownies with the same fork, eyes locked on appraising ones. “But that might change if you let me drive yours tomorrow.”

The meaning of her statement came quick enough to be able to restrain me from actually ignoring her company in favor of having a single conversation with the pan of brownies staring at me. Because it was that fucking mouthwateringly good I was willing to ignore a glowing Sunflower. Hence, I was proud of myself for meeting Sophia’s nonchalant gaze while taking a decent forkful of our dessert.

In the most natural yet boldest move I’ve yet made to a girl I utterly fancy, I placed my free hand with my palm raised upwards on the table, a clear invitation for something. My grin is blinding when my Sunflower doesn’t even bat an eye and effortlessly enveloped her fingers with mine.

“So, you’re planning to join my crazy weekend after all?” Sophia shrugged a shoulder, pink lips closing on her fork to eat every crumb of her brownies.

“You did hear how my nonna basically lectured me for being a boring lady,” She had a fond look in her eyes, as if she’s remembering her and Angie’s colorful exchange earlier when one would think she was truly annoyed about. “I kind of have to prove to her now that I have plenty of romantic bones inside me.”

“Personally, I don’t think you have to prove her, or anyone for that matter, anything.” I regarded her answer with a confident smile. “Remember, you did save me from my woes yesterday like my true, romantic, knight in shining bright handbag.”

Sophia’s giggles produced a sound that grips me just as much as her tangible hold on my hand. “That I did. But I never actually thought it was romantic, more like I tried to be the kind person who helps people in need.”

“Whatever way it was, it sounds romantic to me.” I scooped a forkful of chocolate goodness and fed an intrigued Sophia, probably surprised that I could talk to her and feed her simultaneously in such an easy fashion. “I don’t know about you, but I find kindness hot.”

There must be something in my statement that really got to Sophia, enough for her to smile with her pearly white smudged with chocolate all for my eyes to see. If her touch, smile, giggles, and blush had a grip on my heart, my Sunflower’s utter confidence about herself and lack of care for what she may look or seem in front of me because she’s simply living her truth - has a chokehold on my soul.

“In this way, are you saying the start of our summer romance already happened yesterday?”

I copied her pondering expression, as if we were discerning a very serious matter in our hands. “I think it was. I don’t think there’s any other way I’d be able to tell the truth of how I started to fall for you without mentioning my foolish moments from yesterday.”

I knew I said quite a hefty admission there, acknowledging the blush that crept Sophia’s cheek like clockwork. But I also knew she wouldn’t want to hear my admission any other way, that she’s also ready to acknowledge the depth of what we had found in each other. The way she squeezed our entwined hands to confirm my beliefs will be forever branded in my memory.

“I agree with you.” Sophia replied softly, her smile stretching her strawberry pink cheeks. “Falling for you wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”

A comfortable silence followed our simple yet heartfelt confessions. As someone who’s used to silence after all the fanfare of racing has concluded, I’m now able to fully comprehend that special kind of silence my mum has always urged me about. She told me that I should find the person who makes me feel alive in the loudest and especially the quietest moments of my life. I was doubting the existence of such a phenomena, not when my kind of silence always had loneliness creeping behind it.

But now I understand. Basking in the silence of Sophia’s bright-lit face with the orange and tangerine hues of the sunset behind her, I fully grasped it. I’ve experienced that special kind of silence, not just with any person, but with my Sunflower.

These sentiments are what braved me to speak my sappy mind, “Sunflower, you going to be my lucky charm this weekend?”

And because she’s the rarest person meant for me, she snorted like I was crazy. “Don’t be daft! I’m simply accompanying you to your race weekend because I have to see for myself if you really should keep driving, Bunny.”

“Heyyy!” that man-child whine I can’t seem to grow out of left my pouty lips, “I was just asking a question and you’re being all unreasonably mean to me.”

“Bunny,” Sophia gently pulled our clasped hands closer to her, her other hand leaving the fork she was using to also cover our laced palms. “You can’t blame me for wondering when the first time I saw you, your car was broken on the street. The next time I saw you on my television screen, you were locking up and spinning 180 degrees out of nowhere in every chicane and hairpin you passed.”

“I didn’t in Sector 1.”

My grumbled reply failed when she only laughed at my sour expression. “Well, I bloody hope you didn’t cause can you even call it premier league racing when you already mess up at the start of the race? You see, not such stellar driving I’ve seen so far.”

My determined, curse-the-naysayer-cause-I’m-going-to-win racing persona stumbled into the surface. “I’ll be in the podium for tomorrow’s qualifying.” My brave promise is met with a mischievous smirk filled with bruning challenges.

“I have to see you in Q3 before I believe your words.”

Alright. Can this girl get any more perfect for me? A woman after my own heart: actions before words. But has anyone told her I heard what she meant loud and clear?

I bet no one did. That’s why I’d just show her instead.

🌻🌻🌻

“Do I have to also give you an orange leash so you don’t go running off to the Red Bull garage?”

“Funny.” If I didn’t find his humor attractive, I would have stopped placing the badges he gave me around my neck and flipped him off with both my hands. “I already have one orange lanyard, I think I’m all maxed out for that horrendous color.”

“Sassy. You think you’ll be able to keep those daggers for eyes much better if I just confiscate the McLaren hospitality badge from you and just leave you with the paddock badge and the one for pitlane?”

Harry’s tone was casual, both of us wearing a designer pair of shades that hides his mischievous gleaming eyes from my view. “As your guest, I’m seriously finding it appalling that you’d think of leaving me to fend for myself in this motorsport lion's den.”

The clear dramatics in my words earned me a blinding grin from Harry, the dents in his cheeks enough to trip me on my feet if we were walking. Thank fuck we weren’t. We were standing a few feet apart, freshly out from his McLaren vintage ride that I can confirm did not stop on any side street when he picked me up from my house this morning.

“Come here.”

Two simple words that only required two steps before I was right in front of him breaking any kind of personal space. This near to him, our height difference might be daunting for some, but not for me. Not in the way the gentle giant of a racer softly pulled my hands to his lips and left tender kisses on my knuckles.

“Hold my hand please.” He stated more than requested, “I don’t want my Sunflower, who belongs in a field of breathtaking flowers, to get lost in the barbarian streets of the paddock.”

His equally dramatic sentiments brought a content smile to my freshly-glossed lips. “If you must, my adorable yet lionhearted, Bunny.”

Whatever unspoken worries that surrounded Harry and I over our ride here, vanished with the fresh morning Italian wind right in that instant. How can I be worried about the countless whispers and flashes of cameras and phones as we walked inside the paddock, when Harry’s assured hold on my hand just made me shine like the sunshine he always tells me that I am?

Granted that I haven’t been in the paddock before and this close to the actual racing-media-drama action, I’ve been to a handful of Grand Prixs myself to see and observe from afar. I recognize how all this media frenzy is a vital part of Formula 1 to gain and give-back to all the supporters of this billion-dollar earning sport. I’ve watched all four seasons of Drive To Survive on Netflix, I’m not one to talk badly of something I’ve taken part in and enjoyed myself. But I also understand upon getting to know McLaren’s Golden Boy that most of the time, the media isn’t all rainbows and unicorn magic. Harry was very keen in informing me of what I was getting myself into being the first woman he’d ever brought with him on a race weekend.

Such knowledge would most probably render any person frightened with the repercussions, but for reasons unknown to me, I wasn’t. I gave him a bare minimum of a verbal reply and decided instead to show it in my actions that I was a brave Sunflower whether on the field or not. With our clasped hands comfortably swinging beside us, I paid no mind to the escalating amounts of cameras blocking our sides as we walked quietly to the McLaren hospitality, my frequent squeezes to his hand delivered the message that I was fine and dandy like the sunshine shining above our way.

“See? I’m still here in one piece.” I told Harry gleefully as he led me inside the dominantly orange motorhome. He stopped at the bottom of a staircase and pushed his sunglasses up on his adorably messy curls.

“My brave Sunflower,” He praised in a nod filled with approval, “You just survived the bare minimum of this race weekend chaos but I don’t think you need any warnings anymore as I lead you to the middle of the storm.”

His telling words left me confused more than anything he’s ever told me. Nonetheless I trusted him blindly to drag me along with him up the stairs and straight to his driver’s room where I met the literal middle of the storm he was talking about.

“Harry Edward Styles, you fucking bitch, she’s gorgeous!”

I was thrusted in the expressive arms of Harry Lambert, his exuberant and utterly colorful trainer who upon being introduced, took it to be his responsibility to tour me around the motorhome and introduce me to Harry’s entire team. And despite Harry’s dejected pout for being ignored, I succumbed to Lambert’s plans with the biggest smile on my face and warmest hugs on my arms for every new face I met.

“You know, you’re the first girl he’d brought along with him aside from his sister and mum.” Lambert noted while we drank some orange juice on the upstairs eating lounge after we spent a lengthy time talking with a lot of McLaren employees that range from media, PR, strategists, data analysts, to wellness and medical staff.

“As I’ve been told.” My eyes wandered to the other end of the room where the man in question was filming a video for the McLaren Unboxed Imola episode for their YouTube channel. He must have felt my stare, he winked at me all exaggeratedly that made him look like a damn fool.

It made me giggle so he didn’t mind how he looked on camera and giggled along with me.

“And I think you’ll be the only one he’ll ever be bringing.”

My attention returned to Lambert. My brow curved at the gleam in his eyes as if he knew something vital that I have yet to realize. “What?” he laughed at my inquisitive expression. “I’m just speaking based on observations. I’ve never seen Styles this loco over a girl.”

“You haven’t even seen us interact together. I was with you this entire time.”

“Please!” Lambert dismissed my defense with a dramatic hand flip, “He doesn’t have to be physically near you for me to see he’s gaga over you. I can literally feel his eyes trained on you everywhere we go. Honestly, it’s nauseating.”

Before I can even dissect Lamber’s sentiments, I feel it too. Without looking at his direction, I feel the gaze of Harry’s green irises pointed in my direction, specifically, I know his presence is near mine without hearing any footsteps or a breath coming from him. This sudden strong awareness I have for his aura caused me to abruptly turn to face him, and saw that he wasn’t alone this time wearing their god awful black and orange team wear.

Beside Harry is his McLaren teammate, Nicholas Grimshaw, who looks very much the lively and mischievous individual that he is on most live streams of races I have watched. He doesn’t even mind that he’s blatantly smirking my way and Harry’s, like an obnoxious friend ready to unleash the teasing weapons.

Nick actually goes straight for the hit. “Alright, I’ve heard I have a new job today which is to prevent the lady of the McLaren’s Golden Boy from escaping to the Red Bull garage while said tosser is going to be stuck in a meeting.”

“Nick!” Harry looked at his friend with eyes about to fall off from his sockets, his tone of complete mortification enough to make me giggle behind my hand at this new dynamic I’m seeing in person.

“Harold, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Nick placed a consoling arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I was just trying to test if you picked a good person, and considering that she just laughed at you, I’m confirming that you did. So good job, bud!”

I’ve never witnessed Harry roll his eyes in the same fervent passion that I do to him when he annoys me in our regular banyer, but right now I’ve got a front row seat for it. “Honestly, man. You haven’t even introduced yourself.” Harry sighed in exasperation at his friend who just winked at me. “You’re the only person I know who’s been around me this long and not even just a smidge of my politeness and good character has rubbed-off on you. God, I look like such an angel beside you.”

On cue, Nick and I burst-out in doubling-over laughter. Both Harrys gazed at us like we’ve lost the plot somehow.

“You narcissistic pig!” Nick exclaimed, giving a confused Harry a high-five. “I’m proud of you for not sugarcoating your true self in the dating scene.”

“And I’m proud that you have such a creative imagination for liking yourself to an angel. But Bunny, I’m sorry to say that your angelic curls don't translate for you to be some spiritual entity. Your ego is quite large to fit in your helmet let alone the gates of heaven.”

Rambunctious laughter erupted between the ¾ of us, and it’s to no one’s surprise that the only one left in our conversation is Harry, who was now pouting with his arms folded across his chest. “You guys are ganging-up on me, it’s not funny.”

“I like this one, I like her a lot.” Nick pointed at me with a splitting grin, arms opening wide that welcomed me in a hug. “Nick Grimshaw, it’s nice to meet you.” I offered him the same sentiments by introducing my name just as we released from our friendly embrace. Without missing a beat, somehow I traded places with Nick and was now pulled to the side of some other McLaren driver.

“Cheeky.” I pinched Harry’s hand that wrapped itself around my waist. But the man had the audacity to ignore my comment by pulling me closer to his side and placing butterfly kisses on my temple.

“Can’t help it, Sunflower. I missed you.” I’m pretty sure Harry’s whispered words were only audible to my now pinking ears, though whatever it is his friends are seeing is probably not doing much better either as Lambert made sure to mouth the words ‘nauseating’ loud enough for me to hear with just his faux disgusted face.

“I would really love to see more of this play out,” Nick’s smirking face motioned animatedly at whatever he was seeing between Harry and I. “like it’s so rare to see young Harold here finally growing-up and finding a lady. But I believe it’s time for someone to go, and it’s the hour for me to get some tea from the lady while I show her the garage. Which by the way,” Nick regarded me with a puzzled expression, “Sophia, are you sure you want to spend time in the garage? Won’t it just bore you?”

Harry snorted loudly before I could answer the question. “Oh, Grimmy!” he guffawed like Nick was being ridiculous. “I told you to look after her in the garage because I know she would probably do something to my car like the absolute genius that she is with them that would make it faster. And I don’t want to get disqualified for not following the FIA rules by tampering with a car, as much as I would love to feel like we were driving cars rather than carrots.”

I tilted my head to the side to catch Harry’s eyes, “Please. I’d never do that. Who do you think you are to get free improvement services from me? There’s no way I’d be touching a McLaren car before I do a Red Bull.”

I felt myself grinning at Lambert’s shocked gasp about my admission, Harry’s amused face not doing much for me than causing my cheeks to turn brighter for just a tad bit more, nothing too serious. It’s Nick’s slow clap with a smirk of pure mischief that has me smiling more than anything.

“Marvelous.” Nick regarded me with a new light of intrigue. “A car genius and a Red Bull woman all in one package. I think I’d personally talk to James to get you a permanent spot at the mechanics and car development committee just so I’ll have my right hand in squandering Harold.”

Harry’s resulting signature man-child whine of a ‘Heeeyyyy!’ is overshadowed by Nick and I’s harmonious and synchronized evil laugh. I think it’s best to say that Harry was pouting at me the entire time Lambert kept pushing him to his meeting while I happily clung my arm to the one Nick offered to me. But as much as a pull his saddened puppy eyes and adorable pouting lips had in me, it does not compare to the number it did to me when I finally reached his McLaren garage and was introduced to all the mechanics and engineers present.

Since everything about automobiles and F1 is as easy as breathing to me, I naturally engaged and adapted better than well at the garage. The team’s looks of surprise at my apparent fountain of knowledge was an extra boost to me and their enthusiasm in showing me all the big and grand and bits and bobs about Harry’s orange vehicle, including how each of them perform their individual tasks.

I guess I truly lost my sense of time while I was having the time of my life in a McLaren garage, no less, that I didn’t even notice Harry’s meeting had finished and Nick had left to take his turn until I felt the former’s now familiar arms wrap around me in a back hug. He pulled me to his torso while his head race engineer was telling me about the different strategies that he and Harry had done in previous races, explaining to me which one he liked and didn’t.

“Will, you’re boring my guest out, mate.” Harry complained faux annoyed at his race engineer who just looked at us and chuckled. “Nobody wants to hear your boring strategies. Strategies that don't change the fact that it looks like I’m driving a tractor on the race track.”

“Hey,” I reached behind me to cup his jaw and squeezed his cheeks together. “Don’t be mean, Bunny.” he tried to speak in denial but it resulted in a grumble-mumble that made no sense than making him look like an idiot that got me and Will chuckling.

“You should listen to your girl, Harry. Don’t be mean.” Will offered me a fist bump which I accepted, a gasp of betrayal falling from Harry’s lips when I let his cheeks be.

“Why does everyone in my team seem to side with you now?” Harry maneuvered me around his arms so that we were now facing each other. “Don’t tell me you’re also done hexing my mechanics while I was gone?”

I didn’t need to verbally reply because it seemed like all pairs of eyes and ears present in the garage were currently pinned our way in utmost interest.

“Harry, we don’t need hexing from Sophia when clearly you’re the one who hexed her in joining your daft ass here.” one mechanic said, the majority of them nodded along in agreement.

“She’s a car genius, man.” Another noted, “I had to take a double-look if she was wearing our team gear cause I thought she was going to replace my job.” Now that got me laughing amongst the others.

“Me too!” another (or three?) mechanic shared. “I didn’t even know she’s your girl, Styles. Because I could have sworn you’re a bit of an idiot when it comes to cars so it really didn’t add up to me how’d you get the attention of someone amazing like her.”

“That’s your answer.” I turned to Harry with the brightest gleam in my eyes at all of his team’s - in my opinion - glowing remarks. “Who knew that McLaren's Golden Boy is a manipulator?” I raised a finger on his lips that I knew were about to combat my words. “First, he apparently fooled me to join his daft ass on this race weekend.” I pressed another finger on his lips to continue my point. “And second, he fooled his mechanics that he’s just a bit of an idiot when it comes to cars. The audacity.”

I don’t remember the exact moment I learned to look into his eyes and be able to tell what he’s about to do. That’s why I have no idea how I perfectly escaped his big paws holding my hips that were about to attack me with tickles. I was screaming in laughter as I ran out of the garage with Harry. The absolute idiot began to chase after me whilst all of the McLaren staff laughed and recorded the entire thing.

“I swear to God, Bunny!” I screeched at his running figure while I found a second of reprieve behind a stack of wheels. “If you come near me with your nasty paws, I will seriously cut them off your arms and you won’t get to operate another steering wheel in your life!”

His melodious laughter is not the reply I was looking for. “And what are you going to do with them? Feed them to literal red bulls?”

Now he’s just coming for my home team. I would have loved to continue this banter he loves to arise in me but the only thing I could do was to flip him the bird using both my hands like I’ve wanted to do earlier as he began to chase me around the pitlane again. I was honestly losing my breath and was about to concede defeat when the next second I looked back to see how far Harry was from reaching me, it was in perfect time to watch the most monumental scene unfold before me.

A running mad racer named Harry Styles, just successfully ran over my ultimate F1 idol who was on his way out of his own Red Bull garage. Niall Horan, with his pristinely coiffed blonde hair, didn’t even bat an eye when Harry pretty much tackled him on the ground in the hopes of stopping himself from actually running over and injuring his Irish friend.

It must be some normal occurrence in the pitlanes because no one even offered them a hand. And as I approached them, the two didn’t even mind hugging and scuffling each other on the dirty floors like that. I couldn’t help but giggle at their adorable flushed and laughing faces which shifted their attention towards my standing figure before them.

“Bunny, if I knew the real reason why you don’t want me to meet the only driver I’ve ever devoted my life supporting is because you’ve already called dibs on him, you could have just told me and I wouldn’t have taken offense.”

My joke must have caught them off-guard for a second. But Harry’s loud and pained groan that developed into uncontrollable laughter coupled with Niall’s hysterical cackles, made me preen like it was the greatest kind of compliment. As much as I’ve fully converted to a full Harry girly outside (and inside, but don’t tell the narcissistic twat) of racing, my Niall Horan girlie side will never be forgotten.

With laughter still vibrating from their fireproofs-clad chests, I watched in total high spirits as the two idiots helped each other from the floor. It took them a grand amount of five tries before their infectious laughter had stopped dragging them down the floor. My own giggles however, did not seem to want to be contained as I looked at Harry standing in front of me with Niall hiding behind his much taller frame, with the Irish’s arms wrapped around his middle. If they weren’t wearing their fireproofs with the arms of their race suits dangling by their legs, I would honestly coo at the classic prom-like pose they showed me.

“I knew it was about time someone would catch our relationship,” Niall told Harry but his mirthful gaze was trained at me. “I knew the love in our eyes was simply irresistible to miss, my English Tea.”

“Hush now, my Irish Beer.” I watched as Harry’s arms tightened around Niall’s hold on his middle, the two of them staring at my reaction. “I wouldn’t want Mitch to hear about our burning love for each other. You know how that Caffè Americano can be.”

“Don’t you worry about that Caffè Americano,” there was nothing soothing at Niall’s tone that was filled instead with playful deceit. “He won’t hear a single thing about our sizzling, passionate love affair.” The Irish took it up a notch and nuzzled Harry’s earlobe, the latter’s resulting adorable tickled giggles brought flashbacks of last night when I did the same at Harry’s small ears when we shared a tight embrace under the tangerine sunset of my nonna’s backyard.

But unlike me - who nuzzled Harry’s ear a couple more times just to hear his absolutely precious little happy noises like my true Bunny that he is - Niall didn’t see the same appeal. “I’ll get my Yorkshire Tea teammate to distract Caffè Americano so I’ll have you all to myself, my steaming cup of yummy goodness English Tea!”

If he was anyone other than Niall Horan, I would have been long gone in this apparent conversation exclusive only for rich dolts. Unfortunately, the blonde one had me hooked ever since I first saw him perform the Irish Jig on his maiden win in Monza.

“Should I be concerned that Formula 1 drivers apparently use beverages as endearments?” I leveled Niall’s curved brow of intrigue. “Though I do commend you for choosing English Tea for him. I do suppose it sounds ways lovelier than the measly ‘Bunny’ that I call him.”

It honestly surprised me when Niall’s jaw dropped in equal amounts of shock and began jumping up and down while shaking the hell out of a disturbed McLaren driver. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Niall screamed in delight. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought Styles is a bunny personified! Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not the insane one, you shitheads!”

And then Niall proceeds to counter his statements by insanely bunny hopping all exaggeratedly towards my direction. “I’m Niall Horan, by the way.” He introduced himself as if I didn’t have the best seat in the house watching Harry and him interact earlier with their stares situated at me the entire time. “I want to know the name of the magnificent woman who had proven to everyone here in the pitlane that I’m not some loco who thought my English Tea looked like a bunny.” And then he winked at me.

Niall Horan in all his Irish glory just winked at me…I think I short circuited cause the next second I regained consciousness, Harry joined the conversation. I’m not sure what I missed but Harry’s broody expression pointed at his friend and the way he made a show of curving his firm arm around my waist, must indicate something pretty unpleasant. His tone didn’t help either in dispelling my theory, “Her name is Sophia, and you’ve just used your one and only compliment penny for her.”

Despite being the one introduced, none of the two racers’ attention were directed at me. I’m literally in the middle of a stand-off that I don’t understand the beginnings of. Honestly, F1 drivers are bloody weird. One minute they were laughing together acting as lovers with me as the third wheel, and now I’m the spread to a testosterone filled sandwich.

“Who would have thought,” Niall displayed the mightiest smirk at Harry, “that the first and only time I see my young boy Styles find a person, she would be a Red Bull girl.”

Why wasn’t I surprised that the news about me being a Red Bull apologist had flown so quickly around the paddock? What’s more amusing is that the man curled beside me seemed to continue to act on my behalf as he genuinely looked shocked at Niall’s words. “How in the bloody world did you know about that? Who’s the traitor I have to give a very stern telling to?”

I couldn’t help but snort unattractively at Harry’s serious expression, especially when Niall only rolled his eyes at Harry’s obliviousness. “You really should learn to use the group chat, gramps.” If I failed to cover my mouth when another snort came out, only Harry’s narrowed eyes and Niall’s own snort would bear witness to it.

“It was Grimmy, wasn’t it?” I could even answer that question for Harry using bold and capital letters spelling Y-E-S. But before I could enlighten my confused Bunny, Niall’s loud tone made it absolutely impossible to utter anything before him.

“Styles, we have all the time in the world to talk about your teammate and the efficiency of all the old-man dance grooves you taught him, because clearly,” Niall whistled, blatantly checking me out in my white sundress, “your gramps pulling moves are fucking working well! Look at the beauty you’ve hooked.”

Niall’s kind smile towards me showcased that he was doing everything good naturedly and wasn’t being a nasty creep. But Harry, bless him, only tightened his hold around me like a protective alpha male. “Hey! Eyes on me, Horan.” He barked with no real bite because he’s a true bunny like Niall and I proved. “And I already told you, you’re out of compliment pennies for Soph.”

“How can I not compliment Sophia when you literally picked the best girl in all of Italy, and not just because of her looks,” His exaggerated wink towards my direction and Harry’s resulting groan made me giggle without abandon. “But also, and mainly fucking cause, you chose to date a Niall Horan girlie.” He smiles proudly at the two of us. “I don’t think anything tops that for me, mate. Fuck! It feels like I’ve won my iconic Monaco Grand Prix all over again!”

And because he’s apparently bursting at the seams, gleeful for Harry and I’s meeting, Niall wordlessly pulled all three of us in a hug while slobbering our cheeks with affectionate kisses. If I thought Niall Horan was chaotic on my television screen, then certainly nothing prepared me for the real deal in person.

I didn’t even short circuit this time because I’ve officially confirmed that the man is too crazy for me, like we can’t work as lovers because there’s no way I can keep up with his lively energy. I’m sorry my teenage self, but it looks like we’re sticking to the dimpled, angel curls, adorable bunny hopping Golden Boy driver, and let’s just look past the eye-burning orange team gear.

“Okay, okay, Ni, stop!” I felt for Harry’s pleas that were drowned by all our laughter and Niall’s persistent golden retriever slobbers. “Stop putting your saliva on me and my girl, man. This isn’t cool for my image that I let you shower me with this much affection!”

Harry’s words lacked the threat he was trying to imply, but it somehow made Niall’s movements stop like the unpredictable man that he was. With one last deep kiss on our cheeks and a hearty squeeze of our shoulders, Niall finally left us to have some personal space to breathe in.

“He’s a needy one.” Niall cocked a brow at me in warning, “Don’t know if you’re ready to have a bunny running after you everywhere you go for 24/7, Soph.”

Since when did Niall Horan care for my well-being? And since when did I find myself having the natural ease to fuel his teasing towards Harry? What is my life?

“Thanks for the warning,” I nodded at Niall’s cheeky smile, looking all coy and nonchalant. “But I think I have a bigger problem than just a bunny following me around all day long. Did you know that your friend here is more like a wolf when needing attention? I swear his humongous size and meaty paws almost smothered me with too much affection when he hauled me for a cuddle. I thought he was beyond needy, to be honest with you.”

Right there in that moment, I could actually bet my entire yellow handbag collection that Harry Styles’ fellow driver friends absolutely adore to tease every little bit about him. When Niall all but catapulted his springy self towards my direction once more, pulling my arms to jump up and down with him like two teenage-girls squealing about their crushes, I completely become at peace in my new found reality that Niall Horan is meant to fill that best friend role in my life.

“Oh my god yes!” Niall punched the air as he finally put a halt to our jump, heavy arm sliding its way on my shoulders in a friendly embrace. “Grimmy wasn’t fucking around. You are the shit for our boy Styles here.” He was definitely complimenting me in some way, but I couldn’t exactly register anything too coherent when I’m trying to catch my breath from all that activity. Jesus, how could anyone keep up with this guy?

“I know she’s the shit for me,” That’s the only time my attention shifted back to Harry who I thought would be pouting at our antics. But instead, he was regarding Niall and I with a fond expression, like he was really fascinated with what he was seeing. Or maybe he was just able to read my eyes that I’ve officially crossed-off any chances of being Mrs. Horan and he’s just trying not to gloat at that new truth. I won’t put that theory past him, since the amount of times we’re able to understand each other with just one look is honestly getting a little concerning.

“Don’t ruin my parade, Styles.” Niall brushed-off, patting my shoulder. “Just be happy that I found a new friend and a new member to the grid’s Harry Styles Fan Club.”

“Naturally I’m very happy for you,” Harry’s tone was coated with thick sarcasm; it was impossible not to smile at it. “I wouldn’t dare doubt the evil things you and Nick are able to plot in that specific fan club, and I’m seriously going to be concerned for my remaining bits of dignity now that you have my Sunflower to join the mix. Now can you please return her to me?”

“Nope.” Niall shook his head casually, “She’s coming with me to the fan event. I like her far too much to let you monopolize all her time.”

“Of course you have to fucking like her too much!” Harry raised his hands in deafening exclamation, nothing in his tone nor beaming face displayed any ounce of exasperation as his words would suggest. He looks pretty damn happy to be honest, and I can’t help to start feeling the same when his green gems turned softer.

“Because of course the one and only time I find the person I was meant for, everyone steals her from me because they bloody like her too. It’s so easy.” He laughed like he couldn’t believe how lucky he is for having that. “Everything about this is so effortless because she’s really my person.”

I didn’t even care about anything after that. His admission made me outwardly swoon like an absolute lovestruck heroine in a heart-palpitating romance read. I’m pink like a fluff of cotton candy all over my white sundress. Though nothing beats the fair Irish beside me, whose hands are gripped on my arm for life support. Niall’s red as a tomato, moony eyes sparkled in mine in pure awe.

“I think my boy just got hit by an F1 car and all the g-forces propelled him to fall straight and hard for you.”

I don’t even have to verbally agree with Niall's perfect explanation. With eyes peering beneath my heavy lashes, my cobalt blue meets Golden Boy’s emerald gems. Just that one look, Harry knows. He can see it in my actions, gathered directly at the center of my irises.

I also got hit by an F1 car, all g-forces hurled me straight right to him pretty fucking hard. And you know what’s the best part of all this crashing tragedy?

We both did it with open arms.

🐇🐇🐇

In all honesty, I knew since the very start when I invited Sophia for the Imola race weekend that she wouldn’t abandon me regardless if she’s a Red Bull fan or that she can’t stand the color of my team. She’s just a truly kind and faithful sweet girl, all wrapped in a stunning little white sundress.

I also knew that every single one of my team and friends would absolutely adore her, especially when they got hit by the blaring fact that she doesn’t care about my career status and all the fame and here-say social etiquette that should follow that. Sophia acts around me without any pretenses or favoritism, just the way I’d accept it.

I guess the only thing I didn’t expect is the degree of liking my friends would garner towards her. I wasn’t sure if they’d interact with her with a little more caution and intrigue because she’s the first ever girl I’ve brought to the paddock aside from my family members. But looking back at the exchanges in my motorhome with Grimmy and Lambert, at my garage with all my engineers and mechanics, the whole bizarre interaction with Niall, and don’t even get me started on the fan event.

The fan event outside the paddock is apparently where Niall was heading to before my clumsy ass tumbled to him. And since I’d already taken his time and I just couldn’t begin to imagine not seeing anymore the spring in Sophia’s steps while talking to Niall, I let the two of them get to know each other as we all walked to the fan event where I was to join with all the drivers as well. Now I don’t know how it exactly began, but while waiting for the actual fan event to start, the backstage waiting room had turned to my Sunflower’s fan event.

Every single one of my peers at the current grid was flocked around the couch where we were sitting. The entire time that I secured her hand on my lap, Niall was sitting on her other side asking her about the different types of tea he should drink because somewhere along the thirty minutes they knew each other, Sophia has somehow convinced Niall to start drinking tea that can cool down his rabid personality. And then because we're talking about his favorite drink on the planet, Louis Tomlinson, the other Red Bull driver, materializes in front of Sophia. They hit it straight-off like I could even be surprised anymore. They started conversing about local Italian boutiques because he plans to shop for his plethora of little sisters.

Speaking of sisters, my other close Mercedes driver friend, Jeff Azoff, joins in the exchange together with Liam Payne, my other friend from the same team because they happen to have sisters of their own. Again, I don’t know what took place, but from talking about Italian boutiques, it led to her opinions on the dating scene in Italy which brought the attention of Grimmy on the circle with us because he’s a self-proclaimed serial dater.

In a blink of an eye, everyone was caught in the brightly burning orbit that my Sunflower possessed. It didn’t help that her automobiles and anything related to F1 knowledge was better than superb, because it finally pulled the attention of the reserved and observant, Mitch Rowland. Right when that finally happened, I knew I was completely obliterated.

All my closest friends in the world revere my soulmate. I think my mum and sister would 140% kill me for not introducing my person to them first. I’m not worried about their take on Sophia because I know they’d love her just as much as my friends. I’m more worried about being ignored by the ladies of my life when the inevitable time of the three of them to meet takes place. And with the combined mouths of Nick and Niall that never shut up, I won’t be surprised if I get a call tonight from Gem and Mum demanding me to fly Sophia to London straightaway for dinner.

“I can’t believe you’ve got Mitch’s approval in the first interaction you shared with him.” I shook my head in unmoving disbelief at Sophia who’s watching me do my last-minute prep in the garage before I step into the car for Qualifying.

“What can I say?” she shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal. “My charm does attract the mysterious ones.”

She deserved the snort I let out. “Don’t let that quiet man fool you. He’s not mysterious, Sunflower. Mitch is just very protective of me because he was my first teammate ever in Formula 1. Which is pretty much the foundation of our unbreakable friendship.”

“And what about that then? Did he think I’d try to be the one to break that strong friendship because you’re suddenly enamored by me?”

I don’t comment on her last statement because I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I did regard her with a contemplative expression. “Actually, you happen to be the first person I’d brought with me on any of my races aside from my family. So, who’s to say what he thought? Let's test your theory when I bring another person to the next race.”

I got the reaction I wanted. Sophia’s body straightened, hands closing into tight fists as it rested on her sides, chin held high ready for battle, and the pièce de résistance: her cool sapphire pools turned ablaze like the blue sky being completely washed by our favorite burning sunset.

“Oh? There are plans to bring another person next week?”

It should be quite concerning how I started to feel the beginnings of the adrenaline high that I crave every time I start to rile her up. “It isn't particularly set in stone yet. Like, I think it depends if you also happen to charm me with some luck this weekend if I invite another person or not.”

Sophia scoffed, hands coming to her hips as I casually began to put my gloves on. “I already told you I will not be your lucky charm.”

“And why is that again?”

To emphasize her incoming point, she moved directly to stand before me with her head raised as if I didn't find our height difference extremely adorable and not intimidating. “Because you’re the enemy, Bunny.”

I smirked at Sophia’s tenacity to maintain this act when I wordlessly know that she’s a full Harry Styles girlie inside and out now. I propelled myself to sit on the side counters of my garage, arms collecting Sophia to stand between my parted legs where I caged her presence in.

“I’m no longer the enemy, Sunflower.” I traced a confident circle at the bottom part of her thumb as Sophia continued to sneer at me.

“Your name on my phone is literally Styles, McLaren enemy and that hasn’t changed since the last time I checked.”

Alright, I didn’t expect that. I’m actually amusedly impressed at her creativity. “Are you for real?”

Instead of replying an affirmative yes or no, Sophia just hummed a soft noise that sounded like an affirmative one to my question, with her attention now drifting to my race gear. The way her dainty hands mindlessly began fixing the zip and collar strap of my race suit, made sure my gloves were fitted well, and even fetched my balaclava mask for me, it all points in the other direction. No person caringly and attentively dotes on their enemy the same way that she did.

“What do I have to do to get that unlawful title changed then?” I allowed her to help me put my balaclava mask on because I don’t have the heart to break her cute, mother hen-like concentrated face.

“For someone who I’m not even sure should keep driving, you’re taking a lot of risks promising me a Q3 and now the eagerness to change your very much lawful title on my phone.”

I stopped her methodological hands from reaching for my signature neon green helmet, intercepting both her hands to rest on my calmly beating chest. “I’m a ‘high risks, high rewards’ type of man, if you already couldn’t tell by my profession. Name the price, Sunflower, and I’d try my hardest to accomplish it. I’ll give it my full throttle effort.”

Since it was only my eyes she could perfectly see, there was no other way she could have looked at any other part of my face and spared me with that electrifying look. “Win me a race tomorrow. P1 on the podium and nothing less.”

Sophia’s request wasn’t a surprise in any means. Any guy would want to win the girl they fancy - and I more than fancy this woman if you can’t tell already - a Formula 1 race. But I guess I just found it funny because we’ve already talked extensively about my current shitty carrot car, and how I was certain I already made peace of not being in any podium this season as long as we score points for the Constructions. P3 already seems such a stretch from where I’m currently standing, getting her a P1 is like asking my sister to go on a date with Niall, which is so impossible because I don’t trust my sister with any of the twats here.

And that’s still the way I feel as I rolled my eyes with a silly laugh, allowing Sophia to lead me by the hand towards my car when we both heard the signal for me to head inside it. “I know I said I’d try full-throttle, but we both know my current car doesn’t even seem to have a throttle to begin with. I think I really need some lucky charm to not be your enemy anymore.”

I squeezed our clasped hands tightly before I was ushered to enter the car. Without the halo being attached to the vehicle yet, Sophia was able to help me put on my helmet that I didn’t even notice I still lacked.

“Bunny, you don’t need a lucky charm.” Sophia expertly began strapping me in my seat like she does this every weekend.

“Why’s that?” I ask beneath my helmet just for her to hear, absolutely mesmerized by her precise and keen attention towards my safety.

“Because you also have a bright orange heart on your name in my phone. No one else is lucky enough to get that. I don’t think you need to look for any more luck than what you naturally already have.”

And then her face closed towards the top of my helmet where I felt her kiss the H.S imprinted on the protective gear. My eyes even closed shut like I really felt the softness of her lips on my own warm skin. The last thing I clearly saw was the wonder dancing all around my Sunflower’s big ocean blues.

“Keep driving, Golden Boy.” and she shut my visor for me, her words the only true thing penetrating my being as I took the signal from my team and drove to the starting grid.

Obviously, it was impossible that Sophia’s words were the only ones I kept on me because I did still have a Q3 to give her. A tough endeavor that requires a lot of serious attention to my driving skills, communication skills with my engineer, and channeling my focus into tapping my natural talent into maneuvering my orange vehicle. Nonetheless, her words are what I repeated mentally as a mantra every time I saw the opportunity to overtake the other much faster cars around me. I used Sophia’s words as a confidence boost when I got the chance to overtake Jeff at the DRS zone in turn nine, and I did the same when I blocked the overtake Grimmy tried to pull on me in the straights.

There might have been a point near the few remaining laps where I screeched out loud Sophia’s words in absolute shock at Louis’ car suddenly spinning an alarming 360 degrees before hitting the gravel and sliding past the track limits in less than three seconds right in front of me. I’m pretty red at the face just thinking about Sophia hearing my outburst at the comms, not giving a damn what my engineer, team principal, and everyone else watching around the world thought. I was just stuck at the fact that my Sunflower probably now knows how I’m not just a goner for her confident actions, but her words had also absorbed inside me and took great hold of my being.

I was pretty much working on autopilot after that. Passing each curve, straight, hairpin and chicane with all my energy geared towards fulfilling my promise of a Q3 to the person who has embedded a part of herself within me in this drive. That’s all I truly thought about, so much so that I didn’t even realize I already crossed the finish line for my last lap. I wasn’t even coherent enough to count all the times I’ve gone back to the garage for my pit stops and to wait on the gap between Q1 to Q3.

“I believe that’s the end of Q3 for you, mate.” Will’s no-nonsense voice coming from my comms broke my concentrated haze. “And I can confirm that you’re starting at P3 for tomorrow’s race.”

If you didn’t hear my ecstatic scream all the way from where you’re reading this, then you’d also probably missed the way I acted like I won pole position when I parked my car at the P3 stand where the teams and media waited for the top three qualifying drivers.

Niall took pole position as a surprise to no one, but I wholeheartedly embraced the shit out of him when he did tackle me to the floor to show his happiness for my best qualifying result for this season so far. Mitch, who scored the second position, only settled for giving me a tight normal hug without all the eager puppy energy our Irish friend exuded.

Though maybe sometimes I might have given Mitch less credit than what he really deserved, not when the words he whispered at me kept ringing in my ear the entire time we were interviewed and instructed to pose for the cameras.

“Maybe you should only keep driving when your girl is also coming right along with you for the ride.”

Mitch’s words and his casual tone took the forefront of my mind the entire time I got weighed by the FIA officials, and even as I reached the post-quali interview in the media pen. It still remained that way when I did media bits for the McLaren social media accounts to react to today's amazing session. It even followed me all the way to my walk to the garage, as it still held center stage of my attention as all my bosses and team staff embraced me and exclaimed their glee for today’s stellar performance for the entire McLaren team.

So maybe my preoccupied mind could be a justifiable reason why I almost dropped to my knees when I entered my driver’s room, completely forgetting about the fact I instructed Sophia right before qualifying prep began that she should wait for me in my room after the race. I had to physically catch my bearings as I held on to the sides of the door while I looked at a glowing Sophia sitting on my little massage table.

“Sunflower, you’re here.” It’s probably not the best thing to say, especially if you also count my lack of breath and the dazed manner I said it. But considering it’s the first few words I've uttered under full consciousness of my full thoughts, I give myself a pat on the back for A+ effort.

“I’m here, yeah.” Sophia’s face was etched with confusion, head tilting at my still out of breath form. “Bunny, where else would I be?”

And wasn’t just that the most fitting words she could have said in that exact, precise moment where it all came hitting me full force in all directions like a total stunner of a strike in a round of bowling. I must have also looked like I'd been hit by lightning outwardly because the way Sophia sprang from her seat when I began approaching her at the speed of light, showed every bit of concern her eyes couldn't contain on their own.

“Are you okay, Bunny? Is something the matter?” I wanted to instantly erase the apprehension in her voice, not when I felt like I was seconds away from bursting at the seams at how alive she made me feel being here with me. It’s not fair I can’t give her the same thrill like she did when she came along on the ride with me like Mitch had pointed out so offhandedly.

“I’m okay, Sunflower. Nothing to worry about, baby.” I cradled both her full cheeks on my palms, the skin-to-skin contact sent direct trembles from my fingertips all the way down to my tippy toes.

“Are you really?” The furrow on Sophia’s forehead didn’t soothe one bit, “then why are your hands shaking then?” I didn’t even notice that they were, not until she pointed it out and steadied them with a grounding hold on both my wrists.

To be honest, there’s no going around the truth that my hands were simply vibrating to life because I feel fueled-up, like I’m ready to go for another lap on the track just having my Sunflower’s delicate face on my hands. It’s quite terrifying how much I feel right now.

“I’m just so happy that you’re here, Sunflower.” I didn’t know if I was sounding repetitive but it’s what rolled off my tongue so effortlessly. “That you’re here with me in this ride, you were there with me in that ride for quali earlier.”

“Okay, I’m really lost right now.” Sophia confessed, “You seem fine to me so I’m not worried about you being dehydrated or anything like that. But I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Bunny.”

Her confusion doesn’t deter me from rubbing soft circles on the apples of her cheeks, “I’m just trying to say, albeit quite poorly because of all the avalanche of emotions you somehow release from me, that you’re right.”

“I’m usually right about 99.9% of the time,” give it to this girl to make me laugh unattractively when I’m trying to be vulnerable and bear my feelings to her. “You have to be more specific than that.”

“It’s about me not needing you as my lucky charm, just like you’ve said before I headed for the track. I’ve realized why you’re correct.”

From where I was looking down at her with my head slightly bent so she didn’t have to strain her neck to see my face head-on, I could see the path of her gorgeous ocean blues that observed every move of my face just like I did hers unabashedly.

“So why was I correct?” She whispered, my forehead dropping to hers while I felt the room begin to blur. My eyes only retain focus on the enigma that is my Sunflower before me.

With both our eyes closing at the exact moment, noses touching in a gentle Eskimo kiss, it was the first time I ever felt alive in the silence of the room. “Because all you had to do was use your genuine words with me and I felt your presence the entire time I was in my car, living and breathing my passion in that race track.”

I hear and feel the way Sophia’s breath hitched at my words, a catalyst for finding the adequate words to say. “I didn’t need to keep you in my pocket like some tangible lucky charm, because what you say impacts me just as much as what you do for me. And you do a lot for me, my Sunflower. You don’t even know the extent of how everything about you has a chokehold on my soul right now.”

“I was thinking about you, you know?” I felt the ghost of her admission near my smiling lips. “The entire time you were out there. I couldn’t think of anything else other than wanting you to prove me wrong.”

“I bet that would have been a really tough pill to swallow because you’re 99.9% right most of the time, naturally.”

Sophia giggled because I’m a fool who’s not brave enough like her in accepting the weighted words that I just know are coming. My Sunflower matches my confidence level just as much as the strength of my solidarity. If I pour my heart out, she’ll follow directly after my footsteps because she wants to be there with me on the same page, on the exact story, at all times.

“Naturally, I knew deep down there was no way I could keep you out of my mind, no less my entire bloody system. Not when I began rooting for another team because of you, and not when I challenged you yet wanted to be proven wrong. Because out of every single person present here and not, I don’t think anyone wanted to see you this fucking badly in Q3 than me.”

As if our minds collided to share the same thought, our eyes opened at the exact same second. What’s worse? The corner of my lips rose just as much as Sophia’s did like utter telepathy shit. “I felt you with me, Sunflower. I really did. That entire race all I could concentrate on was your words engraved on my soul.”

“That’s why you said it in the comms.” Sophia’s gems are not gleaming in smugness at the realization, it’s shining more content than anything.

“I wish I could play it all suave that it’s just the natural talent in me talking when I drive, but I’m not that much of an idiot who’d disregard something that held this much gravity on my racecraft and overall sanity.”

Sophia bopped her nose with mine in a giggle, “You’re just an idiot for falling on my pointless challenges when we all know dimple-weakness syndrome runs in my family.”

My mum never told me that accompanying the person who makes you feel alive in the silent of times, is the magical ability for them to turn the solitude moments of vigor into something serenely calm. Because as Sophia and I exchanged a laugh, our heads thrown back and arms wrapped contently around each other, I felt absolutely tranquil and still; like I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else other than the beam of her glowing sun rays.

But as much as the idea of a Q3 celebration is thrown at the window in favor of spending all my time with this girl, I had to catch a post-quali debriefing with the team like my career requires. It didn’t take long for Lambert to be the sacrificial lamb - he said it himself in faux nausea - to be the one to break our connection. Meaning, he literally had to peel me off Sophia's body because I couldn’t possibly care about my bloody racing career when I had every single thing I wanted collected in my arms already.

Then of course, my Sunflower had to be the perfect sunshine that she is, one who actually gave a damn about my source of income, and promised a surprise treat for me after I went to my meeting. And like a lovesick man hooked on being the source of the sparkle in her energy, I succumbed to Lambert’s intervention after I made sure to leave a lasting kiss on Sophia’s forehead.

I’m unsure if she felt that lasting effects as much as I did the imprint of her soft skin on my lips, which was at the periphery of my mind the entire quali debriefing. Thankfully I was spurred on by Sophia’s mysterious treat for me, that I used it as an incentive to actually pay attention to the important words and information coming from my team.

It must really say something about my love for my craft despite this season’s unlikely vehicle because soon enough, I lost track of time talking with the engineers and race data analysts about what could be further improved on the car’s pace, speed, traction, and grip for tomorrow’s main event. I do the same majority of the weekends every year, and yet it still surprises me the same amount when I emerge from that meeting knowing deep in my gut, I’d love to converse about that carrot of car all over again.

But that can wait for tomorrow’s meeting as I still had a surprise treat waiting for me. Sophia never really informed me of her plans before we parted ways, though one look at the railings that separated the pitlane from the track, I could perfectly see her yellow handbag sitting on one of the chairs in the grandstand. It’s the same bright one from the day we first met, and honestly, the audacity of Sophia to complain about McLaren’s signature bright orange aesthetic when she’s there sitting all pretty in the grandstand waving her equally eye-sore of a bag to catch my attention - as if she didn’t have that already since the morning when we walked inside the paddock.

I made quick work of jogging to reach the other side of the track, channeling my inner bunny energy as I hopped the stairs of the grandstand two at a time. “Sunflower, what are you doing here? You’re bloody late for the race if you were planning to catch my orange carrot to zoom past in front of you.”

Sophia just shook her head at my words, standing up from her seat to grab my arms and lead me to the chair she was previously waiting on. Without saying anything, she gently pushed my chest to sit on the chair, “Stop being a twat. I’m here bearing treats as promised.”

She then shoved a packet of something towards my face before taking the seat right beside mine. Thank fuck I have the reaction time of an F1 driver or else journalists would most definitely question me tomorrow on who caused the black eye I would have been sporting.

“Are you sure you’re also not a fan of baseball? Because that throw was almost MLB worthy.”

By that point, the roll of Sophia’s eyes didn’t do harm as much as it did something pleasant to my nerve endings. “If I were a fan of baseball, I’d have thrown something less appetizing on your annoying mug.”

“Harsh.” I pointed out with a hand on my chest for my flair of dramatics. “But I’d let this threat of body harm pass, Sunflower, because you bought me some,” I looked at the cold package that she threw at me. “Some delicious Magnum ice cream. Thank you, baby.”

Naturally, I had to show my utmost gratitude at her thoughtfulness through closing the gap between our seats and kissing both her blushing cheeks. “You’re welcome, Bunny. Now start munching before I bite and take that away from you.”

I didn’t disagree with her words as we both opened our own packets to start munching. Sophia might have given me the highest honors of taking the first bite of the heavenly brownies from last night’s dinner at Angie’s, however she did not refrain from actually nipping my finger when I tried taking the last bite as well. My Sunflower is apparently quite notorious when it comes to dessert eating proceedings: I can’t take the last bite if I already did the first or else, I’ll go on dessert exile the next time I join them for dinner.

“So, what’s the plan?” I turned to Sophia while eating my ice cream after a good amount of comfortable silence surrounded us. She shrugged, sitting more comfortably on her chair.

“I didn’t really have a definite plan aside from getting you a sweet treat. I was actually supposed to get you some ice lollies cause you were looking for some during your post-race interview. But sadly, it looks like the entire population of Imola also had the same thought and all ice lollies were out. I had to settle with some trusty Magnum.”

“I was looking for ice lollies during my post-race interview?”

Sophia met my confused stare with her amused one. “Yeah. Your curls were all sweaty yet adorably messy, and your flushed face was blabbering about the scorching heat and how you can’t believe the FIA has budget for hosting galas and yet not even a penny was spent on providing ice lollies as refreshment for their drivers.”

That did sound like my carefree (and little diva, but no one’s really asking) self so I giggled along with Sophia, “I honestly don’t remember saying that, but good for my subconscious self who stood-up for my fellow drivers and I’s rights on proper post-race amenities.”

“Which are of course ice lollies - and you specifically emphasized that it only had to be strawberry, kiwi, and watermelon flavored.”

“Well of course!” I clapped at my genius subconscious self for being quite alert. “Only the best flavors for the best 20 drivers in the world.”

I smirked at Sophia’s heavy snicker. “For someone who’s so sure of his driving abilities right now, it doesn’t shadow the fact you’re as forgetful as my nonno.”

“I’d take that as a compliment if the reason your nonno is being forgetful is also because of the magnetism of Angie.”

‘What’s my nonna have to do with this?” She raised a brow in question, “and I suggest you don’t call Angie that in person or else I’d surely have to exert all my efforts in retracting her from you.”

If she only knew how I was absolutely threatened by her nonna’s deathly stares with just my thought of letting go of Sophia’s hand. “All I’m saying is you’ve had me preoccupied the entire time I was doing every post-race activity earlier. When I said that you came along for the ride with me, you really did some serious damage to my heart, mind, my entire bloody being, Sunflower. You’ve got me all dropping to my knees just thinking about you.”

I guess I should have known that Sophia’s faux wrenching at my admission meant she also has a daily limit to her sappy in-take. “Bunny, stop being sappy, per I’amor di dio. I’ve already reached my daily dosage of your kind words.”

I would have probably taken offense and proven to her that she deserved more than what I could physically give and tell her. Yet Sophia’s honestly seized my breath away. There’s no denying that the serene smile of utter contentment she directed towards my way, had left me no choice but to shut my noisy mouth and just bask in her glimmering happiness.

I might have continued to stare at her infectious energy for more than a second straight, because I don’t blame the way she flushed all the way to her ears as she cupped my jaw to turn it to the side herself. “Bunny, stop looking at me.” Sophia giggled, “Oh look! Let’s just watch the sunset like the first time at the beach.”

Any mention of that fateful day will always get my attention on the highest degree it can possibly reach. Who wouldn’t want to experience again the first time they felt the axis of their world shift upon realizing they’re one of the lucky ones who gets to meet and experience life with their soulmate?

I’m a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic who sneaks off to binge-watch Gossip Girl just to catch all the Blair and Chuck scenes instead of doing my homework, like that of watching all the official clips of previous races James personally compiled to review for me. So it fits my character mold when I tapped my lap to really recreate that afternoon’s premiere sunset.

“What? Why are you doing that?” Sophia motioned for my continuously tapping palms on my lap. Instead of verbally replying, I put my entire trust on our unbending telepathy. It clicked for her the exact moment I finished my serving of Magnum.

“Oh, sorry. But I’m not doing that.” Sophia glanced at my lap in disgust, like she didn’t name it her rightful throne already. I did not have a problem pouting at her.

“Why not?” I tried my hardest not to fall for the crinkles on the side of her eyes in full playfulness at my needy attitude.

“I’m not sitting on your lap, Bunny!”

“Well why not, Sunflower?”

“Because I spent the entire time finding the best seat in the grandstand that has the prime view of the sunset! I literally tried every seat just to make that possible, and now you want me to sit on your lap and throw away all my hard work?”

Just the image of Sophia sitting her cute little bum on every seat here because she’s an actual adorable tiny flower who gives a care for the best seat to watch the sunset, had me cheesing a disgusting amount. However, there was one single fact that shone brighter than others. “I thought you said you didn’t have any set plans.”

There’s no mistaken that I had caught her red-handed. “Huh? I don’t have any set plans, that’s correct.” Actually, what isn’t correct was the look of innocence she tried to pair with her guilty eyes.

“Are you sure?” I pressed further, the pads of my finger pinched my bottom lip in a contemplative expression. “Because I swear you just implied that the entire time I was in my meeting, you spent yours trying every seat here to find us the perfect one to undergo your splendid plan of watching the Italian sunset with me.”

The way Sophia’s shoulders sagged at my bullseye words, does nothing but to boost my smirk to cover my entire face. Not even when she threw me her infamous glare could have stopped it. “If you think saying that could get me to sit on your lap, then you’re seriously a tosser who knows no better.”

“I didn’t say anything mean, though!” I defended with my arms raised in surrender. “I used the word ‘splendid’ to showcase how I thought about your plans. And who doesn’t love a sunset? Jeez, well I sure am not a tosser for not liking an Italian sunset.”

Sophia decided to ignore my beaming face in favor of facing the sunset with her arms crossing below her chest. “Well, have a splendid time watching the Italian sunset on your own, without me on your lap then.”

Naturally, I couldn’t settle for that. Not when my needy ass is itching on the edge of my seat to get my Sunflower on the place where she truly belongs. And if you haven’t caught the memo yet, I was talking about my lap.

Because I was quite the type of person who found displeasure in a worried Sophia and knew that the telling worked both ways, I decided to prove Niall’s statement correct that I am a needy little bunny who needed more than just attention from the people I adore.

“I couldn’t get you a P1 for quali, so I guess I do deserve this punishment.” I sighed, laying the self-deprecation really thick to start with. I copied her position of facing my front towards the sunset. “I mean, I know I already have a shitty car this season, so I don’t understand why I didn’t push myself harder when I already got the chance of the lifetime to enter Q3. Seriously, am I this awful at racing already? I can't even capitalize on the best quali chance I can get for this entire year. I really should consider the new Formula E team they were telling me about, maybe there I won’t be such a shitty driver and I could possibly get you a pole position like you deser-”

“Shut up.” I was not expecting Sophia to cut my rambling by climbing me like a tree to straddle my lap. It was instinctual to steady her on the hips, but what wasn’t is how she crashed her full lips on mine without a second thought for my crumbling sanity concerning her.

My dainty and bright Sunflower kissed me for the first time. It did not take a dig at my non-toxic masculinity ego compared to the way it did steal my literal breath away. If Sophia thought our first kiss would contain just a hard press of her sweet lips on mine, then she’ll learn pretty quickly I don’t operate like that.

I tugged her closer to my body, one hand coming to rest on the middle of her backside to make sure her short sundress wouldn't flow upwards, while my other hand cupped her chin so her sweet lips wouldn’t leave mine as I kissed her the way I felt natural. Passionate. Wet. Deep. Soul-binding.

Too bad oxygen is still an actual thing in the world you need for survival. Moving a few inches away from her parted lips to let her breathe for a minute, was probably one of the hardest things I had to endure in my entire existence. It was so difficult I couldn’t stop the way my lips gravitated towards her jawline and peppered my kisses there.

“First you tell me you didn’t plan a sunset date with me, and then you decline to sit on my lap. Now that you’re on your throne, you decide you have the power to claim our first kiss from me.”

I captured her tempting lips on my own once more, suckling lightly at her tender bottom lip when the tip of her clever tongue tried to outsmart me. I might have allowed her to take the reins on our first kiss, but I’m not one to get Frenched in an Imola grandstand so easily. Sophia definitely took note of the way I gate-kept her tongue from tangling with mine as she pulled her lips away from me, accompanied by an undeniable groan of annoyance.

“I should have known someone so narcissistic like you won’t ever talk so lowly of yourself,” Sophia muttered those words directly on the moist skin of my lips, every single syllable I breathed like an intoxicated man. “It was all a ploy to get me on your lap. And now you’re being a downright twat not allowing me to get my way with your mouth. With that being said, I think you should just shut up unless you’ve got anything better to do than be annoying.”

She can’t say things like that and not expect to get a reaction from me. And reaction meant succumbing to my inner alpha male who cannot stand being a source of carnal displeasure of his lady. If it meant I grasped her jaw securely and rolled my tongue directly inside her sinful mouth, then I’m officially a goner for this woman’s demands. I’d pretty much allow her to French me in this Imola grandstand or in any other grandstands in all the countries in the race calendar if she wants this to become a new tradition of ours.

With one last deep draw with Sophia’s apparently very cunning tongue, I parted for air. “Who’s not bloody talking now?”

My smug aura did not bode well with the wanton hues burning in Sophia’s ocean blues. Not when she bit her now cherry red, swollen bottom lip from kissing. Especially not when she roughly closed her soft hands on the base of my neck to close the miniscule gap between our charged bodies.

“Bunny, just shut up, will you?”

If shutting up included her full lips encasing my waiting ones, and her nimble tongue pushing and tangling with mine, driving me outside the tracks of my depths for any coherent logic? My Sunflower doesn’t even have to ask twice.

From now on, I will always allow her to get her way with my mouth.

🌻🌻🌻

If someone would have told me about a week ago that I’d be attending the Imola Grand Prix as a VIP guest of one of the current drivers in the grid, I would have told them to scurry away cause their delusional thoughts need some serious help. But since that actually somehow occurred and said driver had actually just finished eating breakfast with my nonna and I before driving me to the paddock with him, I’d guess there are much crazier things that can happen in my lifetime.

I’m just not sure if walking inside the paddock, hand-in-hand with a chirpy McLaren Golden Boy, while wearing an off the shoulder top in their signature orange color, could already be considered as one of the demented ideas I had in my twenty-something years of existence. I’m seriously questioning my life choices when I heard numerous whistles in the paddock with everyone taking notice and adamantly documenting my conversion to the bloody eye-sore orange side.

I tugged at our clasped hands to stop Harry from his leisure walk, he smirked down at my furrowed brows when I rested my chin on his toned biceps to be able to look at his tall frame properly. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Bunny, please bring me back to your car so I can change my outfit.”

My jutted bottom lip didn't do the trick, well at least not the kind of trick I was expecting. But the way he easily bridged the gap between our faces, and captured my lips on his smirking ones for a quick tender peck, is something I’m quickly being absolutely dandy to receive in any circumstance. I don’t even mind the audible jaw dropped expressions of everyone witnessing our intimate exchange. PDA doesn’t faze me, but wearing the team colors of a non-Red Bull team? That actually feels like an ‘open the ground and eat me alive’ type of embarrassment that should not be circulating social media in any way.

“No need for your adorable pout, it’s very tempting, Sunflower.” Harry proved his point through seizing my bottom lip for another soft suckle, “Besides, you look extra adorable in your orange fit. I didn’t even know you could look even more irresistible than before.” He squeezed both my cheeks together like he just couldn’t contain all his feelings for me.

“You have to say that because my nonna’s got you wrapped around her witch-like finger. That traitor.” I shook my head in disgust just thinking back to our breakfast date earlier.

“Oh yeah, Angie was the one to buy you this lovely top,” Harry twirled the ends of the bow that tied the bust of my top. “I loved the fresh orange juice she made earlier, by the way. But I must say, the minute she brought this top for you to wear today, I swear you’re even more delectable in this orange top than any fresh produce.”

I, on the other hand, swear that Harry just gets the time of his life making me blush, “I can’t believe you just compared me to a fruit.”

He bopped his nose with mine in amusement, “And I can’t believe I easily converted nonna Red Bull fan to the positive, and orangey-bright side whi-”

“More like doubtful, and orangey-yuck side.”

“- while you’re here interrupting me instead of being the brave girl you proclaimed to be. Baby,” Harry pinched my chin to angle towards his smiling face. “You know I won’t force you to wear my team colors, but you’re the one who told me you needed this as a slow yet tangible commitment in transitioning to be with McLaren’s Golden Boy.”

What was I even thinking of making such a life-altering commitment like that? I solely blame it on being drunk on my Bunny’s intoxicating kisses, mixed with the high of a breathtaking Imola sunset. Who would have thought the two mixed together would be such a lethal concoction for my faint heart? Just remembering the pride surging through my veins when I watched Harry reach Q3, I knew then that I was at the right garage celebrating with the most hardworking team that I’ve ever been fortunate to meet.

When we resumed our walk to the paddocks heading to the McLaren hospitality, I slowly made peace with my reality that wearing this orange color is the least I could do to support this lovely bunch. And can we really just be honest for a second here? The way Harry looked at me with so much wonder and appreciation as his team cheered at the new colors I was adorned in, is always going to be enough for me to continue doing it again and again in every damn race weekend I’d have the pleasure of joining next.

You guys already know that I have felt right at home in Harry’s garage ever since my first visit from yesterday. That’s why when he was whisked to do all his pre-race duties, I gave no qualms in being left behind in the comfort of his garage. Besides, time moves fast when I’m having fun and being right at my element with vehicles. Conversing and learning from his mechanics and engineers didn’t seem like a task that took hours.

But apparently it did. I was honestly shocked how time got away from me once more as an out of breath Harry physically dragged me away from my conversation with Lambert and Will. Thankfully they didn’t take offense at the racer’s rudeness, shouting ‘good luck’ my way instead, as Harry continued to pull me towards the direction of his driver’s room in the motorhome.

“Just finished the driver’s parade,” Harry quickly pushed the door open to his room, ushering me inside with a hand on the small of my back. “Now I need cuddles before they whisk me away from you.”

After revealing his demands just like that, Harry doesn’t even bother waiting for my response as he flops himself back-first on this bean bag looking couch that wasn’t in his room yesterday. I would know because I stayed in the room after his qualifying, trying to cool down from the burning and tingling sensations I got all over my body after watching Harry Styles drive his car while wearing that form-fitting delectable racesuit of his. But obviously he doesn’t need to know that he affects me in that way too or he might get other ideas instead of cuddling.

I arched a brow at his unbothered manspreading on the bean bag, arms folded behind his head in a lazy fashion. “What’s this about? I believe this piece of furniture wasn’t here yesterday.”

Harry doesn’t even bother on producing an alibi and gets straight to the point. “I asked the team to order one yesterday afternoon before we left, and I personally paid for same day delivery so that we can use it right now.”

I appraised him with a nod of approval, “I appreciate the bluntness and honesty. But I must say, it’s very bold of you to assume that a lady like myself would just accept that answer and follow your demands as if you know what I do and don’t.”

He must have known I wasn’t just easily going to agree with his needy ways. The way he stood up effortlessly from his comfortable sprawled position and stood before me with his head bending downwards to meet my ablaze eyes, tells a lot about his competitive nature in winning me over.

“Sunflower, I’m quite hurt you’d think so little of me after all the time I trusted you to spend in my garage,” He tucks a strand of wayward curls behind my ear because it’s been established that the McLaren driver has a thing for making my cheeks flame. “Only the special ones get to hang out there, and only the most special ones, like you,” he booped my nose with the pad of his index finger, “get to sit inside my precious car.”

“You calling me the most special doesn’t explain the things I’d personally follow along to or not.”

“Actually, my explanation to that is in what you just said,” If he thought I was going to be intimated at the way he stood back from my personal space to be able to stand tall and proud while completely overlooking my smaller form, then he better be ready by the dagger eyes I’d be sending his way.

“You gladly took my hand to help you inside my car because I was the one who initiated it, and you wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t the one who gave you the permission. Similarly, you’d cuddle with me on that bean bag I just bought for you because I asked like a gentleman. You only wouldn’t follow if I didn’t demand otherwise. Now tell me, Sunflower, since when did you start thinking I didn’t know you adore it when I initiate things first and make demands from you?”

Isn’t that always our downfall, fellow women out there? It’s always the confident, demanding, alpha male who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to ask for, that we try to attract and then resist and then ultimately fall head over heels in love with. There’s no denying it’s the exact same Achilles heel I experienced with this needy and smirking man in front of me. And I’m not even confident to say that I despise this downfall because can it really be called that when I feel my panties dampening at his assertive aura alone?

But you know what differentiates me from the others? I don’t view this part of me as a weakness. I perceive it as a source of power that I’m not afraid to admit and welcome the kind of possessive and self-assured man that can consume every part of my being.

I had no problem in my confident facade crumbling before Harry. My shoulders dropped down in surrender as I embraced his innate calming energy. His own expression softened too, bridging the gap between us. Harry seemed to have no qualms of his own as he cradled my full cheeks; another one of his affectionate actions I’m quickly being very familiar with.

“Since you know me so well,” I sighed in complete honesty, “you could have just repeated your demands and I would have cracked the second time around.”

Because I also seemed to fall for the little shits, Harry pinched my smiling cheeks like I’m some adorable kid. “Now where’s the fun in that?” I laughed as he gently pushed my forehead away, tapping my bum when I turned around towards the bean bag. “Now get your little bum there and get comfortable cause I won’t let go of you until I’ve taken all my rightful fills of cuddles for today.”

I situated my yellow handbag at the side of the couch before gracefully sitting myself in the middle of the softest piece of furniture I have ever laid on. Jesus, I almost moaned in bliss feeling like I was resting on a fluffy cloud. The only thing that stopped me from doing so is the sudden appearance of a gloomy cloud that began to shadow Harry’s serene face.

I didn’t like that look one bit. Not when he looked so bubbly and poised just seconds ago. Hence, I tried to make light of the situation. “Even if I’m the McLaren Golden Boy’s girl now, wearing orange with me would only allow you cuddling privileges, and no bum touching, mister.” I solidified my point by moving my index finger from side to side directed at his face.

But it didn’t make Harry explode in that guffawing laughter that has become my favorite sound in the last two days. Instead, he settled with a closed lip smile - without dimples! “I promise to keep my hands to myself then.”

I wanted to shake my head at his wrong response; I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself! I slowly started to be seriously concerned by his sudden change of mood, when my Bunny didn’t eagerly banter back with my clear teasing words.

The furrow in my brows can speak for themselves, and it was easy to spot that Harry recognized my concern too. The way he tried to conceal his murky thoughts did not work in hiding the glint of guilt peeking from his evergreens.

Now I don’t want him to feel guilty about being gloomy around me because whatever emotions he may have will always be valid. I just want to make him feel better and soothe whatever these worries that suddenly came into him. With my arms wide open, I called for my wounded Bunny. “Hey, come here, baby.”

Harry didn’t hesitate in following. He carefully crouched down on the bean bag, slotting himself against my pliable body, long limbs tangling with my shorter ones as he rested the side of his head on the top of my chest. His strong arms took hold around my middle, my own coming up near his head to play with his cherubic curls, while my other hand Harry clutched in his own.

I couldn’t help but coo at the sigh of contentment Harry let out when I began dropping soft kisses on his forehead to soothe the frowns that were forming. “Bunny, I don’t want to force you if you just want to cuddle here silently, but I can tell something’s wrong and I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry nuzzled his nose in the middle of my torso, like he wanted to hide his face from me. I couldn’t let that happen so I freed my hand from his hold to angle his chin to look at me. He let out a whine when I did. “Heyy, give me back your hand, Sunflower. I was holding it to find comfort.”

How could I not feel absolutely enamored by his reasoning? It doesn’t take a genius to know that I allowed him to hold my hand tightly again, and that the growing soft spot in my heart that’s in the shape of him, began filling my eyes with unshed tears.

“Are you hurt, Bunny?” Just asking that felt like needles poking my insides. “Did anyone do something wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” My escalating frazzled tone caused Harry to stiffen in my hold, his eyes locking in mine with a shade of determinedness I’ve never seen directed at me before.

“Whatever’s going on with me, has nothing to do with you, my sweet girl.” He squeezed our clasped hands tightly, bringing it near his lips to litter the back of my hand with light kisses all the way from the tips of my finger. “You don’t need to worry about anything, I’m alright.”

“Then why are you finding comfort in holding my hand?”

The whiny accusation is poorly hidden in my question, though it produced some spark of light in Harry’s gloomy irises. “Why do I like them persistent?” He seemed to ask himself more than me, but I answered anyway.

“Because you’re a stubborn idiot who needs a person that can prove to you that you don’t have to shoulder every worry you have on your own.” I stared at his eyes with the utmost persistence that I can show. “You’re not a lone wolf anymore, Harry.” I moved our entwined hands to tenderly caress his cheek, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re my Bunny now, love. I’m here for you when you’re shining the brightest. But I’m especially always here for you when your troubled thoughts dim your glow. I’m here, Bunny.”

I only hoped my words came across the way I wanted it to, because Harry just closed his eyes, still holding my hand on his cheek without saying anything. Until he did.

“I just remembered I’m starting very near the front row in the grid today,” His eyes remained closed, gorgeous long lashes resting comfortably on the top of his cheekbones. “It’s the best start the entire team has had this season, and it feels like a one in a million chance to achieve again. So that made me start thinking, and then the worries began to pour in all at once making me overthink. If we don’t have a reliable car, then that means all the pressure to drive well will all go down to how I drive later. Which I’m not mad about because I love racing, this is what I was born to do. But, I’m no perfect human. I’m bound to make mistakes every day. I just don’t want those to be in a few minutes from now. I can’t disappoint the entire team because they’ve been working so hard and they more than deserve this win. I can’t fuck this up for them, Sunflower.”

The moment Harry opened his eyes, the depths of his brewing troubled thoughts all surfaced, meeting my intent gaze all at once. If earlier I felt like needles were poking my insides, right now I feel like I’ve fallen down on my knees after my heart had burst at the seams from the overflowing admiration I have for this man’s kind soul.

Because of course he isn’t an encompassing cocky racer who believes they never do wrong to lose. Because surely someone as revered as the McLaren Golden Boy would only care about winning for himself. But no. My Bunny is not that.

My Bunny is the type of man who would snuggle deeper into me, embracing his vulnerable side after being brave enough to realize that he isn’t alone in his own insecurities and anxieties. He's the kind of man who wouldn’t take all the credit for winning; would rather not be called the Golden Boy just to make the people most important to him feel like the golden ones.

I might have let some of those unshed tears run after all. “Harry Styles, you truly are one of the rare ones.”

I’m sure it wasn’t what he was expecting to hear from me, not when it caught him off-guard with a snort. “You can’t use that to describe me. I already refer to you as the rare one in this relationship.”

“But you’re such a darling boy, though.” I let him thumb away my tears because I see the beginnings of my favorite dents on his smiling face. “Can we compromise in agreeing to call each other as rare?”

I knew I sounded ridiculous but it did get me the laugh I wanted from Harry, even if he proceeded to roll his eyes at me. “No can do, Sunflower. Besides, how am I part of the rare league when I’m just like every single regular lad out there who’s insecure of failing people? There’s nothing rare about that.”

There was no way I would allow him to talk badly about himself, not when I’ve already gotten a great progress in returning him to his usual smiley person. I squeezed his cheeks together to look at me directly when Harry tried to hide his face on the side of my neck.

“That still sounds very rare to me, Bunny.” I told him earnestly without a shadow of a doubt. “None of the guys I’ve ever been with have ever confided in me on what made them hurt and worried. You’re a rare darling boy because you found the tenacity to open up to me. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty damn rare thing to do.”

He’s not wrong about calling me persistent earlier, and I recognized the way his eyes mapped my features for him to see that my intentions came from a good place. “Some shitty guys you’ve been with then, huh.”

He phrased it as a statement rather than a question which made me bite my lip because Harry’s smug self - my favorite character of his, but don’t tell! - was slowly coming back to life before my eyes. “Yeah, they were. Clearly unlike you who worries unnecessarily about their team’s reaction when you inevitably make a mistake later on the track.”

Harry’s jaw dropped open, “Wow. I can’t believe you just brought it out to the universe that I’ll make a mistake later. Jesus, I’m really fucked then.” That earned him a tough tug on one of his curls because the drama queen side of his is not really my vibe.

“Bunny, you making a mistake doesn’t equate to you losing in the race.” I clarified, the sincerity in my tone stopped him from trying to make light of the situation. “I’m not here to devalue your worries and fears, okay? Your emotions will always have value to me. I’m here to help you in making sense of them. Because let me tell you, Bunny, every single individual in your team, whether they’re in the garage, in the hospitality, or even those in the factory, will vouch for what I’m about to say.”

I pressed my forehead on Harry’s, wanting him to hear my next words without a single space of misinterpretation. “The last thing anyone in your team wants is to get in the way of your winning performance later because you’re worried about their reactions if things don’t go smoothly. That all you should think about is the present moments and not the ones for later afternoon. It’s pointless to stress about what hasn’t happened yet.” I pecked both his closed lids when I felt his arms around my cuddled body tighten.

“Bunny, my darling boy,” I whispered directly on the soft skin of his temple, sprinkling butterfly kisses on his supple skin. “You only need to believe that you’re going to win. Despite the inevitable hurdles that may happen, and despite your negative thoughts swimming in your head, That’s all you have to do. That’s just what we - your team - is asking from you.”

I thought it was the perfect time to actually verbally announce my new allegiance. And I believe Harry thought so too. The way his pretty eyes opened and peered at me from beneath his wispy lashes spoke of that truth.

“You really believe that?” His tone was soft, mixed with a touch of disbelief and a sprinkle of astoundment.

“Yup.” I nodded my head in full conviction, right hand returning to play with his curls. “I stand true to my words. And quite frankly, everyone else can fuck off if they’d think otherwise.”

Maybe all this time Harry was just waiting for me to cuss out everyone else that didn’t matter. Because the little shit erupted in rambunctious laughter like he wasn’t my wounded Bunny from earlier who came to me to lick and soothe his scrapes. He further proved the positive switch on his demeanor when Harry proceeded to swiftly maneuver our cuddled bodies to switch positions. I yelped as he easily took my place on the bean bag while he carried me, sprawled across his broad chest like I weighed as much as a feather.

“Warn a lady when you manhandle her, please.” I cozied myself on top of him, my face finding solace on the crook of his neck where I decided to nip as punishment for his actions.

It was Harry’s turn to yelp, but the sting couldn’t be so bad when I went ahead to lick his reddened skin afterwards. But obviously, that doesn’t stop the menace from landing a blow on my bum cheek, making me hiss and glare up at him.

“I’m not going to warn you when I manhandle your body to my liking, Sunflower.” Harry’s smirking face is something I shouldn’t find as attractive as I actively do. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I didn’t have it in me to think of a witty retort to counter his; not when I feel relief wash all over my senses at being face to face with my fully confident and smiley darling Bunny. I was scared there for a moment that I wouldn’t be able to see him again in his usual glory that I fell for to begin with.

Without a mirror present in the room, I still knew that my face probably expressed all the overwhelming emotions I felt. Because Harry’s cocky grin that I adore transformed to that of his softer one, like the exact same one he gave my nonna earlier over breakfast when she told him to continue what the hell he was doing because she hadn’t seen me this full of vibrating energy for a while now.

Harry cupped my cheek and slowly led our lips to meet in the middle for a syrupy sweet kiss. “Thank you, Sunflower.” His words imprinted itself all over my tingling lips as he kept giving me tender kisses. “I really needed to hear that. I just didn’t know that I needed to hear it specifically from your angelic mouth.”

I let out a giggle in the middle of our lips meeting, “I just flipped off all the nasty people who don't believe in you. I don’t think that’s pretty angelic.”

“You’re my personal ray of sunshine I never knew I needed. That makes you angelic to me in all regards.” There’s no part of Harry’s tone that could suggest he was only jesting. And there’s no way I could hide from his soulful evergreens that are swimming with potent veracity. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who believed in me so candidly; who can surpass my own confidence in believing that I can have a winning performance.”

“It’s not a ‘can’, Bunny. You will.”

My interruption made the galaxies in his eyes explode in an utter disarray of perfectly imperfect fallen stars. Every single piece of them descending down straight to my beguiled pools as I looked at Harry in a fresher set of eyes.

How was I not able to notice the enigma that this man is before? Why am I only discovering this precious human now?

I don’t have any answers to that. But what I do hold is the one-off chance to make him believe and see the invaluable soul that he has inside of him. One that he only needs to utilize to be able to hinder all the anxieties to cloud his vision. And if that means I have to use both my words and actions, so be it.

I surged forward and kissed Harry with all the force I could give. “Styles, winning performance.”

He looked at me with a dazed expression when we parted from that fervent kiss. But it didn’t take him long to knock his forehead on mine with a manic grin. “Say that again.”

He doesn’t have to ask me at all. “Styles, winning performance.”

“Winning performance.” He repeated my words like he was testing if he liked how it rolled off on his own tongue. I guess he got his verdict when he repeated the same two words with more conviction than our last minutes together, crashing his lips on mine once more like he could actually tangibly take the words straight out of my own tongue.

Too bad that things don’t actually work that way as I made it known quite quickly to Harry.

When he was called to get ready for the race, I pulled at our clasped hands to stop him from walking. I raised his large and capable hand to my lips and drew soft kisses on the tattooed skin. “Winning performance.”

When we reached his garage and he proceeded to put his gloves and balaclava mask on, I intercepted his helmet from his hold to grasp him at the back of the neck so he could bend down and meet my waiting lips. “Winning performance.”

When he was doing last minute conversations about strategies with his race engineer, I tapped the arm that was curved around my waist so I could stand on my tiptoes and whisper directly in his ear, “Winning performance.”

And when he got the clear that I could be the one to strap him in his car just like yesterday, I uttered the same two words with just the same, if not more, amount of confidence I could muster. “Winning performance.”

“Sunflower, winning performance.”

That was Harry’s last parting words to me before I closed his visor for him, not long before he zoomed out from his garage and all of us took our headsets to hear the McLaren boys’ race live.

As the three red lights turned to four and then all out in a second, I felt completely calm watching every single one of those rocket-like vehicles zoom past the tricky turn 1. I felt the stillness radiate in me because I know that my Bunny and I are in that race car together, repeating the same two words in the same assured breath.

That’s honestly the only thing that kept me level-headed the entire duration of the race. Nobody actually tells you that watching a Grand Prix straight from a team garage is 101% more intense and hyperactive than watching it with your mates at home over brunch and free-flowing mimosas. I couldn’t even count the amount of people who have shaken my shoulders in feverish glee when Harry was able to overtake some drivers in several DRS zones. Similarly, I couldn’t tell you how many people I’ve dragged to jump up and down with me in utter heated excitement when Harry set the fastest lap record in the middle of the race.

I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. Not even when the inevitable mistakes came, in the form of going too wide in the chicane, and that random lock-up in two hairpins. I especially appreciated the high-spirited company during those moments. It made my heart warm being a first-hand witness on the positive, encouraging, and ardent emotions Harry’s team has for him, despite what his negative thoughts might have said.

I only hope his worries have subsided while driving, and I think I might be quite right in that regard. Because when Harry came in for his first pit stop, the barely two seconds of changing tires allotted him some time to actually wave at me since I was near the entrance of his garage. I thought he was a crazy little shit for having time for that, and everyone else agreed with me in chaotic laughter. The only thing that didn’t make me worried that he might have lost focus, is the fact that my Bunny must be back in his vibrant self if he was able to easily switch to his usual idiotic character.

I just kept repeating our two words when there were only a few more laps left from the total of 63. How those lads are able to go round and round for 63 times without losing their minds is beyond me. I’ve been at the cusp of blowing up in adrenaline just watching them since the first five laps! Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait that long anymore.

In bated breath, I clutched Lambert’s hand for dear life when the 63rd lap finally commenced. Everyone in the garage is eerily quiet, all eyes focused on the screen which currently has Harry on P3 in the leaderboard. I couldn’t really focus on whatever the hell Will was specifying to Harry on the comms about the last part of their strategy, all I could focus on is the determination that coated his voice on every ‘confirm’ ‘confirm’ that Harry answered with.

I don’t even know how it exactly happened, but one minute all of us in the garage were holding hands waiting for drivers to pass the finish line, and the next second everyone was jumping out of their seats and screaming at the top of their lungs in complete jubilation.

Harry Styles just crossed the checkered flag in P3. He reached the finish line in third.

“P3, mate! That’s your first podium this season!”

Will’s announcement was the home run hit that I needed to fully comprehend what just occurred. And when I did, I joined Harry’s scream of unadulterated euphoria mixed with mine. “Winning performance!” He shouted for everyone watching to hear, “Winning fucking performance!”

“Ditto, ditto!” I screamed back like a lunatic, as if Harry could actually hear me. I had no time to feel embarrassed though, since I was blissfully pulled to the jubilant arms of one team member to the other. So many loving words were exchanged for our driver’s achievement that I didn’t even notice most of them started to make their way to watch the podium celebration.

Knowing how this win meant a lot for Harry as a driver, and how he was especially driving there for his entire team, I knew I couldn’t miss witnessing the grand celebration. So without care of still having my McLaren headset around my neck, I followed the flocks of people coming from different teams towards the podium viewing section. I knew it would already be packed by the time I arrived, having both the Red Bull of Niall and Louis as P1 and P2. But I genuinely didn’t care about the success of my previous die-hard allegiance. I just zeroed my attention in watching all the orange happy crowd from afar, waiting for their Golden Boy to stand on the podium.

I was honestly content at my position in the sidelines of the main crowd, because I knew Harry would rather share this grand victory with his team first and I’ll just congratulate him later in our own alone time. If he actually had his way, I’m pretty sure Harry would have preferred to have his entire team stand in the podium and he’ll be the one watching them celebrate from below the stands.

But I guess I could be proven wrong about all that because suddenly, I hear the distinct voice of Harry’s big boss amongst the chaotic crowd of other teams celebrating. “Move away, move away! Jesus Christ, I said move the fuck away!”

I watched in amusement as James Corden physically used his arms and legs to push people out of his way. “I swear to God I pay all of you to listen to me! Why can’t all of you move the fuck away?! I have a person to find! Where is she?! Why did you guys leave her, you absolute morons?! No one’s getting gelato from me after this!”

James’ heated words and animated display of comedic irritation, definitely captured everyone’s attention. The other team’s heads turned with their bodies clearing a path for him to pass, much to his favor. “Thank you, thank you! Looks like the Red Bull staff will be the ones receiving some gelato from me because they actually listened to my pleas.” He turned his head sidewards to his snorting McLaren team. “You bunch are about to get drowned in champagne once Harry finds out you left his girl alone in the garage. Enjoy all that while I actually be the kind and responsible man that I am - unlike you lot! - and I will look for Sophia. I hope Harry throws the entire glass bottle your way, fuckers!”

To say that I was shocked, was a complete understatement of what I genuinely felt. That entire rambunctious ruckus was all because Harry’s seemingly insane boss thought I was missing the podium celebration. And that it was going to be a total violation of some-sort, that warrants Harry to commit a crime of drowning his team in champagne. I honestly did not know how to react.

I guess that’s how James found me in the sidelines: eyes wide, mouth agape, body unmoving. “Oh, you poor sweet girl.” I heard him say as softly as his naturally loud voice could go. “You must be scared out of your life being left to your own devices at the garage by those brute men of mine.”

I couldn’t really utter a rebuttal to his very wrong claim as James quickly placed his arm around my shoulder and walked the two of us in the middle of the crowd towards the huddle of the McLaren team. “Don’t you worry about a single thing, Soph.” James assured me with an innocent smile I didn’t know if I trusted. “I’ll make sure you’d be at the front of the barriers to watch Harry descend the podium. Just keep calm here beside me for a moment.” And then he proceeds to do something that made me want to be the one to tell him that he should be the one to keep his calm.

James cleared his throat loudly, hands coming around the circumference of his mouth for his voice to echo. “Yo dipshits! Move your idiot bums to the side and let Sophia pass!” I felt heat crawl up my cheek, and not in the fluttery way that my Bunny’s words do to me. “Oh, don’t give me those confused looks! You guys don’t know who I’m talking about? Well no shit because all you foolish lot left the most important person in the garage!”

And because my sudden embarrassment couldn’t get any worse, James placed me in front of him so everyone had a prime view on who he was screaming about. “So let me get this straight, you daft twats! The lovely woman here in front of me is Sophia. She’s the sole reason why our boy Styles got a podium today! I don’t know what the fuck she did to accomplish that - because our car is still performing like a bloody orange tractor in the grid - but she did it! And since I want her to keep fucking doing what she’s doing because my team is going to annihilate every single other team here in the grid, the least we can do is give her the front view of the champagne celebration. Was everything about that clear?!”

How can anyone in the entire pitlane - better yet the entire parts of the world currently watching this live telecast - not get that clear? I assumed James also had the same answer since his proud smile of being more than heard, is the last thing I saw before he carefully pushed me to the front of the orange pack.

That led me to directly rest my front on the barriers, with my head raised above to watch the podium celebration take place. At that point, I was honestly too winded to care about the scene that James had caused. His actions were coming from a good heart, and that’s all that mattered to me in the end. Besides, I am now blessed with the best seat in the house, having the perfect view of Harry’s glorious entrance - jumping up and down pointing at his cheering team - when he proceeded to stand on the podium after his name was announced.

There wasn’t anything else to do than to cheer my little heart out when Harry raised his third-place trophy above his head, his blinding smile matching everyone’s in our orange team. I didn’t even care when my face was flashed on the big screen for everyone to watch, with my face-splitting grin and starry eyes pointed at a single individual standing so tall and carefree on that podium.

All I gave a damn about is the moment I felt the earth tremble beneath my feet. When all the triumphant cheers and exclamations around me seemed to disappear into the wind. All my being was centered on the emerald gems staring back at me for the first time since this race concluded.

I’m wholly enthralled at the way his powerful stare remained on mine the entire time he jumped three feet of the platform to pop his bottle of champagne. The finesse he displayed on expertly spraying every celebratory grin with those drops of hard-earned champagne, made me see the true World Champion he’s nurturing inside him.

My baby was born to be on that podium. What I don’t understand is how in that same truth, Harry Styles peered down at me like he wanted no one beside him and his trophy and champagne celebrating that win, other than me. Seeing that kind of truth illuminated in his eyes, for only me to see, is world tilting, earth shattering.

“Come here.” Harry mouthed down at me; his high-on-a-win smirking face is a novel danger I’m quickly recognizing I have no power to avoid. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to be on that podium while the celebration was very much still on-going. But I still ran towards the stairs leading up to him, like an idiot who took the antidote to giving any single fucks.

When I reached the top, my head was thrown back in laughter when both Niall and Louis looked at me approvingly while they joyously clapped their hands at my violation of FIA Regulations. Like the total lovable idiots that they are, both Red Bull drivers made a clear show of moving to the sides, with their hands motioning for a pathway towards my destination.

“After you, my old number one fan.” Niall winked at me as I flipped him the finger for being a cheeky shit. I don’t understand how I was able to muster the audacity to do that to my old Irish idol now turned great friend, let alone in front of national television who is still streaming this entire interaction live.

But when I heard the voice of my favorite person in the world, calling me the name that has slowly yet surely became my favorite word in the entire English vocabulary, I knew it didn’t matter if I found the answers to those questions or not.

What mattered is how we met in the middle, closing the offending distance that separated the two of us from being flushed-closed together. My arms curved their way behind his neck, just in time as he held me tight on my waist before dipping me down a few inches above the raised platform like we were at the end of a dramatic dance sequence. Clearly, we weren’t. But he still captured my lips in a dreamy kiss as if we were.

Everything made me feel like I was suspended in time, stuck in a magical moment straight out of one of my dreams. From the way Harry’s ardent lips held mine in a spellbinding hold, to the cool stream of champagne our friends showered us in. If it weren’t for the contagious laugh Harry let out as he moved my body in a standing position, I would have really thought I was only hugging him this tight in my dreams.

“Congratulations, Golden Boy.” I reached on my tippy toes and kissed his impressive jawline, the taste of sparkling champagne coated my tongue. “I knew you had it in you.”

He bent a bit so he could meet my height in the middle perfectly, my favorite hands coming up to cradle my never-getting-tired-from-smiling-around-this-man face. “Winning performance.”

“Winning fucking performance.” I repeated his own rendition at the comms from earlier. He lovingly crushed my face on his champagne-soaked race suit, the vibration coming from his laughter was a calming feeling I felt against my position on his chest.

I let him leave as many kisses as he wanted on my temples, grinning up at him when I felt all of it electrify me. “So, why did you call me up here? Did you want to hang out or something?”

Harry’s giggles followed the sweet path the tip of his nose traveled, all the way from my nose and down to my chin, “Yeah, kind of. Something like that.” His adorable giggles easily blocked away all the noise from around us.

“What? You have to be more specific than that,” I moved my head away from his chest so I could look at him perfectly. My right hand naturally came up to brush away his sweat and champagne-soaked curls away from his pretty eyes. “You know how I feel about being ordered around.”

Harry rewarded me with a dimpled smile, “You love them.” He knows I do, and he also knows he’s got more to tell me than just that. I let him close his eyes, forehead dropping to rest on mine, and I kissed his tantalizing long lashes as I waited for his genuine words to flow.

“I knew I just won today, and I’m happy for my drive and that the team’s efforts are finally being acknowledged the way it’s supposed to be. It’s more than great to celebrate this win with them, for them, but I’d honestly rather do something else.”

I nuzzled my nose at his cute one, “Like what, Bunny?” And just like that moment in his driver’s room from earlier, Harry and I opened our eyes at the exact same time without prompt.

“I think I'd love to spend the rest of my sunsets with you.”

Somehow his response doesn’t surprise me, not when his angelic face is being framed by the beginnings of a majestic Imola sunset. I couldn’t possibly look away at how breathtaking he is being surrounded by so much orange warmth. “Sunset, huh? Seems to be our thing.”

Harry blessed me with his giggles once more, bending down to pepper my neck with small kisses that had my toes curling. “Yup. That’s why it’s my second favorite thing in the world right after you.”

“Really?” I asked incredulously even if I shared the same reality. Harry nodded his head, nose content in inhaling my scent and nuzzling the wet skin of my neck. His curls tickled a response right out of my lips. “You know I’d let you, yeah?”

That made Harry depart from his hiding spot, head tilting as he regarded me with a look that spoke words of fascination. “Every single one of your sunsets you’d spend with me?”

I found it absolutely adorable how he wanted to make sure of the fact so fiercely. “Yeah.” I nodded, fearlessly. “From now on, I’d love to share my sunsets with you. Including this one right behind you.”

And because I’m starting to believe that a post-win Harry is a person that is set on the highest degree to make me feel like I’m the only person who matters, I only have the ability to squawk in surprise as he disregards the gawking stares and regaled laughter of our audience, easily picking me up behind my thighs to wrap my legs around him. He began spinning us around like an F1 car doing donuts on the track; it’s dizzying as much as it fuels me with so much happiness that I could only hope to experience.

I’m so out of breath for feeling so alive that I didn’t even register that Harry began carrying me down the stairs in the same front piggy-back ride. “Hey! Bunny, where are you taking me?”

He didn't decrease the speed of his walk as he replied. “I’m chasing the sunset with you. Where else am I going to take you with me?” It almost looked like he took an actual offense to my question, which made me have actual tears of absolute glee stream down my face as my body shook with laughter in his hold. All these bubbling emotions have clearly overwhelmed me enough.

“This is not funny.” He whined which only increased my amusement.

“Is too! Bunny, the sunset isn’t going to disappear. Can you please put me down so we can walk together, comfortably, to wherever you want to watch the sunset?”

“No. I want you like this in my arms.” That made me snicker.

“I do too. But you seriously need to put me down cause I need to go somewhere first.”

That actually made him slow down. “What? Where do you need to go?” I only need to hear the whine in his tone to visualize the matching pout and frown he was certainly sporting.

“I need to get my purse. I left it in your driver’s room. You know, the yellow one?”

To my surprise, Harry Styles actually groaned for everyone in the pitlane to hear as he stopped from walking any further. He made a real show of looking absolutely pained when he gently dropped me down on my feet. “Why do you look like you need to shit?”

My teasing words only made him look even more adorable to my eyes like a grumpy cat. “I don’t need to shit. I’m just really annoyed that your bloody handbag is ruining the perfect sequence of our summer love story.”

“Excuse me?” I don’t know if I should laugh or be concerned because my Bunny looked quite disappointed, like he didn’t just come from the glory of a P3 win.

“Sunflower, our summer love story? The one we’ll be telling Angie and your family over dinner sometime?”

“Okay. What about it?” Harry gave me a look as if asking if I was being serious. But before I could offer a rebuttal, he’s off rambling like the annoyed cutey little Bunny that he is.

“I don’t know!” He threw his hands up in the air like the exasperated drama queen that’s always hiding inside him, “The fact that I have this sheer romantic vision of the continuity of our love story, where you were the reason why I won my first podium this season, and then we became all bad ass and broke the FIA rules together like total partners in crime as I kissed you on top of the podium where everyone was watching and spraying champagne at us. And can I just say that the kiss from earlier was absolutely a rom-com movie spot-on? I didn’t even have to think about it! It just came to me naturally just like how my innate romantic soul is telling me to carry you away in my arms towards the sunset after such a cathartic race weekend. But no! Your yellow handbag - no matter how much it’s my favorite on you - is ruining the sequence of our summer love story! How can we now beat your nonna and nonno’s epic Italian romance back in ‘66?! He gave her his gelato! I can’t do that because I’m a caveman with my desserts! The least I can do is buy you two gelatos when we watch the sunset, but of course that I can’t even do becau-”

I jumped into his arms like a koala climbing up a tree, his strong arms easily bracketing my legs that wrapped around his waist. All the while, I made myself busy by crashing my lips into his as I felt the most potent kind of certainty flow into my veins.

Somewhere in the start or middle or end of Harry’s rambling, I found myself being hit by a force of a rocket ship that rocked my entire core, screaming: this is it. This is the one for you. Go ahead and say the words to get your adorable man-child under lock and key.

So that’s what I did, I imprinted the words straight to his lips. “I love you.” Our eyes locked without a tinge of shock, it’s only filled with that kind of serenity and contentment that’s special to our bond. “How’s that for an epic sequence to our summer love story?”

His vibrant kiss could tell me just as much, “I love you too.” But hearing him say it back still made me smile like a mad fool in love - which I am!

And you know what, the way my Bunny began screaming his love for me for the entire world to hear right after he whispered it again and again in my ear, I know I’m not alone in being so in love one began acting insane.

Harry and I are together on this ride towards our countless sunsets. We’ll keep driving just as insanely as we love.

🧡🏎️🧡

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misskathcake · 2 years

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Harry + mclaren?!?! THIS WILL BE THE BOMB ISTG

Only the best papaya team for our Bunny! 🧡 But I'll let you decide the final verdict if you'd rather have him in another team once I make the story live just in time for tomorrow's Hungarian GP 🙈🏎️

#asks are always appreciated

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misskathcake · 2 years

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omg i finally found your account 😭when i switched my account i somehow lost it and was searching for it but couldn’t find it at all. i hope you are doing okay🫶🏻

That's good to hear, lovely. And you've found me at the right time! 🤣Thanks for being kind enough to ask me how I'm doing, which to answer: wayyyy better than the start of the year. I think my recent post can give you a bit of a hint why 🙈 I hope you're also doing fantastic, dear lovely reader! But if you're not, brighter days are just waiting around for you 💝

#asks are always appreciated

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misskathcake · 2 years

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COMING SOON: Should Bunny Keep Driving?

🐇🐇🐇

There’s a lot to be said about my profession as a Formula 1 driver. Many would say I’m living the bachelor dream: driving fast cars on most weekends of the year, with money and women free-flowing my way like every drop of champagne being popped on the podium. Some - like my sweet dear mother - would prefer to call me as a reckless adrenaline junkie: being strapped on a death vehicle for a living is worth no benefit; surely an occupation only lunatics will take. All other versions of such claims I have heard, but one I haven’t is the assumption that Formula 1 drivers are inept in basic navigation.

Well thank fuck no tabloid or social media post has said anything about that, or there’s no denying I would be the laughing butt of the joke for the rest of this season. I could already picture it, in bold and underlined letters: ‘Harry Styles, McLaren F1 team’s Golden boy is found lost in the streets of Italy. Can he make it back in time for the Imola Grand Prix?’

What had I told my teammate Nick Grimshaw when I turned down his idea of golfing to make plans for my own today? Oh, that I ‘wanted to get lost in the beauty of an Italian summer’ Now isn’t that bloody fucking ironic as I’m standing here under the heat of the blazing Italian summer sun, my too hightech for my own good sportscar failing me in God knows where when all I wanted was to go to this specific beach where I can sit on the smooth sand and peacefully watch the sunset.

I’m not one to feel regret on a daily basis, choosing to believe that everyone should be kinder to themselves and giving yourself a hard time for something that occurred in the past won’t help anything. Well in this scenario, I can’t help but feel even just a smidge of regret when James Corden, McLaren’s CEO, my friend and ultimately my boss, had first offered me to use a vintage McLaren on my solo Italian trip today. Knowing how much of a grandpa I can be with today’s rapid technological development, I feel like an absolute bloody idiot for not agreeing to that and instead chose this green energy-powered vehicle that looks more like a worthless pile of steel and metal.

With nothing left to do but actually call for help, I tried to reason with my stubborn and prideful self that calling for the towing company does not negatively affect my competency as a racing driver. Only that it does, I know deep inside that even just a tiny bit, it does say something about my lack of initiative in furthering my knowledge in my field. But I know that situation needs to be rectified after I get myself out of this current dilemma.

“Harry, you’re no good alone.” I found myself saying to no one in particular but myself, definitely learning a thing or two about acceptance of your flaws from my older sister. So with those words of conviction physically ringing in my ears, I pulled out my phone ready to make the dreaded call of defeat.

Except she arrived just in time to halt my actions.

She, being a blonde girl about my age, riding a bike while singing along to some pop song I heard my friend Niall singing in the shower that one time we flew over together for the Monaco Grand Prix. But it’s not that particular song that had ceased my movements, it’s her bright yellow bag slung to her shoulder, the color a perfect match to the colorful bikini top she was wearing under some denim dungarees. And under the rays of the Italian sun, she just looked so golden.

“Hey, are you okay?” She called out, even her voice sounding so bright in my ears I’m starting to wonder if this woman is sunshine personified.

“I’m good.” was my reply like the aforementioned damn fool that I was that not only didn’t know how to operate the newest models of sports cars, but apparently I also can’t find my words when talking to gorgeous and kind strangers.

She didn’t seem to believe my words, head tilted in curiosity, she side-stepped from the seat of her bike and walked to stand in front of me at the side of the street. With about two feet separating us, she placed both of her hands on her waist.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both British considering your accent,” she offered me a kind smile, “and back from where I’m from in England, people standing on the side of the barest of streets with an open car a few feet away from them usually doesn’t mean the person is doing well. But that’s just me,” she shrugged, “I don’t know how things are from your part of England.”

Call me entitled or jaded, but it’s been a long time that someone had been at ease or even just possessed the confidence to tease me. So long in fact that I let out a snort from her words, followed directly after by a bubble of laughter that has got me bent in half with my hands placed on my knees for support. All the while, this funny lady continued to stand just a few feet away from me like my absolute out-of-the-blue guffawing hadn’t altered her that I was nuts.

“You’re definitely not okay then,” confirming my belief, she chuckles along in my sudden fit of insanity.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I straightened up remembering my manners. “It’s just been a long time since I heard something that funny at my expense and said directly to my face. And, it’s just been a long day.” My eyes travel unwillingly to my hopeless vehicle, a sigh leaving my smiling lips upon also remembering the task I was supposed to do.

Sounds to me like she's a car enthusiast. And why that interests me, I don’t know. “Not long enough I believe since the baby stopped here and barely even crawled.”

So she knew who I was…of course she knew who I was if I decided to parade around Imola in the bright orange monstrosity of a car while wearing my infamous bright colored outfits complete with glitter details of an embroidered strawberry on the breast of my Gucci tee. It’s not the first nor last time people recognized me randomly on international streets, but it surely is a novel occurrence for me to feel bashful under her knowing gaze.

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling my ears pinken at realizing she knew who I was under this current unfavorable circumstance. “I wish I could say my mechanical skills in fixing cars came as natural as my humor does; but I am afraid I’m just a useless F1 racing driver who only operates on adrenaline.”

The woman curved a brow in amusement, “And you don’t have that right now because your car stopped working?”

And as if a shining personality isn’t enough to blind me, the girl surprises me when she suggests the unthinkable: “Then let’s fix it! What’s exactly broken so we know what to target?” and then she began to point-out different parts of the car that only true car enthusiasts take time to know about. Well I guess that answers my earlier question if she was into cars, but that doesn’t really help anything when she lost me at her first suggestion.

She probably noticed I remained standing there looking at her like she was speaking a different language, because she stopped in the middle of her sentence and gave me her own bashful look this time. “I’m sorry, I probably creeped you out just rambling like that without introducing myself. I’m Sophia, by the way.”

Mesmerized by her character, I met her outstretched palm and returned her fairly firm shake. “I’m Harry, nice to meet you, Sophia.”

“You too,” she nodded, “it’s great to meet you too, I mean. I know we don’t really know each other but I was serious about helping you fix your car.”

And I don’t know what it is in my gut that told me she really meant her word, but the women in my life had always told me to trust my intuition, and my intuition is telling me to accept Sophia’s unbridled kindness. “And I was also being truthful that I don’t know my way around these high-tech cars unlike I do with vintage ones. So, I can’t really answer your list of questions earlier, but feel free to check the car out yourself.”

I watched as Sophia just stood there mimicking my static stance from earlier, my words seeming not to register in her mind like I thought it would. “Are you serious?” she asked, her blue orbs widening when I nodded my head with conviction.

In my defense, she said the word ‘please’, a pout I’ve come to alarmingly realize I couldn’t resist painted on her lips. That two on Sophia is a lethal combo; I just knew straight ahead that if she used that more frequently around me, I was done for and she can basically get anything she wants from me.

Something tells me Sophia isn’t that type of person to take advantage of others though. Not in the way she patiently asked me questions about the car, questions that were genuinely similar to those my mechanics have asked me during race debriefs. And call me a narcissist all you want but this occupation of mine with all its glitz and glamorous perks, also comes with undeniable faults that a regular person with a nine-to-five job won’t probably bear to understand.

I’m learning to trust humanity more though. My mum and Gem had made it pretty clear that my happiness on the outside and guarded on the inside persona will just make me lonely in the long-run, I needed a companion in life like the both of them had found in their partners. And to be honest, I’m done feeling like a lone wolf too, that’s why at the start of this year’s season I had made a personal vow to actually commit in allowing myself to trust the dark and bleak society I have come to be wary of. It would allow me to find the genuine ones no matter how miniscule they may come nowadays.

So I’m officially calling this interaction with Sophia as me trying; trying to connect with new people while using a pair of fresh eyes that hold no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with befriending beautiful strangers in a random street somewhere in Imola, especially if they’re here acting as my knight in shining yellow handbag.

“I suggest we don’t touch anything.” Sophia let out after her whole list-down of questions she asked me about the possible problems of my car.

My statement made her giggle, the crinkles of her eyes catching my gaze like the sound of her laugh isn’t adorable enough to attract all my attention. “I’d take that as a compliment since you seem like an honest person. But regardless of how much of a car encyclopedia I am, that still doesn’t qualify me from actually breaking apart this bloody expensive car.”

“Then why’d you ask me all those things then?”

“Maybe because I wanted to see for myself if you’re really a racer who knows no shit about cars or you were just waiting to impress me with all your overflowing knowledge about it like a stereotypical testosterone-ego filled motorsport driver.”

I snorted unattractively, enthralled by her honest words despite its teasing tone. “I hope I didn’t disappoint then that I’m not your typical racing driver, that I’m really just a big fraud of my kind who’s basically a big disgrace in our industry since I know close to nothing about the thing that makes my job work in the first place.”

I don’t know what kind of reaction I was waiting for, but it certainly wasn’t her loud laughter echoing around the quiet Italian street, nor the way her hand had comfortably, almost mindlessly pushed me lightly on my shoulders like it’s for her own good that I should stop making these jokes about myself. I liked it though, her reaction. Far too much.

“Well I’m hoping this isn’t your attempt at running away from the Imola grand prix this weekend considering I don’t think you’re that bad of a driver regardless if you don’t know how to properly fix one.” Sophia proceeded to give me a carefree smile, as if she hadn’t just complimented me for the first time.

I saw the interest flash in her eyes after that, “So if you’re not on the run from your racing obligations, then what’s so pressing you had to drive a car you barely know anything about?”

I didn’t see any harm in sharing my plans, especially when my current situation makes it seem more like canceled plans now that I’ll be able to accomplish the next time I visit Emilia Romania. I tried to keep my disappointment at the minimum when I told her.

That look on her face stunned me on my seat once again. I decided that I wanted to remove that saddened look on her face, her face that should always be full of life and brightness like the sunshine that she is. But more importantly, what had gotten me dazed like an utter fool being hit unknowingly by cupid’s arrow is this sudden realization that had completely turned my perspective of this entire situation in another fucking direction.

How do you tell I woman you met barely an hour ago, a woman as charming, kind, honest, and simply compeling woman like Sophia, that I don’t give a single fuck about the sunset and the beach anymore when I’m content just staring at her pools of ocean blue? That her aura is enough and more to compete with a stunning Italian sunset?

“What’s your thoughts on just calling someone to fix your car? And while there doing that task, you and I head together to that beach you were keen to go to, watch the sunset, and even eat some gelato while doing all that. You game?”

*~*~*

Something is cooking...🧡🏎️

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misskathcake · 2 years

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To all the writers who haven't written in a while. May the right words come to you and may they actually get written down.

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misskathcake · 2 years

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you are such a talented writer!!! I love the way you write bunny and sunflower in each of their own little universes. thank you for sharing it with us all

Your kindness is so lovely 🥰 I'm always quite awkward with taking compliments, especially now that I feel like the me that thrived writing these Sunflower and Bunny universes is somewhere so far out of reach from me. I'm in awe at all the other fic authors here with how their words can create vivid worlds; I want to be able to experience that again in my own writing. Without a doubt, once the inspiration strikes back, there's no other way but for me to share my other works here with you lovely people again 😇 I appreciate the time you spent reading my works, hope you have an enchanting day ahead! 💖

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misskathcake · 2 years

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longing for the day we get honey bunny part 3

Tbh, I'm also LONGING for the day I'm able to produce it! Aside from juggling my thesis work and other college crap, I honestly have just lost the drive to write and I think I'm still trying to look for it again 😅Your girl is on a reading marathon and I can't seem to do anything on my free time apart from digesting books.

But, I hope you'd be pleased to know that the entire outline and moodboards of Honey Bunny has actually been finished even before I posted any part of the story, and...I might also have already written two paragraphs of part three. When that will see the light of day? I still don't know when 🤭

So in the meantime, sending tight (conciliatory 😇) hugs to you and the others who are patiently waiting for a part three 💗

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misskathcake · 2 years

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every time she said bunny h i cringed so bad

Didn't we all? 🤣 Thank the lord I don't have that type of sibling who gives cringey nicknames!

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misskathcake · 2 years

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Bunny and the Wine Nights at Gemma's

Gemma Styles has a very special place in Sophia’s heart.

Aside from her parents (the people who raised her), flowers, (her babies that give her the utmost happiness), and red velvet cupcakes (the love of her life as it seems), Gemma holds the remaining good part of Sophia’s heart.

They had met in university, the two sharing the same flat building. Thoughts of that same flat always brings an unwelcome shiver in Sophia’s spine upon remembering how it was filled with outrageously smart and stuck-up teenagers who seemed to have never experienced a good time.

Sophia met Gemma one early afternoon, sitting at the common rooms while sipping on some wine.

She was shocked to see wine being drank that early, but was more-so perplexed at seeing someone actually using the common rooms when Sophia had only been alone in the same area weeks prior, never seeing a soul who wanted to join her lounge-about.

Sophia had thought the rest of her flatmates in the building were always cooped up in their room, painstakingly glued to their computers watching the British economy move up and down as their extremely odd form of entertainment.

With just that perception in common, Gemma and Sophia had hit it off that same day when Gemma had sighed in total relief for finally meeting someone aside from brainiacs that made her feel stupid. It had been another shared feeling between the two, making their first interaction go on swimmingly. Plus, Sophia and Gemma share the same love for wine which the latter said ran in their family making Sophia simply part of it now.

So how can Gemma not have a special place in Sophia’s heart when she said the sweetest thing ever to her in just a day of meeting?

It’s further proven how Gemma Styles is a true woman after Sophia’s heart when she met and matched every effort Sophia had exerted to continue building on their friendship all throughout their hectic days in uni. It’s a testament to their will-power and genuine love for each other with how they remained friends despite their clear differences.

Straight-out the bat, Gemma is the most strong-minded and blunt human being Sophia has ever met in her whole existence on earth. Every single one of their friends who had met them as best friends already, would always question how someone as sweet as Sophia would be close to Gemma who was constantly viewed as the most outspoken and unforgivingly forward in their small friend group.

Well, opposites attract, right? And honestly, there is just as much bluntness in Sophia as there is sweetness in Gemma. It only shows between the both of them and their innate, personal, closeness. The pair don’t see the need to show and justify to others why the two of them just work as best friends, and that none of their questioning will break that special bond they have.

Besides, Sophia could assure you that Gemma would be the sweetest and cuddliest little kitten whenever Sophia’s sad. At the same time, Sophia would gladly be the most strong-minded and unapologetic blunt mother hen whenever Gemma does something stupid like getting herself drunk with four bottle of wine in one single night just because of an idiot ex-boyfriend.

Now Sophia’s sweet nature is honesty not one for swearing but screw that stupid piece of poopy-headed exes because no woman should feel like they’re not enough for some boy.

Clearly, Gemma and Sophia balance each other out in an impeccable fashion and find themselves in a continuous tight-knit friendship even after graduating.

Gemma also happens to be a God sent in Sophia’s life for she was the one who had told Sophia about the open space for renting under the building of Gemma’s growing design firm. Together, the pair built Sophia’s flower shop with her own best friend as her interior designer. The perks of having an interior designer of a best friend who has her own firm just above the top of her own shop is something Sophia often felt grateful about.

Now you’d probably think that Sophia and Gemma know everything about each other at this point in life as successful business women. Considering the fact that Sophia was the first one to figure out Gemma was seeing someone just from the bubbly change in her demeanor, Sophia believes Gemma and her have an excellent grasp on each other’s everything much to Gemma’s dismay of wanting a grand reveal for her now serious boyfriend, Michal.

He’s a good guy and a truly brilliant choice, in Sophia’s opinion.

What’s not good however is her realization that there are still lingering little things that she might not know about her best friend.

Like the fact that Gemma wants to set Sophia up with her younger brother.

That uncanny thought began on an ordinary day, Sophia had arrived bright and early in her flower shop harnessing some energy from the beautiful sunny morning to get a head start on their pending flower arrangements.

Not a lot of customers were present that early in the day as the shop had only opened, nor have Sophia’s three lovely employees arrived yet. Sophia contently basked in the silence of the shop as she felt happiness bloom in her chest being surrounded by the sweet aromas of her flower babies she was arranging into several bouquets.

At exactly nine AM, Sophia hears the bell ring which signaled someone’s arrival. Based on the little chuckles Sophia heard, it made her believe that there are two of them and not one.

“Well isn’t this quite an early morning for a lovely visitor?” Sophia said, smiling at both girls who stood in front of the counter.

“That’s what I was telling her boss,” Lena, one of Sophia’s employees said, making her way inside the shop to settle her things on a table, “I was honestly shocked Apple is alive at this early hour of the day. Doesn’t Gemma charge you up with electricity at this time so that you’re up all night later making a ruckus upstairs?”

Sophia tried to prevent a giggle spilling from her lips but Apple’s unamused face paired with a classic eye roll had no chance of fighting the giggles.

“As much as I’d like to favor you with your jesting Lena, it really is an ungodly hour for even anyone to be up this early.” Apple said tiredly, sipping on her cup of coffee like it’s the only thing that was sustaining her that moment.

“But you’re actually quite wrong,” Apple continued, resting her bag on the counter where Sophia had her unfinished bouquets spread about. “Gemma, my ever-hard working boss, is actually the one charging herself for the day and instead tasked me to come here and do her errands.

This time, Sophia does not even attempt to keep the laugh from leaving her lips. Too many amusing memories of waking-up a zombie-like sleeping Gemma is stored in Sophia’s mind to never not find it funny.

“That does sound a lot like Gemma.” Sophia chuckled fondly, “Well at least it does show that you are indeed an ever-understanding right hand in command, right Apple?”

Lena laughs from behind her boss while Gemma’s assistant only beamed with a small smile gracing her lips from the compliment.

“Yeah, I guess.” Apple shrugged almost bashfully, “But it just does not add up how my boss’ best friend,” she gestured to Sophia’s whole form, “is still bright and cheery at this time of the day, when my boss on the other hand sounded like she was dying when she called me this morning.”

“That’s because I got the better boss.” Lena popped up beside Sophia, teasing, “I got the kinder one out of the two.” which got the three ladies laughing.

“I may be kind,” Sophia regarded the two, “but I’m not naive for all this flowery compliments in return of asking something like an early closing this Friday so you lot can go out and party like irresponsible, wild animals or other requests in that line.” Sophia quirked a knowing eyebrow at Lena who only smiled sheepishly in reply.

Sophia turned her attention back on Apple who was now sticking her tongue out teasingly at her employee. Realizing that Sophia was smiling at her and waiting for whatever Gemma had instructed her to get, Apple snapped back into focus.

“Oh yeah! I was actually here to do Gemma’s errands, totally forgot, sorry.” Apple chuckled lightly, soothing her weary state by taking another sip of her liquid sunshine before rummaging in her purse for her phone and a small letter.

Apple then began to read on her phone the orders of flowers needed by later afternoon, as well as the other arrangements for another pick-up time. All those, Sophia diligently took note of on her work Ipad.

“Gemma also said something about ‘a bouquet of the special Friday night roses’ which I actually asked what that special is since I don’t think I’ve ever come across that in your shop. But she just replied with incoherent words that sounded like she was dying. But I would assume you already know what kind of special roses she’s asking for?”

Sophia hums in agreement, features etched with an amused glow for definitely knowing what those are as she typed it down on a separate order form.

“Is that all?” Sophia asked, giggling at the sleepy Apple who chugged the remains of her coffee.

Apple nodded her head in answer. Sophia made her way to leave the spot behind the counter and lead her friend out of the shop. She was about to wish her a good day ahead when Apple suddenly held her right arm, seemingly remembering something important.

“Bloody hell, I almost forgot.” Apple said with a little grimace, “This one's for you from my not-so-lovely-in-the-mornings boss.” and she handed Sophia the small letter she was holding earlier.

Before Sophia can even ask if she knew what it was for, Apple quickly rushed out of the flower shop while exclaiming her pleasantries and something about needing more caffeine in her system.

Feeling slightly bad for the unfortunate situations people that are not happy-early morning risers as her have to face, Sophia went ahead and returned behind the counter to open the letter.

It was sealed by Gemma’s signature stamp with the initials G.S in crimson red. As expected, the special Friday night roses will not be put to waste.

Dear Sophia Ford,

My ever sweet and kind best friend, my other half in life (don’t tell Michal), and the most beautiful flower in a field of multicolored roses, I am pleased to invite you for a very special Wine Nights at Gemma’s.

Now I know your pretty little head would be wondering why is it ‘special’, well it’s because it would only be you, myself (the wonderful host) and Michal. Again, I know your little smarty pants would say something in the lines of ‘What’s so special about that when we pretty much do that on a regular?’ well prepare to be outsmarted.

You see, there is a very special occasion coming soon that has made me assemble a special wine night this Friday for further discussion. Not to spoil anything, but I pretty much need you for something really important and special to me, thus I am inviting you to a noteworthy (and top secret, mind you) wine night.

Since you are my favorite person in life, you do not need to RSVP anything. I simply expect you at mu house at exactly 7:30 PM on Friday without any single second thoughts lingering in your mind.

Now prepare those special roses that I want for Friday. I only want the freshest of them all to grace my home.

And lastly, please bring an open mind this Friday; that’s way more essential than the bloody wine actually.

Love,

Gemma Styles

Your bestest girl pal for life! 💖

(P.S. Just to appease your soul, YES. There will be red velvet cupcakes present on the menu just for you.)

And that last line is literally the only thing Sophia needed to know before she’s booking her Friday night free from any other plans. Her love for red velvet cupcakes was unlocked due to Gemma Styles’ own recipe that Sophia has yet to find anything that rivaled it in any capacity. It’s simply the best, so Sophia would gladly attend Gemma’s special (odd) wine night that Friday.

When Friday came around, Sophia made the drive to Gemma’s in a no-brainer fashion. She pretty much memorized the way going there and could probably navigate it while asleep after countless times of visiting her best friend. Now though, Gemma has moved to the bigger house beside her old place when Michal and her became really serious and decided to move-in together.

Sophia hoped she could be lucky in that department too. That Gemma doesn’t have to memorize a new way of going to Sophia’s home because Sophia has just moved in with her beau at the house next door. The only problem is that her beau is actually non-existent, and the house beside her current flat building was already sold. Way to ruin a girl’s hopes, yeah?

Despite their often solo wine nights of just the three of them, Sophia is quite sure that there was something oddly different when she parked inside the couple’s gated house and did not see the lights of the pool patio to be on. They usually have their special wine nights lounging near the pool area enjoying the cool late night air. But this time around, it seemed like the little countertop bar at the couple’s kitchen would be the chosen destination.

Sophia walked to the front door which was surprisingly open already. Gemma standing behind it in a similar knitted cable jumper that Sophia was wearing.

“Hey love, good to have you tonight.” Gemma greeted her, giving Sophia their usual tight hug and kiss on the cheeks whenever they saw each other.

“Hello yourself.” Sophia returned, detangling from their hug. “Why are you being weird?” she asked straight-away after seeing Gemma’s unusual fidgeting of her hands and her odd manner of greeting. Mind you, they don’t do ‘good to have you tonight’ like some posh people who only see each other once every three months in fancy dinners.

The two of them are more like, ‘Hey love, get your pretty little bum inside and let’s flipping work these bottles of wine pretending we’re still young and hangovers are not real.’

“Huh? What are you saying?” Gemma replied in a tone of poor-concealed nerves, “I think you’re in need of wine because you’re the one being weird.” she dismissed with a small awkward laugh which made Sophia curve an eyebrow in question as she entered the house.

“Is your girl good?” Sophia asked Michal after he had greeted her with a hug, an amused smile painted on his face. “Or did she do something stupid again and that’s why she’s acting funny so I won’t notice?”

At that point, Gemma’s awkward laughter ringed even louder, leading the three of them to the surprisingly assembled dining table. Michal only offered Sophia a smirk, the one he does whenever he also thinks that his girlfriend is being quite crazy.

“Make yourself at home, Soph. You know that our home is just as much as your home too.” Gemma said in a rather rehearsed manner as Michal pulled out chairs for the two ladies.

There was no denying that Sophia began to be even more weirded out at the very strange energy Gemma was displaying, though decided to play along.

“Why that’s so sweet of you Gem. Mind if I help myself with dinner? Haven’t had one yet and I’m already quite peckish.” Sophia asked, offering her usual pearly whites of angelic innocence.

Sophia’s suspicion arose when she noticed Gemma exhale a breath for a tiny second, like she was relieved that Sophia wasn’t seeing behind her act and gestured towards the food.

“Oh definitely! Actually, I even made your favorite tuna steak and the red velvet cupcakes to go with it.” Gemma’s words of honesty that signify she’s the cook between the two of them does not wash-out the brewing inkling on her mind.

“Well, aren’t you the most thoughtful best friend ever?” Sophia said almost sarcastically as she went ahead and filled her plate with food. “You mind if I pour myself some wine?” she further asked while gesturing at the unopened bottle of red on the table,

Without even blinking, Gemma nodded her head frantically in a yes, her non-verbal answer enough to appalled Sophia in her seat.

“Gemma!” Sophia shrieked, completely astounded, “What the flicking furball is wrong with you?!”

The girl in question just dropped her mouth in shock, clearly caught in her dubious actions as Gemma tried to find back her words.

“W-what are you talking a-about?” Gemma stuttered before drinking (chugging more like) a whole glass of water.

“You don’t do that!” Sophia incredulously pointed out, “You don’t let me go ahead and devour the red velvet cupcakes without reprimanding me like some child whining for sugar. That's your exact words by the way.”

Michal laughed while Gemma remained speechless as Sophia continued on with an arched brow.

“And you never offer me the pleasantries crap that you did a while ago. You usually just drag me with you, talking about the new crystal you just bought while Michal just follows us looking lost.”

Gemma pretty much crumbed her own weird facade at Sophia’s outright interrogation.

“By the way, we never drink wine here at the dining table. You guys don’t even eat here.” Sophia pointed out, observing Gemma’s guilty face and Michal’s amused one. “Besides, you never let me pour my own wine at your own wine night, babe. Plus, you didn’t even ask for the special roses.”

Sophia took out the special roses from the little tote bag that she brought with her before standing up and placing it in the empty vase on the table.

Now you might be wondering what’s so special with these roses. Nothing really if you ask Sophia, it just so happens to be from the plot of roses that Gemma and her plant together at least every three months. Gemma always requests for these roses that she helped Sophia plant (although Gemma always takes full credit for nurturing them) and yup, Gemma was also responsible for calling it ‘special’ when they are just the same as the other roses Sophia had planted herself. But who was Sophia to burst Gemma’s bubble?

Gemma cleared her throat, can no longer escape the expectant look Sophia was throwing her way while the latter began slowly eating the feast on her plate. No matter how enlightening Gemma’s confession for her odd behavior might be, Sophia is not strong enough to resist the gorgeousness of her cupcake.

“I fucked that up, didn’t I?” Gemma asked no one in particular, chuckling sheepishly when the two others nodded enthusiastically in answer.

“Now Michal knows why you never made it to the annual uni Christmas play. You’re poop at acting.”

The three laugh at Sophia’s words of unfiltered honesty, the atmosphere in the dining room finally returning to their regular easy-going flow because it’s clear that Sophia isn’t mad at Gemma’s weird antics.

“I did warn her, believe me.” Michal said to Sophia, sparing a look at his embarrassed girlfriend. “I said that Soph would see right through what she calls full of fluffing crap and she might actually even start cussing if she finds out the reason you’re doing this for.”

Sophia’s interest piques at Michal’s words, brow arching at Gemma who’s eyes can’t meet her best friend’s back in return. But before Sophia can even question anything, Gemma rises from her seat and abruptly opens the discarded bottle of wine and generously pouring each of their glasses with the red liquid.

The three found themselves in their usual conversations. Gemma shares stories about the new high-rise buildings that have signed with her to be their sole interior designer for every unit, Michal being a vet and the new pets he had treated, and with Sophia sharing about her upcoming new arrangement techniques that she plans to try at her flower boutique.

Everything was flowing out smoothly, the three of them munched on their food (Sophia definitely took a detour to heaven with her first bite of Gemma’s red velvet cupcakes) and drank from their constant stream of wine. Laughs were shared with Michal and his misfortunate stories involving bunnies. Apparently, he chases about three hopping bunnies around his clinic, Gemma suggesting with a knowing smirk to hire Sophia part-time since she apparently has some ‘Snow White Voodoo’ thing going on that makes Sophia some sort of animal whisperer.

Sophia dismissed Gemma’s words with a chuckle, seeming to play it cool when in reality, Sophia is just waiting for her best friend to loosen-up some more before she begins to interrogate her once again. Sophia has her wits recharged and ready thanks to those scrumptious red velvet cupcakes that never fail to work in her favor.

By the time Sophia saw Gemma pouring her fourth glass of wine, she knew it was the perfect time to strike the question.

“So, what’s the real deal tonight?” Sophia asked, the current conversation taking to a halt, “I mean, why the bloody fluffball of going the lengths to arrange the dining table and inviting me to a ‘top secret’ wine night?”

As Sophia asked her questions, Gemma straight-away downs her entire glass filled with wine that was filled to the brim catching Sophia off-guard at her blatantly unusual action. The only time she’s seen Gemma drink that much in one go after three glasses already in, was when she was dealing with some serious misunderstanding with Michal. But that can’t be the case right now because Gemma’s boyfriend is completely laughing at her reckless move.

“You’re just getting bloody weirder by the second.” Sophia pointed out, tilting her own still half-way filled glass towards Gemma.

“That’s because I’m bloody nervous you twat!” Gemma suddenly exclaimed, her words ringing around the room making both Sophia and Michal almost choke on their drinks.

“Did you just call me a twat?!”

“Did you just call her a twat?!”

Michal and Sophia said at the same time, Gemma’s man with a tone of amusement, while Sophia’s voice was just plain appalled.

“Yes, that I did.” Gemma simply replied, pouring her fifth glass before focusing her undivided attention on Sophia, her unmistakable game face on making the latter quite concerned to be honest. “You know my family, right?”

Sophia almost felt offended on her seat. “Obviously! We’re flipping best girl pals, right?”

Michal still remains gleefully amused at Sophia’s reaction while Gemma facepalms her forehead like she didn’t mean to say it in that manner.

“Not what I intended to say, sorry babe.” Gemma quickly apologized, offering Sophia a small smile, albeit a nervous one.

If that doesn’t signal alarm bells, Sophia doesn’t know what more clues she needs before she starts panicking herself at whatever the furball Gemma is about to spring-out on her.

“Why are you getting nervous, Gems? It’s just me.” Sophia tried to deflect with a little chuckle.

“Yeah love, it’s just Soph.” Michal quips, the teasing tilt in his tone quite apparent as Gemma definitely did not find it funny at all.

“Shut it, you arse!” Gemma flips him the bird, making Sophia slightly comforted that there’s still that unabashed and blunt Gemma she has grown to love. “Remember in the letter, I said there is this upcoming special event?”

Sophia nodded her head in recognition, sipping on her third glass, “I do. Is that what’s getting you so panicky?”

Gemma does not provide a verbal response, instead giving Sophia a weird semblance of a smile that’s more of an uncomfortable grimace than a cheery one which Sophia has never been on the receiving end of before. Sophia looked to Michal alternatively to see if he could provide a better (frankly, less disturbing) answer.

“Kind of. It’s kind of because of that.” He answered, still not straight to the point for Sophia’s liking.

Sophia began to backtrack their conversation on the top of her head, trying to piece together something to better her understanding of her best friend’s unusual behavior. About a minute of her silence with the couple sipping - tensely for Gemma, and amused for Michal - on their wine, it clicked on her.

“Oh! Does the special event have something to do with your family, Gem?” A broad grin broke into Sophia’s face when Michal clapped his hand in confirmation, like she just answered that mathematical question from the final scene of Mean Girls.

“Bingo! You really are a smart one, Soph!” Michal complimented Sophia for some unknown reason before he turned his attention back on Gemma. “I feel like you’re stressing yourself over nothing, love. I think Soph might even figure out this special family event before you even gain the guts to just tell her.”

Sophia broke-out in boisterous laughter when Gemma replied to Michal by hitting him on the arm so strongly that it made him wince and cower in palpable fear when Gemma unrelentingly gave him eye daggers. Sophia swears they’re the most hilarious (and violent?) couple that she knew of.

“Gem, whatever it is babe, you know I’m always here ready to help.” Sophia assured, the sincerity in her tone successfully removed the nervous and jittery aura Gemma was still sporting, now being replaced with a smile of relief.

“Especially if it’s got anything to do with your family. I love Anne and Robin, you know that.”

Anne and Robin Twist are Gemma’s lovely parents. Sophia has come to learn that Robin, Gemma’s stepfather, was the closest thing anyone can go to being around a real Santa Claus. He was warm, loving, approachable, and just simply generous. Anne on the other hand, is Gemma’s older version, one that is fairly blunt, yet way more comfortable to show her sweet side compared to her daughter. Anne is a definite loving mother who goes beyond bounds for her children, Sophia can totally attest to that as Anne’s been like the second mum to her.

Sophia was able to meet them when they visited Gemma during their third year of university, the four of them had a lovely weekend exploring the city of London. After that, they were in constant communication and had found it a priority to meet each other every time Anne and Robin were in town, for they still preferred to live in Holmes Chapel up north. Sophia has yet to visit Gemma’s childhood home, but Anne and Robin have already made sure to give her an open invitation to their humble abode anytime she pleases to come.

“I know you do, and they love you a bunch too.” Gemma softly said, a glow of adoration present in her eyes. “That’s why I know you’re the perfect one for this.”

Sophia’s eyebrows slowly raised, unsure why her conventionally strong facade best friend is borderline getting emotional looking at that moment.

“Okay, so what exactly is this special event? A surprise for your parents, perhaps?” A tone of poorly-concealed excitement in Sophia’s voice, the couple chuckled at her reaction. “Holy cow! Are you buying them a rest house here in London and then we’re going to decorate it and surprise Anne and Robin?!”

Both Gemma and Michal straight-out laughed this time at Sophia’s exuberance, the latter avoided giving them a roll of her eyes because clearly, she was the only one fond of the idea of surprising and giving loved ones an extravagant treat.

“As much as I would love to do that and ask for your help, I d0n’t think I have enough money in my bank account to buy my parents a rest house here just yet. But hey, that’s on the bucket list of mine and you’ll be on my speed dial when that takes place.” Gemma said, that weird I’m-trying-to-smile-but-failing-miserably-with-a-grimace is back on once again.

Sophia honestly begins to get confused already as yet again, Gemma takes another big gulp of her wine like it’s simply water and not an alcoholic beverage. If Sophia was smart enough, she’s guessing Gemma is needing the liquid courage coming from the wine which is again, very very unlike her.

“Gem, just spill it already.” Sophia firmly said, knowing within herself that this exchange can go all night long and they’d all be too drunk to remember what the entire night was supposed to be for in the first place.

Gemma raised her pointer finger at Sophia as if to say ‘hold your horses woman’ before finishing her nth glass of red.

“You remember my brother, right? The one I always talk about but you still have not met?”

Again, Sophia almost felt offended. “Obviously! Bunny H.”

Just as Sophia uttered that, Michal bursted out in deafening laughter, strong enough that he almost dropped his glass on himself.

“Bunny H?” He repeated incredulously, “What the fuck? That’s the funniest thing I have heard all night!'' His continued laughter was infectious enough that in no time, Gemma and Sophia joined him.

“Well, thank you for finding amusement in me, Michal. But I’m pretty sure that’s what your girlfriend calls her brother anyway. That’s where a bloody pick it up from, you poopyhead.” Sophoa said, making sure to give Michal her a good-natured glare which the latter answered with his hands raised in surrender.

“Soph, I can assure you that he hates it when Gem calls him that.” Michal looked at Sophia with a visible smirk. “And, there is no way at all that he still looks like a bunny, unlike when he was younger. He’s a grown man now, Soph.”

Sophia just looked at Michal in perplexity when he started to wiggle his brows up and down, somehow suggestively. It made her feel much better though when Gemma once again hits Michal on the arm to stop.

“He’s still my baby brother who looks like an adorable bunny, and he will forever be no matter how much you guys grow your facial hair!” Gemma did not hold back on the force of her fists as she continued to smack a laughing Michal.

It didn’t make Sophia feel left out or some sort of third wheel like what others might expect. But it just made her confused on where the heck this bloody conversation was heading to? So Sophia busied herself by pouring her own fifth glass of wine as the seemingly married coupled kept their bickering going,

“So, what’s with bunny H?” Sophia asked before taking a sip. “Not joining the family rest house surprise then?”

Gemma looked at her with a look of complete confusion, like she didn’t have a single clue of what Sophia was saying. Yup, the wine was getting to her best friend now.

“Oh, I’m just setting both of you guys on a date.”

Gemma said it so casually, and as if Sophia already knew about it. It was so bizarre and so out of the blue that nothing was adding up in Sophia’s brain thus her reaction of pure shock: spitting her current mouthful of wine all over the wooden table.

Everything stops after that.

The couple had looked at Sophia with widened eyes of unadulterated astoundment.

Then everything begins again, hysterical laughter sprang in the air. Gemma laughed at Sophia’s obnoxious wine-stained outfit and her ruined table set-up, Michal in stitches at the way Gemma just blurted out the thing she was nervous about for the entire time in such a casual manner, and Sophia in her own doubled-over position because of the absurdity of the entire situation which she should have somehow clocked some time ago now.

Yes, Wine Nights at Gemma’s somehow always resulted in something wildly uncanny.

“Bloody fluffball, Gem! What has gotten into you?” Sophia asked as the three of them began to clean the mess she had accidentally caused, answering her own question sarcastically while Gemma helped her fruitlessly remove the dark stain on her dress, “Apparently something that makes you think you can set me up with your brother is what is.”

Gemma giggled unhelpfully, shrugging her shoulders like she also didn’t know the answer to the question while the three of them returned to their seats after making sure no wine is not in the confines of their wine glasses where it belongs.

“I’m just really certain in my gut that you’re going to be the perfect girl for my brother. You guys are so similar.”

“Before you say that, you actually do know that I barely know anything about this guy regardless if he’s your brother, babe. I don’t even know his name, only flipping bunny H cause you don’t want to tell me!” Sophia exclaimed which earned an amused chuckle from Michal, and a sheepish smile from her best friend.

It’s true, Sophia knows not even the bare minimum about Gemma’s younger brother. All she knows is that the man is a really busy bee who barely has time for his family yet alone to be introduced to her. Sophia has never questioned why the subject about him never got brought up whenever they had lunch with Anne and Robin, nor why Gemma was very persistent and adamant on not sharing his full name every time Sophia had asked.

Gemma’s excuse was that Sophia can’t know his full name nor see a picture of him because bunny H is a very private person who doesn’t like people snooping in his business. Sophia thought Gemma’s younger brother was being ridiculous for thinking that knowing his full name and getting familiar with how he looks is already an invasion of privacy.

Now that she’s faced with this situation though, maybe it was her best friend that was being ridiculous, and very much dubious that is.

“You didn’t really think I’d agree to this, right?”

“Why do you think I specifically shared this to you in Wine Nights at Gemma’s? Obviously, I know how you'll react based on all the blind dates I tried to set you up before.” Gemma replied, exasperation laced underneath her voice.

“Well based on the events tonight,” Michal chimed in, “looks like you didn’t even expect how you’ll react babe.” Michal teased Gemma, “I was certain you needed to loosen up with wine just telling Soph, and I was also expecting that Soph didn’t even need wine to answer you, love.”

That got Sophia cackling in her seat as Gemma once more narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend for being a very helpful voice towards her.

Tauntingly, Sophia asked, “Did you actually believe that you can also loosen me up with so much wine that I’d be agreeing to you in an instant?”

Gemma flipped her middle finger to Sophia’s face before gulping down her freshly refiled drink.

“Clearly not, I’m not that bloody stupid, alright.” Gemma defended, “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about this so much, setting the two of you up for years that it just crossed my mind that H is actually moving into his new place next week and I have yet to introduce you guys in person an-”

“For years?!” Sophia cuts Gemma off in an instant, a look of utter disbelief painted on her face. “You;ve been thinking of setting me up with bunny H for years?”

To Sophia’s horror, Gemma gives her the infamous ‘I’m guilty but you love me’ smile that she always used whenever she knew that Sophia was about to get it on with her. Sophia’s eyes shifted to her best friend’s boyfriend who was nodding his eagerly, mouthing inaudibly, ‘for years, Soph, years.’

Sophia scoffed at the growing absurdity of this wine night, not hesitating to pour herself another glass and proceeded to gulp half of it in one go. She finished the rest in slight irritation at the couple visibly chuckling at her apparent brewing stress that was no doubt caused by the other woman on the table.

“Babe, listen.” Gemma said, coming to sit beside Sophia, “I know I can be really crazy at times, but I’m telling you, I have never met anyone that would match you as much as bunny H.”

Sophia shivered, “Can we stop calling him bunny H? It’s kinda really bothering me now, learning you’ve been thinking of setting me up with him for god knows how long already.”

“Okay, just H then.” Gemma relented, “But I still won’t tell you his full name because you’ll definitely try to search him up on socials or something and I don’t want you to do that cause I want you to be surprised on what you see on you guys’ first date.”

This time, Sophia is the one who hits (just lightly, mind you) Gemma on the arm with how confident she sounds all of a sudden.

“And who said I’m going to a bloody furball date with him? I’m old enough and wise enough to disagree with you on this, Gem.”

“Sophiaaaaa..” Gemma dragged out her name in a whine, “My brother is your type to the T. I swear to fucking Christ, your type to the T!”

Sophia’s brows curved at Gemma’s explicit words, the whole idea still jumbled in her head making no sense at all on why Gemma suddenly became so desperate in setting Sophia up with her younger brother knowing how stubborn her best friend can be when it comes to the topic of relationships.

“Well, if he apparently is my type as you say,” Sophia tried to humor the clearly exhilarated Gemma, “then your brother is a rare one.” Sophia finished in a praise, the sides of Gemma’s lips lifted like she thought she was winning the argument.

“With that being said, why in the world does your brother not have a girl yet?”

“Because he acts like an old man!” Gemma exclaimed without abandon, “Always working for his future wife and family bullcrap that he doesn’t even have in the first place concerning that he has no love life to work for!”

Gemma was so worked-out from her sharing that Sophia did not even try to argue with her when Gemma suddenly took her wine glass from her own hands, gulping the remains on Sophia’s drink in one go.

“Look, you know I won’t ever bring you any trouble myself, and I’m telling you that my brother is no trouble. He’s just troubled and lonely even if he’s not saying it.” Gemma exhaled after her clear rant, expression more subdued after.

“You already know that he works for this bigshot in London and said boss is always in Paris so that’s where he’s mostly settled in. But last month, I got a call from him where he told me that he was quitting his job, fucking finally if you asked me, and he’s moving back permanently to London and spending more time here with me and occasionally with our parents. So you see, he’s also starting his own business at the same time, and you of all people know how stressful that can be, babe.”

Color Sophia confused once more, “A while ago you wanted me to go on a date with him, and then now you’re implying you want me to help him with his new business venture?”

Surprisingly, Gemma began to pour herself a glass of water, massaging her temples afterwards with Michal and Sophia also getting themselves some much needed hydration in their system.

“Not in that way, but yes.” Gemma replied, “I want someone to be with him constantly in his life, you know? I mean we’re not getting any younger and it’s not like I have no faith in him and his dating skills, but I just don’t want him to waste any more precious time and just bring him someone that’s perfect for him.”

Sophia held back a snort, “And that ‘perfect’ one happens to be me?”

Gemma answered Sophia’s expression of incredulity with her million-dollar smile, the one where guys like Michal go loco over, “Yes, you, love. You happen to be perfect for my brother.”

And that was it, Sophia couldn’t any longer control the snort of amusement that came out of her mouth, Michal chuckling on his seat at the way Gemma almost looked baffled at Sophia’s lack of confidence at what she was saying.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you properly,” Gemma persisted with unyielding might, "but I swear on my life that when you agree to go on this date and meet him, you’ll understand for yourself.”

Hearing the evident resoluteness at her best friend’s tone, Sophia composed herself with a huge breath, refilling her cup of water. “That’s a big one to swear, Gem. You might not even be alive anymore to witness this fantasy of yours in the works if you keep swearing on your bloody life.”

The weird tension in the room dissipated after that, the three once again sharing a laugh as they sobered-up from their earlier wine spree.

“Well, I guess I’d die for the both of you.” Gemma shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “That’s how much my love for the both of you I have running in my blood.” she said with a cheeky wink, reaching to her side to give Sophia’s own cheek a peck.

Sophia had no qualms in returning her best friend’s affection, though her mind was still whirling in thought about everything that had been said tonight as she tried to make complete sense out of it all.

After a short while, Sophia spoke with unbridled conviction.

“I love you, Gem, so much. You’re the sister I’ve never had. But it’s just not making complete sense to me, and I promise I actually really thought about it. I’m certain that I’m 95% sure it’s still a no from me.”

In hindsight, the smile of determination that showers off Gemma's face, should have alerted Sophia on the current plan her best friend was brewing in her headstrong mind.

Though Sophia was more amused than anything when Gemma had replied with yet again, a very weighty promise.

“I see, I’m always up for a challenge, Sophia.” Gemma smirked proudly like Sophia hadn’t already straight-out disagreed with her proposal. “So I swear on my bloody future children’s life that you’re going to be their aunt once they’re born.”

That had been a very monumental utterance to proclaim, but it’s really not the first time Gemma had said something just as equally crazy. That’s why in all honesty, Sophia was not suspecting anything dubious when Gemma visited her flower shop the Monday of the brand new week.

Gemma arrived bright and early in the morning with her usual cup of tea in hand, and a little cup holder on the other side with four other drinks.

Sophia hummed, “Hmm, finally done tormenting your assistant, I see.” Sophia’s remark graces her with a regular Gemma Styles’ eye roll whenever her best friend finds the audacity to tease her.

“Just because she likes you better, does not mean you can disrespect her real boss.” Gemma huffed jokingly. Giving Sophia a hug and a kiss on her cheek upon getting near her.

Gemma then proceeded to hand Sophia her hot cocoa, calling her other three employees while handing them the remaining drinks on the cup holder.

“Bloody hell, boss S,” Kit, Sophia’s other employee, gives her a smirk while taking a big sip from her drink. “I don’t want to be rude or anything but, I think you have to step-up your game if you don’t want us taking Apple’s job.”

Gemma and the other two girls share a laugh together as Sophia gives Kit a meaningful glare, the small smile forming on her face giving away that she was mostly just joking.

“Up my game, like buy my employees ten quid drinks every morning but in turn, let them go crazy until ten at night with a lot of work? Wonder if I should bring Apple now and say there’s an opening at my shop, though she’s still probably asleep because you know, working till ten at night with a wanker boss at that.”

Everyone giggled behind their morning drinks, Gemma was on the brink of spitting hers in feign shock.

“I cannot believe you just called me a wanker.” Gemma had gasped.

Sophia smirked smugly, “That’s for calling me a twat last Friday.”

In true Gemma Styles fashion, she rolled her eyes once more that Sophia is truly afraid her eyes might get stuck in that upward turn.

“Oh please, can we get over Friday night already?” Gemma asked, even moving her hand to dismiss the topic.

Sophia tried to not look suspicious at her best friend’s actions, but to Gemma’s credit, she had not been giving Sophia any signs for her to worry since Friday night. Not once did Gemma bring the topic up over the weekend. Thinking about it, that whole night seemed like a bizarre dream on its own.

Before Sophia can overthink Gemma’s actions, the latter abruptly placed Sophia’s thoughts on a hold and asked for the flower arrangements that Apple pre-ordered last week for her.

“Someone picking it up later?” Sophia asked from her position at her desk where some of the arrangements were placed.

“Nope, I’m picking them up right now.” Gemma replied with a beaming smile, Sophia won’t deny the quirk of her eyebrow in slight question.

“Oh? These flowers are important then, if you yourself are picking it up,” Sophia glanced at the round wall clock, “at 8:24 in the morning…”

It was quite clear that Gemma chose to also dismiss the skeptical tone of Sophia’s voice, replying with an easy and unconcerned manner.

“Well, you can say that. But it’s really not a matter for your pretty little head to worry about. Actually, your girls would probably be the ones doing that while you’re away for a bit because you’re coming with me.”

Now that’s suspicious.

With a frown painted on Sophia’s face, she crossed her arms across her chest at what she had heard.

“Pardon? You want me to come with you?”

“Yeah. And not want, you are coming with me and with these lush arrangements. You’re really so good at your job babe, I’m beyond impressed.”

Before Sophia could even seek what was going on, Gemma walked past the counter where Sophia was stationed, picking up some of the arrangements herself. The woman even had the audacity to tell Sophia’s girls to do their job well and take care of Sophia’s flower babies while their boss was away to join her.

“And she won’t be back until after lunch.” Gemma then looked at Sophia expectantly, “Now would you hurry up Soph, and remove your bloody apron. Wouldn’t want that soiled garment on my pristine car seats.”

“Excuse me?!” Sophia huffed out at Gemma’s implication of her slightly (very, but no one important is confirming) messy nature only to be laughed at by her best friend who was already heading outside the shop to her car.

Well, I guess I really have no choice now, do I? Sophia thought reluctantly.

Thus, with one last reminders to her employees - who she also told to pray for her soul in case Gemma wanted to murder her out of the blue - Sophia removed her apron (pristinely clean, thank you very much) half-heartedly and fetched her bag as she walked outside her floristry to join Gemma in her car.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, Styles.” Sophia said in a familiar tone of exasperation at Gemma’s giddy face as she buckled her seatbelt on.

“Oh come on!” Gemma chuckled, “When are you not in the mood for Gemma Styles’ Infamous Acts of Spontaneity?”

“I don’t know? Always?”

To Sophia’s dismay, Gemma just guffawed at her stony reply. Gemma always does whenever she pulls Sophia for one of her reckless life decisions that somehow invariably occurs with Sophia by her side. How nice, right?

Sophia allowed Gemma to drive them along in silence, content with listening to the faint music coming from the radio.

Sophia has learned that during these specific times of Gemma spontaneity, it’s wise to not question what’s happening in an instant and just wait for Gemma to spill. If not, Gemma would rant on and on, all ride long on how boring Sophia was becoming. Sophia is really not too keen on that for it would only be a further reminder of her lacking social life to be honest.

Intrigue rose within Sophia when she noticed them entering a private, gated community. It looked quite similar to Gemma and Michal’s village although this one seemed bigger with only a few houses per street.

Very much on the verge of freeing her shut mouth and demanding an explanation, Sophia’s hackles are raised even higher the moment they stop in front of a big green gate. Somehow, Gemma knew the keycode for the gate to unlock, a frown ingrained on Sophia’s face as Gemma drove her car to park in front of a beautiful, and clearly brand-new looking home.

Sophia couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Where in the world are we? And don’t flipping frog crap at me or I’m calling your mum right now.” to signify how serious Sophia was, she even brought out her phone to show Gemma that Anne was on her speed dial.

“And since when did you have my mum on speed dial? Are you planning to snitch on me or something?” Gemma asked more amusedly than annoyed.

“Oh, don’t you dare change the topic, little miss troublemaker. Now tell me who’s house this is or I’m really pressing this button.”

Gemma tried to stare Sophia off with her hard green orbs, which seriously, she should know by now that Sophia is completely immune from her steely gaze that usually makes anyone else cower in defeat. When Gemma quickly realized that she won’t be having her way on this one, Gemma huffed out an exaggerated breath the same time a grin creeped on her cherry red painted lips.

“We’re currently at my baby brother’s house.”

Sophia swore a bucket of cold water was thrown over her entire body, shocked and stupefied is to say the least on how she was currently feeling.

“We’re in bunny H’s house?! What the fluffing furball are we doing here?!” Sophia whisper-shouted as if said brother would actually hear them.

This resulted in a laughing Gemma, the woman was audibly delighted and found this entire crisis ordeal of Sophia such a fun source of entertainment. Before Sophia can even think of ways on how to magically disappear from that very moment, Gemma relieves Sophia from her palpable turmoil.

“Soph, would you relax, love? Bunny H isn’t here, well not here yet at least. He’ll officially be moving next week, but right now he’s still in Paris sorting out things from his work. I wish he could have called it quits earlier to be honest.” Gemma’s clear distaste for her brother’s work is evident in her tone.

Sophia exhales a breath in relief, feeling saved by God from the mere doom of her fate just seconds ago. “Haven’t we already discussed to stop calling your brother bunny H?”

Gemma gave her a smug look that’s also not lost in her voice. “If I’m not mistaken - which I rarely am, mind you - you were the one who said bunny H before I did.”

Sophia felt warmth traveling up to her cheekbones, a significant and hard to miss sign that she was indeed blushing.

“Aww, look at you,” Gemma cooed, reaching over the console to pinch Sophia’s flushed cheek. “Already hot and bothered even without bunny H being here yet.”

Flustered, Sophia replied indignantly, “Stop calling him that!” as she placed both of her hands on her flaming cheeks.

Gemma just continued to cackle, the evil best friend of Sophia just goes down her car while instructing Sophia to help her bring some of the arrangements inside the house like Sophia didn’t at all radiate the energy that she wants to be anywhere but here.

Still ignoring Sophia’s qualms, they made their way inside as Gemma explained to Sophia that she was the unpaid interior designer of ‘H.S’ which is what the two have agreed on calling her unnamed younger brother. By the looks of the entryway, the house is brand-new just as Sophia had first thought.

It was a big home to say the least, Sophia instantly noticing how Gemma made it look really homey, as if it were just a bigger version of her and Michal’s place. This home had more of a modern and minimal style compared to Gemma’s which was filled with a lot of eclectic knickknacks and various crystal ornaments.

“This is such a spacious house,” Sophia noted, Gemma and her stopping at the once again quite huge and chef equipped kitchen. “Are you sure your brother is going to live alone?”

“He is. My brother won’t be stupid enough to bring a girl over to live with him without telling me or mum and Robin. I’d shave his head if he actually did that.” Gemma replied, complete with a furious pinch on her forehead just imagining it.

“I guess that’s good to hear that my baby flowers are going to be here to accompany him.” Sophia said rather fondly, helping Gemma place some of the flower arrangements on the huge countertop.

“Or, you can just agree to the date and live with him here to personally keep him company.” Gemma wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Hmm..” Sophia hums in faux consideration, “I bet he’d fancy my £110 preserved tulips and daisies better than a high maintenance florist when he already happens to have a high maintenance sister to begin with.”

Sophia’s jest earned a mixture of a laugh and an exasperated groan from her best friend.

“Sophiaaaa..” Gemma dragged her name in a whining tone, Sophia chuckling at her dramatics as they placed the last of the other arrangements in the living room.

“What?”

Instead of answering verbally, Gemma all out bounced herself down on the most likely never been used gray couches.

“Oh shit, that’s comfy!” Gemma remarked positively, “Remind me to order a bouquet for this couch company to thank them for providing for my firm. And you should probably add a few special sunflowers or something, might make them give me a free couch of theirs.”

Sophia snorted at Gemma’s little cheap cake remark as she sat herself down beside the woman. Seriously, it’s not like Gemma can’t afford a fancy couch to begin with.

“Imagine living here with my brother and these heavenly, comfortable couches?” Gemma began to think out loud with a little dreamy tint placed in her words. “Oh! Better yet, imagine having heavenly, cosmic sex her-”

“GEMMA ANNE STYLES!” Sophia’s crimson red face shouted, frankly appalled and disturbed at her best friend’s indecent thoughts this early on a Monday morning.

Being the unforgivingly blunt little minx that she is, Gemma just cackled rambunctiously at Sophia’s apparent discomfort. Clearly, it’s not weird for her to picture her best friend in a highly intimate scenario with her younger brother.

“Leave it to you on being disturbed about couch sex talk. To be honest, it’s really underrated. The amount of positions you guy-”

“OH MY BLOODY BLOOD! Can you stop your flipping crude words already?!”

Gemma just doubled in laughter, bending herself in half on the couch as Sophia’s face continuously grew a shade darker of red. Gemma knows how her crude words can usually be overwhelming for Sophia, and yet she loves getting a reaction from her either way.

“Gosh you’re adorable!” Gemma gushed despite Sophia’s attempt of an annoyed glare towards her, “This is why you’re so perfect for H.”

Sophia replied sarcastically, “Why? Cause he doesn’t find couch sex any appealing?”

Gemma’s grin is rather bright for someone who just got scoffed.

“He’s just not that type of guy, you know? I mean, not like I know his sexual preference or what not cause that’s seriously just disgusting and weird if I do. But he’s just not that type of guy who gives such a big deal about intercourse. Quite honestly, he turn just like you whenever I talk about sex. It’s really rather cute how the both of you turn all red and bothered while nagging me to stop talking.”

Sophia felt a slight relief after hearing that, for no apparent reason, obviously. She now at least has an insight on H.S about that particular matter, not like it really has any relevant value. Sex is yet too intimate of a topic to even associate with him in any form.

“Whatever, Gem.” Sophia shrugged, “still not going on that date with him.” she smiled evenly at a now pouting Gemma.

“It’s just one night! What can you lose?”

“Actually, the correct question is: what am I to gain?”

Gemma just looked at Sophia like she’s just lost her head.

“I don’t know? Like a bloody loving and amazing boyfriend, perhaps? If you haven’t noticed, you’ve been single and lonely for god knows how long. You don’t trust online dating nor even like to party or mingle around, so how do you expect to meet someone then?”

Sophia’s jaw dropped to the floor at all these words coming from Gemma. Sophia’s not offended in any light, it’s just that there’s a silent agreement between the two of them to not mention nor verbally acknowledge her bluntly lack of a love life. It’s a conversation they both know won’t end well.

Unsure of whether this might head south all too quickly, Sophia decided to say more than ask. “Before you even think of diving really deep into this conversation, let me just touch the surface light, shall I.”

Sophia did not wait for any reply before she’s back on it, “The fact that I am a self-proclaimed clingy, co-dependent, and borderline possessive lovesick easily jealous puppy, is already a fair and blaring warning for your brother. Or anyone who wants to date me for that matter.”

Not only did Gemma look at her like she had lost her mind, but she has now also looked at Sophia like she had just lost all her wits and limbs all together.

“How could all those be a red flag? The only guys, or may I say boys that would think that way are fucking wanking arseholes of twats who are too immature for their own good. And you better believe me when I say that my brother is fucking far from being that. I would have literally disowned him as anyone related to me if he thinks those traits you’ve just mentioned are all but negative things. Those traits of yours are that of a bloody loyal and loving person.”

Those were the moments that made Sophia think how unique Gemma truly is. Vastly outspoken, efficiently eloquent and blunt. Though it still renders her speechless whenever Gemma talks so heatedly about something, no doubt much more when it’s a lecture about Sophia’s poorly dating life.

“Look,” Gemma said after a few minutes of silence after her weighty speech. She reached for Sophia’s hand to hold it down her lap in a comforting touch. “I get it, all these fears and negative comments placed on you by previous lovers and all that shit. I understand that it's taken a toll on you because clearly, you haven’t met any guy that has treated you with respect and that unconditional love every human deserves. But, that doesn’t mean you should close yourself off to other more deserving guys out there who are also looking for what you need. The world is already abundant with hate and fear, you wouldn't want to add more to that, yeah?”

Sophia almost wanted to shed a tear at Gemma’s already heart-warming speech, and here she goes trying to guilt trip Sophia with the concept of world peace.

Instead of replying, Sophia glared at Gemma’s resurgence of her ‘I’m-guilty-but-you-love-me’ smile to show her that Sophia’s not buying the ‘date my brother so world peace can progress’ crap she was trying to sell here.

“Fine!” Gemma relented all of a sudden, removing her hold on Sophia’s hand to cross her arms above her chest. “Considering you’re so alike to my brother, for sure he’s going to throw a way worse fit than you have been doing when he learns about my genius plans. I won’t set you guys up on a date anymore.”

Sophia might actually start crying now as a smile of victory breaks into her face. Upon seeing such a gleeful response, Gemma pointed her finger at Sophia who’s supposedly doing a dance of victory on her head is halted.

“However, that doesn’t mean you’d get away with meeting him. This Friday, my place and same time. Wine Nights at Gemma’s Special Bunny H Edition.”

Sophia thinks that should be better than that date, right?

*~*~*

Working as a head chef for Gordon Ramsay always had its perks and its disadvantages.

Advantages can be earning a highly generous amount of money from doing what you love. Harry gets to travel first class around the world just to do what he loves to do the most: consuming, learning, and making more food.

Disadvantages would be that Harry’s a very busy lad, one who has seldom time to spare for his family and the fact that he doesn’t really get to focus on anything besides his work.

Considering that Harry’s only 22 years old, most people would likely say that he should just continue to flourish in his job, to learn and grow more as an individual before worrying about other things besides those.

You see, that’s what Harry’s mindset is to begin with. Get everything ready and prepared whether that entails maturing himself or growing his financial resources before he stops being the head chef of one of the culinary legends of the entire world and begins to settle down. And when he’s accomplished all that, everything would be perfect: starting his own business, and having his own family to build it with.

Now it took Harry a good wake-up call in the form of his older sister, Gemma, to see that he could perfectly achieve all those right now.

Gemma’s only a year older than Harry, and having a call in the middle of a boring meeting in Paris is all it took for Harry to question his current life decisions. Gemma had rang him about being dead-set on buying a home with her boyfriend Michal, just after two years of starting her own design firm.

If she can do what she loves on her own and have someone that she loves much more at such an early age, what can’t I strive to have that too?

Obviously it wasn’t just that phone call that suddenly altered his entire life plan, Harry also had to consult with his mum and Robin if he was thinking on the right path and if he was being reasonable. Knowing that his mum was a literal older version of his sister (albeit much more savage if you ask him), Anne definitely made sure to put it in Harry’s head that he was a right twat for only realizing it now that he should stop being such a workaholic and start to focus on the greater things that matter.

“At this rate, you can buy your future girl the entire Selfridges for all she cares! So, you bloody better quit your job now and settle back down in London if you don’t want all your hard earnings to be put to waste, you lovely wanker.”

Yup, leave it to Anne Twist to call her son lovely and a wanker in the same sentence. Though all in all, it was the right words that Harry absolutely needed to hear to get his life into a new and better perspective.

Surprisingly, everything went smoothly with this new route of his. Harry officially landed on England soil early this morning, and had just finished his final work-related thing with Gordon just a few hours ago. He can now finally breath in relief as he’s currently sitting on an Uber that’s heading to his newly bought home.

Harry was about to take a much needed nap considering he just also finished a swarm of calls from his builders for his upcoming restaurant that’s already on the works. It felt as if he had just literally closed his eyes for a second when his sister decided to have other plans and made it her mission to ring Harry in that instant.

Harry does not try to disguise his annoyance upon answering the call. “Why hello my dear sister, why does it seem like you always fancy ringing me at the most unreasonable hours?”

“Actually, it’s not my bloody problem that you decided to come here earlier than planned.” Gemma bit back with the same air of annoyance. “Weren’t you supposed to arrive this Thursday? If I’m not mistaken, it’s just Monday today, little bro.”

Gemma’s usual sassiness definitely does not fail in waking Harry up a bit.

“First of all, why am I even surprised that mum told you I was arriving days earlier? And second, is it such a crime to leave earlier than planned and be more productive? Because if I reckon correctly, I am currently in the process of starting my own restaurant of some sorts here in London. Thirdly, you are correct. It is a Monday and I’d be concerned if your paranoid self forgot about this thing called a calendar, everyone has one in their mobile devices if that’s any help.”

Harry swears he can actually picture Gemma’s angry face, with steam leaving her nose and ears like the cartoon they watched in the telly when they were younger. Thankfully, it was only Gemma’s groan of vexation that she gave Harry.

“God, I wonder how anyone would survive your smartass attitude to be honest. You’re worse than me really, and everyone already does not like it when I talk.”

Harry laughed at that. “I mean, I am one of a kind. Rare, some might even say.”

Gemma’s indignant groan only rises in octave as Harry’s practiced ears heard her quiet hiss of ‘cocky narcissistic bastard’ on the other end of the line.

More amused at her reaction than anything, Harry chuckled and had finally asked why Gemma called before she took more time off his impending nap.

“I’m just wondering, since you’ve arrived earlier than initially planned, do you mind if I set your date with my lovely best girl pal on Wednesday around 7:30 in the evening?” Gemma all but said casually, Harry’s eyes almost bugging out of its sockets just like in the same children’s program they frequently watched before.

“Cause I figured you’d like to pick her up at around 6:30, then probably a stopover or some shit cause you’re a romantic weirdo and that would take another 30 minu-”

“Gemma Anne Styles, d0n’t you even dare think of doing that exact same shit you’ve just told me if you know what’s good for you.” Harry sternly interrupted his older sister without any ounce of remorse. “I’m so bloody tired of having this conversation with you again and again! How many times do I have to verbally tell you that you’re not fucking setting me up with your lovely best girl pal. No offense to her, but she’s some sort of crazy wanker if she agrees to your delusional and poorly planned date. Besides, I bet you already tortured that girl enough being as she’s been your best friend since you two were in uni. But what I’m really trying to say, is I’ll gladly disown you as my sister if you so wish to continue with your actions and-”

“HOLY MOTHERFUCKING BLOODY MARY AND CHRIST! Would you shut it already?! I’m just kidding, okay?”

The gallons of pure relief that washes over Harry, made him feel like no nap is needed to make him feel this relief and rested from the antics of his annoyingly, pain in the arse, persistent sister. Christ, Gemma’s been pushing Harry to do this blind date since last week. It started subtly with hints in the beginning, then it escalated to full on detailed calls and texts just a few days later.

“You should have just said you didn’t want to go on the date because it’s too soon to find your soulmate type of romantic bullshit you say.” Gemma carried on to insult Harry’s romantic principles. “You really didn’t have to blatantly disrespect our relationship as siblings. It’s nice to hear you even have thoughts of disowning me, clearly you’re more of a drama queen than my lovely best friend. She just straight out told me she’s not going, better learn from her, Harold.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his sister’s dramatics regardless if she just proclaimed she wasn’t one for it.

“I guess it’s good to hear that she’s apparently the more sensible between you two.” Harry chuckled at his own clever jab, knowing well enough that his sister is definitely the type who would fancy a blind date with some stranger. It’s really great to hear that Gemma has not influenced her best friend in that realm.

“Oh would you stop it already,” Gemma scoffed, “I already had an earful from her earlier today upon my brilliant plans of getting her to agree.”

Harry let out a full-on guffawing loud laugh at that. If this girl can take down his sister and Gemma also earned an ‘earful’ from her, then this girl must be really different from Gemma as most of her other friends are just as loud as her making it impossible for anyone to lower her notches.

“Ohh..” Harry muttered in intrigue, “I think I might already like her Gem, obviously not in a romantic way as you’re most likely thinking right now you delusional twat. It’s more of I think I’d fancy her to be my partner in annoying you.”

“Whatever, you just wait and see for more of your similarities this Friday.”

Harry’s giddy behavior stopped right there.

“What?! Didn’t you just say-”

“OKAY!” Gemma did nothing but just screamed at Harry making the latter wince with his phone inching away from his poor ear. “Before you get your knickers in a twist Harold, just because I called off the date, doesn’t mean I don’t want you guys to meet.”

Gemma’s voice considerably softened. “She’s still my best friend from uni, H. You should at least get to know her considering she’ll be with me almost all of my free time. So, I’m inviting you this Friday, together with some of my other close friends to Wine Nights at Gemma’s 7:30 sharp, and don’t even think of bailing on me.”

As much as Harry has never fancied the idea of being set up on a date, Gemma was still correct that it was only rational for him to get to know this best friend of hers considering she’d probably be one of the few people Harry would know in London aside from his colleagues. Better have a familiar face in his new life in the city.

“Sure. Wouldn’t want to miss my first ever invitation at the highly prestigious Wine Nights at Gemma’s. How could I?” Harry’s obvious flattery elicits a laugh from both siblings.

Harry has heard a lot of good things from said wine nights. The fact it has an official name shows some importance to it. Plus, Harry has felt enough jealousy at the fun it seems to bring from all of Gemma’s Instagram posts about it.

“That’s good to hear.” the smile on Gemma’s voice rings clear at the end of the line. “Before I let you go, just a heads up, I left a very special set of surprises at your place.”

Harry instantly groaned at that, he hated it when Gemma went to his home without telling him. The evil older sibling that she is, Gemma only laughed at Harry’s clear distaste for her actions.

“Actually, it's perfect that you’re arriving tonight. I bet you’d genuinely really like it. But anyway, Michal’s waiting for me to start our movie night so I better head off. Love you, H!”

Before Harry can even complain how it really wasn’t a bright idea of his to have given her the code to both his gate and front door, Gemma left him hanging. Not only that, envious too that she’s having a movie night with her boyfriend while Harry’s going to be stuck alone at home, and worse, has to get his Wifi connection installed before he can even watch some Netflix.

Finding no sense to act petulant about such misfortunes, Harry occupied himself the remaining ride home thinking about Gemma’s surprise. Upon arriving at his new home, Harry certainly did not picture the six beautifully arranged assortment of preserved flowers scattered on both his living room and kitchen to be his sister’s little welcoming treat.

A beaming smile graced Harry's lips when he also noticed a tin of his favorite matcha on the marbled kitchen countertop placed on top of one of Gemma’s famous stamped letters.

Dear H,

I hope you loved these beautiful (and expensive) flower arrangements from yours truly. If it even matters to you, my lovely best friend helped me make this possible.

I know you wouldn’t really have the balls to tell me this verbally, but I also made sure to buy you your favorite brand of matcha and supplied you with a big mug in your cupboards to use. I know you’d feel lonely on your first night at such a big house, I hope these little things have provided you some comfort, little bro.

Don’t worry, if you play your cards right, I might just buy your future girl’s favorite beverage too so she can join you on your late night Netflix shenanigans.

But since that’s yet to happen because you so politely declined my offer as resident (and CERTIFIED) cupid, just enjoy your night alone and probably ponder about sending your sweet sister some flower arrangements in return? It wouldn’t be polite if she already works for you free of charge and you don’t even return the pleasant favor by dropping her some simple flowers.

Anyway, love you lots, bunny H!

Yours truly,

Gemma Styles 💘

The best older sister & cupid in all of London

P.S. There’s a business card inside the envelope where I WANT the flowers specifically from. Good luck and thank me later 😉

Wasn’t that letter sweet? Harry thought the same thing until his older sister showed her true bossy colors by ‘requesting’ Harry to buy her some ‘simple’ flowers. Besides, as deviously clever as Gemma thinks she is, Harry can see right through her schemes with crystal clear eyes.

Harry knows pretty close to nothing about Gemma’s best friend, except for the fact that she’s held the poor girl captive for how many years now as Harry’s certain no person would willingly be Gemma Styles’ best friend without some coercion happening. The other fact that Harry knows is said best friend is a florist. How can he not know about that when Gemma insisted on calling her ‘sunflower’ every time Harry asked what her real name was. Thankfully, Harry learned early on to just stop asking.

Harry does not bother looking at the business card tucked safely inside his sister’s envelope, he shakes his head and disposes of it in the bin while imagining in his head what Gemma’s real plan was. It would obviously go around the lines of an innocently oblivious Harry arriving at some flower shop in central London, coincidentally meets the owner, strikes up conversation with her, and then Harry and her magically fall in love together. So when Harry delivers the flowers Gemma has requested, low and behold, ‘oh, the owner is my best girl pal! Harry, it was meant to be!’

“Meant to be my ass.” Harry muttered to himself. As someone who’s not the biggest fan of romance movies no matter how much of a natural romantic flare he has, it’s no surprise that Harry does not end up watching The Notebook that night nor follow his sister’s twisted plan of a flower shop meet-cute.

Instead, Harry found himself at a Waitrose near his half-way finished restaurant after getting inspired from an episode of The Great British Bake-Off he had ended up watching last night. Gemma wanted flowers, but Harry was more in the mood of baking her some red velvet cupcakes. Not only will it serve him good brother points, but it would also instill in Gemma that his argument still stands strong: Harry has the best red velvet cupcake recipe and her excuse for a special recipe does not even compare.

With that will in mind, Harry carried on filling his trolley with all the ingredients he needed from salt, to flour, and to cocoa powder. By the time he reached the section for cupcake holders, Harry was examining the contents of his trolley, feeling as if he was missing something integral.

“Red!” Harry facepalmed himself. “Dummy, how can you forget the food coloring?”

Before anyone can question the man with his hair on a bun talking to himself in aisle eight, Harry quickly makes his way back to the baking bits where he thinks the food coloring is located. He finds it without any worries, mind laser-focused on the task that he doesn’t notice the other person that’s also on the same mission as him.

One moment, Harry had his arms outstretched to reach the bottle of red food coloring on the grocery shelf. The next moment, Harry was colliding with an entire body of a little person who he didn’t realize was also aiming to reach for the same thing as him.

“Oh shit!” Harry cursed, one hand grasping the bottle of coloring tightly, while the other was steadying the petite woman who he had accidentally hit.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Harry checked in clear worry, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

The girl’s head was turned downwards and away from Harry’s vision, hands covered in sweater paws were gently rubbing the side of her body that Harry had accidentally collided with.

“Holy furball, that hurt.” the girl had mumbled, Harry’s worrisome self was alerted.

On autopilot, Harry was reaching for the girl himself, hand reaching out to hold her probably bruised arm. “Shit, do you want me to take you to the A&E? Actually, maybe I should just take you to the A&E just to make sur-”

Blue eyes stared back at Harry.

The prettiest, cerulean blue Harry had ever been blessed to see. It literally took the words out of Harry’s lips when the girl had finally looked at him on the face.

Harry does not know what his face currently looked like, all he knew is that whatever his face was showing, made the girl’s beautiful blue orbs widen even farther like the most adorable babydoll eyes.

“Oh.” the girl said before an embarrassed pout formed on her pink lips. “There’s no need for that, I’m just a really clumsy person in general so I’m already used to it. Oh! I’m also so sorry for hitting you. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Blue babydoll eyes turned rounder, cotton candy pink bottom lip protruded even farther.

And oh, Harry was screwed in every angle of that word.

He’s literally in the presence of the person that’s straight-out of his loveliest dreams. Harry knows nothing about this saddened girl in her cream sweater and tight little skirt in front of him but he’s pretty sure she’s the woman he did all those long nights and mornings for making food and saving every pound for.

“No.” Harry quickly said after his state of stupor. “It’s alright, you don’t need to apologize. It was all my fault and you can’t say otherwise.”

It was a definitive statement, one that garnered him a puzzled expression from the pouting girl who was probably used to getting blamed by people because of her self-proclaimed clumsy nature. Well Harry won’t be like those twats to such a wonderful girl who he wants to have a good ending to their meet-cute because that’s totally what’s happening right now.

So Harry gave her a comforting smile instead. “No worries, truly. I was the one in the wrong for not minding my surroundings, but I promise I won’t do it again to you or for anyone else here in this Waitrose for that matter.”

Harry wasn’t trying to be funny, but the angelic giggle the girl let out was rather something he was inclined to hear on repeat.

With a grin, Harry placed his hand forward in greeting. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Sophia.” she had said while returning Harry’s handshake pleasantly.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Sophia.” Harry already loved how the name easily rolled-off his tongue. “Although I would have wished I had met you on better terms without my oblivious self almost colliding with your body down to the germy grocery floor.”

The dig on himself was worth it if only for the giggle Sophia had once again graced him with.

“It was an accident, though.” Sophia had kindly defended. “So I don’t think you should be mean to yourself about it.”

Harry shrugged playfully, “I’d still want to re-do our first interaction if I could.”

“Well that’s not possible so let’s just forget about it and move on.”

But Harry doesn’t want any of those when it comes to Sophia.

He doesn’t know what Sophia’s plans are besides the indication of her equally filled trolley just beside her. Though there’s no way Harry will let her checkout from this Waitrose without him securing any future plans with her.

“What are you shopping for this lovely morning, Sophia?”

The evident want for their conversation to be sustained brought an elated tug at Sophia’s lips. No matter how minute the detail, Harry feels his hopes surge forward at the indication that Sophia also didn’t want their interaction to end at this baking aisle.

“Oh, I actually stopped by here to get some bits for spontaneous dessert baking for my lunch.”

Aren’t they a match made in heaven already?

“Are you serious?” Harry couldn’t help but smirk at her, “I’m also here to do the exact same thing!”

Delighted surprise glowed on Sophia’s face. “Really? That’s insane!”

Harry didn’t want to ruin his chances and opened his smart mouth to say that it’s not really that of a surprise considering they met at the baking aisle. Seeing Sophia’s eyes filled with wonderment at such a simple coincidence was something he wanted to keep being the reason for.

“What are you planning to make, miss star baker?” Harry cheekily wiggled his eyebrows that made Sophia’s beam brighter.

“Red velvet cupcakes!” Sophia excitedly squealed, making Harry’s heart grow fonder for the girl especially when she even clapped her hands a bit in pure elation.

“I was about to grab some red food coloring when you accidentally bumped into me.” Sophia continued, eyes moving back to the grocery shelf only to see that there were no longer any bottles of red food coloring available.

From how quick Sophia had turned to an excited puppy upon telling Harry she was going to bake some red velvet cupcakes, it was just as swiftly that she had turned to a sad puppy upon realizing it couldn’t be possible without the integral part of the dish missing.

Harry swore his heartstrings were pulled cruelly when Sophia proceeded to pout at him, cerulean blues turning glassy. “Harry, there’s no more red food coloring. How can I bake my red velvet babies then?”

He doesn’t know what it is, but Harry has only met Sophia just a few minutes back and just one dejected look from her has Harry wanting to fix and make everything better just to see that happy glow painted back on Sophia’s adorable face.

If this wasn’t a sign from the universe that it was the right choice Harry began settling down in London to get his priorities in life back on track, he doesn’t know what type of push the universe will need to do to his arse when this sacred opportunity is already being handed to him with the stars fucking aligning in front of his own eyes.

Harry tried to give a small smile to a near-tears Sophia when it felt like such an impossible task to do so. “Would it be crazier if I said I was also here to get ingredients for red velvet cupcakes, and I happen to have gotten the last bottle of the red food coloring?”

Harry waited for the words to register in the still kicked-puppy looking Sophia, her cute mouth went agape the moment it did.

“What?” Sophia muttered, dumfounded.

Harry tried his best to reel in the giggles with how cute he’s finding Sophia right that moment. “Yeah, I was here to bake someone some red velvet cupcakes and I was about to checkout and forget about the most important ingredient of all. So I came back for that, and then bumped into you, and now we’re apparently in this parallel universe situation. Isn’t that really crazy?”

“Really, crazy.” Sophia repeated with a dazed smile.

Harry still thinks she is very adorable when he begins to ask, “Since there’s only one bottle left, fancy changing your prior plans to join me at my restaurant instead?”

Blue irises widened in surprise, “What?” Sophia squawked which shouldn't be attractive but it was to Harry because how can anything Sophia do be anything but?

“I think it would be a right shame if I’m the only one who gets to bake some cupcakes when I have an entire professional kitchen under my disposal where I can easily invite you in.”

It’s a very straight forward request, one Harry won’t even suggest if he was already talking to someone weeks in. His kitchen is a very sacred space for Harry, one he doesn’t let others that easily in without finding it in himself to completely trust that someone. Call it a reckless move or one directed from a poorly conceived chance encounter from a romance film, but Harry just feels it in his intuition that it was the right thing to ask.

Sophia looked at him with a tint of uncertainty, “Are you being serious? I don’t think I can impose on you like that just for some cupcakes.”

Harry shook his head lightly, “No, you’re not imposing. I’m actually dead serious about inviting you over to my kitchen. Besides, this request is not only for the sake of any cupcake, it’s for red velvet cupcakes.”

Something about the mention of the specific dessert had gotten Sophia hooked once again in some sort of trance. Harry himself is transfixed at the way the girl had instantly lit up from within like Sophia was just presented with the exact arrangement of numbers to win the lottery and she is determined to take her shot at winning it.

It took barely a second for Sophia to flash Harry with her own winning smile, timidly nodding her head in agreement at the latter’s offer. It seemed like Harry had also won his chance at love at this point early on and that fact only continued to solidify in his head the longer he spent time with Sophia.

Conversations flowed easily between the two from the time they were at the checkout counter talking about their start of the day with Sophia getting the last piece of croissant at her favorite local bakery to Harry sharing his first morning at his new home. Their chatter naturally took a turn to Harry’s new life in London as Sophia excitedly suggested things he needed to see and experience in the city while the two of them loaded their baking goodies in Harry’s Range Rover.

Apparently, Sophia’s flower shop was just around the corner from the grocery so she decided to not take her own car and walked the way instead. It was a highly interesting fact to know that she was a florist and Harry found himself being more engrossed than what he would normally be.

Majority of their short car ride was filled with Harry asking numerous questions to Sophia about anything flora. He quickly learned the innate joy it brings out of the girl with just the simple question of what flowers grow best in spring time or if the meaning behind the color of flowers truly matters when one is purchasing them.

The dimple on Harry’s cheek remained a permanent fixture on his face as Sophia answered all his questions in a joyful manner, dainty hands moving animatedly at her every mention of her ‘flower babies’ which is probably one of the most adorable things Harry has ever heard in his entire existence.

It’s a true shame that Harry couldn’t just purchase every color of roses available to show Sophia how sure he is that he’s on the right route of falling in love with her, nor have the ability to just grab Sophia’s little hand mid-talk to see if their palms do fit seamlessly together like Harry pictures two puzzle pieces connecting to create the perfect link.

Ultimately, Harry wanted to start littering Sophia’s stunning face with adoring kisses every time she said the word baby for all the flower plots she was growing and fondly telling Harry about.

All the best things in life don’t come that easily though, and Harry is well aware of that as he settled with giving Sophia all the attention he can whilst driving them safely. Her soft smiles are easily returned when Harry feels nothing but enamored at every little thing that Sophia had blessed to tell him. It’s not a normal occurrence for Harry to converse with someone so passionate about their career and it’s the first time he’s learnt that he finds it actually rather attractive.

By the time Harry has parked his car at the front of his restaurant in the making, Sophia has just finished telling him about the two dozens of intricate bouquets she and her team had finished earlier today. The deciding factor which made her determine that it was only fair to close the shop before lunch so her hard working employees will get their much needed rest.

Someone who’s passionate about their occupation combined with the fact that they are also giving keen attention to the well-being of their workers? Sign Harry fucking in!

“Oh wow,” Sophia let out when Harry turned off the engine, “We’re here already? That was a fast ride.”

Harry smirked, “What can I say? One can’t really tell the time that passed when they’re in the presence of excellent company.”

Sophia’s eyes narrowed, Harry’s cocky words no doubt pulling the side of her lips in amusement regardless if he denies it to his face.

“If I remember correctly,” Sophia hummed in defiance, “I was the only one talking the entire ride so how can you say you’re excellent company when you didn’t even offer me the same courtesy of getting to know you?”

“That’s fair.” Harry chuckled, “But it’s also fair to give me a second chance of proving to you that I’m an immaculate company to have as I tour you inside my upcoming restaurant?”

The excitement in Sophia’s eyes is palpable upon the information, it’s as if she’s completely forgotten where Harry was taking her in the first place.

“So you’re a chef then?” Sophia asked as they made their way out of the car, Harry insisting on carrying all the grocery bags.

“Yeah, I think in a nutshell that’s what I am.” Harry replied, motioning with his hands for her to lead the way to the front door.

“What does that mean?” Sophia asked while walking, turning her head back to look at Harry which caused her to almost trip. “Oops.”

“Careful, lovely.” Harry worriedly instructed, the endearment easily falling from his lips without his consent. But instead of worrying about the girl’s reaction to his natural show of affection, Harry made his way to stand beside Sophia and help her up the stairs going to the front door with his free hand placed on the curve of her waist to make sure the clumsy girl does not fall.

“Sorry.” Sophia whispered, the quietness of her tone catching Harry’s eyes just as the same time he noticed the clear pinkness glowing on the top of her cheeks.

Harry himself is shining inside from making this pretty person blush just from a simple endearment. That’s a really good thing to remember then, that Sophia evidently likes pet names the same way Harry naturally loves spewing them to people he cares for. Isn’t that really quite convenient?

“No need to apologize.” Harry easily appeased her as he opened the door for the both of them to enter. “I completely understand why you wanted to ask a question bearing in mind that I truly am such a character one should know about that’s worth tripping for.”

The answering laugh from Sophia is all Harry needed to hear to feel appeased himself that the girl truly didn’t feel bad or embarrassed for almost tripping in front of him.

“Are you really this self-conceited?” Sophia asked, this time without the fear in Harry, that she might trip on her feet once more as Harry continued to glue himself by her side, guiding her in the very cluttered and half-built dining area of his restaurant.

“Not really, I say it’s more about having enough self-confidence and not about me being truly arrogant.” Harry honesty replied, finding no time to provide Sophia with flirty banter when he sees the way most of the builders are looking at the latter.

Harry felt the slight simmering irritation in his stomach, not liking for one bit how the builders he had hired literally stopped their work just to give Sophia a once over with their eyes. It’s disgusting knowing where their nasty minds can lead to. It’s no surprise that the urge to protect was unleashed from Harry, considerably pulling Sophia closer to him by gently placing her directly to his front while he wrapped both his arms protectively across her stomach, grocery bags dangling painfully on his wrist forgotten.

Harry felt the effect of their sudden change in proximity in Sophia’s body language as she stiffened her back at their first close touch. Harry didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around him but her safety from the foul prying eyes these men are giving Sophia is Harry’s top priority as he quickly led Sophia to the protection of his kitchen.

Thinking Sophia did not appreciate Harry’s brash decision of essentially back-hugging her on their way to the kitchen, Harry quickly removed himself from being plastered from the petite woman’s back and discarded their baking goodies on the steel countertop. He was unsure if he was meant to apologize for compromising Sophia’s personal space or what but his worries were easily diminished when Sophia herself gravitated back to him.

Harry tried his best to not let his mind wander with rose-tinted glasses on the implication of Sophia standing far too closely by his side as she helped him to properly dispense their ingredients with her careful fingers treating the bag of flour and box of eggs with delicate care. They’re so close to one another that not only can Harry feel the soft material of Sophia’s fluffy sweater sliding against the side of his arm, but the girl’s floral perfume is wafted in Harry’s nostrils like a constant wisp of fresh summertime air.

They’re standing too close to each other that one wrong move, Harry’s hip can hit Sophia’s own which can result with the latter tumbling down on the spotless kitchen floors. In Harry’s humble opinion, it was only a precautionary measure when his arm snaked its way back to the curve of the small of Sophia’s back with his hand finding purchase on the dip of her waist. It’s all about ensuring Sophia’s safety from falling over, Harry does not want that to happen is all.

Sophia seemed to also share the same sentiments with Harry as she cozied her way up Harry’s melting heart with her sweater paws softly clutching the end of Harry’s shirt while gladly accepting Harry’s hold around her as she relaxed her body on his.

Sophia raised her head to look at Harry as she spoke, “So, you’re telling me you’re just a ‘chef in a nutshell’ when this beautiful kitchen is enough to tell me that you actually are one. This kitchen is clearly made for only a professional chef. ”

Harry chuckled at Sophia’s observation, trying to quell his smugness. “You like my kitchen, huh? I do say I am quite proud of it.”

It was a no brainer for Harry that the first section of his restaurant that must be done first is his kitchen. Not only is it the place where Harry can feel like completely himself as he cooked to all of his heart’s desire, but it’s the only place where he knows he truly feels a sense of belongingness. England will always be his home, but for someone who’s traveled most of his adult life, that feeling of home and having a home base has always been a missing factor in Harry’s chosen career path. It’s the familiarity of the kitchen that has been the constant one in Harry’s life. Harry knew it would make him feel loads better with this new big milestone in his journey if he had a fully equipped kitchen where he can just be.

It’s just the cherry on top that someone special to his eyes can also appreciate his comfort space.

“It truly is a marvelous kitchen, Harry.” Sophia repeated kindly with nothing but sincerity in both her voice and irises. “And it doesn’t really do anything with your attempt at being coy with me when I already know in the short time I’ve come to know you that you are nothing but a confident man. Why is being a chef suddenly stopping you from talking to me then?”

Well isn’t Sophia a smart one? “It’s because I’m kind of wary that I might actually sound like a cocky arsehole when I say what my career of being a chef truly entails.”

It seemed to be the right answer to further intrigue Sophia. “Now you’re just putting me in a cliffhanger. You don’t do that to your friends, Harry!”

Friends? Harry doesn’t know if he should be rejoicing about that or not. He hoped that their closeness emits some sort of love cocoon so that Sophia would also feel that attraction Harry is strongly harboring for her.

“It’s not even that big of a deal.” Harry said, already retrieving some bowls and measuring cups from the drawers he personally organized with Sophia still glued to his every move.

“It totally is if you haven’t even told me what you actually do for a living that enabled you to build something so beautiful.”

“I like how you think that I built this kitchen myself. It’s a real ego-booster, lovely.”

The instant pinking of Sophia’s cheek was an undeniable win on Harry’s side. Harry chuckled in slight surprise when Sophia went a step further and rubbed her cheek on the sleeve of his shirt, trying to hide her blushing mess on Harry’s bicep.

“Stop making me blush and stop changing the topic.” Sophia called him about making Harry chuckle deeper.

“Well stop turning all blushy and cute then!” Harry countered, laughing by now at Sophia’s reaction as the latter made a physical show of removing Harry’s hold on her as she grumbled her way transferring the contents of their ingredients in their own separate bowls.

Sophia wasn’t done with showing her displeasure at Harry though as he warned him. “I’m not going to allow you to join me to bake red velvet babies if you don’t start being honest with me right now.”

If Harry wasn’t enamored at everything Sophia, he would definitely have pulled a viscous Gordon Ramsay-esque cursing fit for someone technically disrespecting Harry in his own kitchen. Gatekeeping Harry from cooking is a very big sin in his books, which apparently has an exception from adorable people who are having a hard time folding their sweater paws so as to not get dirty by the cocoa powder.

Harry is nothing but endeared as he makes his way to help the struggling Sophia.

“Let me help you there, lovely.”

Sophia pouted at him, “Fine, but don’t bloody think you’re already in my good books.”

Her attempt at a menacing stare was just as intimidating as the fluffy cat video Harry saw on his phone late last night when said cat had gotten their water fountain turned off. But unlike the video he saw, Harry tried his best not to coo this time around or else Sophia might actually order Harry to get out of the kitchen. His kitchen or not, Harry would probably follow Sophia’s orders without any questions.

“If I tell you that I actually used to work with Gordon Ramsay for the majority of my adult life, would that be enough incentive to be back in your good graces?”

Sophia finished transferring the last egg in a bowl right before she almost dropped one after hearing what Harry had just said.

“You’re a chef for Gordon Ramsay?” Sophia rapidly asked, body rigid and alert.

“Up until last night I was.” Harry shrugged, “And for complete honesty, I really no longer am employed by him considering we’re in the restaurant I’m getting built.”

Harry ultimately frowned at Sophia who started to squeal in excitement, little paws grabbing Harry’s bicep in a thrilled squeeze.

“Why in the blooming world did you want to keep this awesome information from me?” Sophia avidly babbled.

Harry looked down at her in confusion. “Awesome? What’s awesome about what I said?”

“That you work for fluffing Gordon Ramsay!” Sophia replied in a ‘duh’ tone, undertones of eagerness present. “He’s like the most magical proponent of cooking and so blooming hilarious! I’d probably be peeing my pants if I were in your position who needs to be constantly in his presence.”

Typically, Harry is quite accustomed to these types of surprised reactions upon learning who Harry works for. Key word: typically.

It’s a completely different scenario when Harry is faced with someone that’s both exhibiting a reaction of surprise, glee-fullness, and ending their sentence with a dreamy sigh. A dreamy sigh?! Since when did his previous boss deserve that type of magical retort?

Harry felt the silhouette of the green monster of jealousy awakening within him. He prides himself for not being the jealous one in a relationship, always having utmost trust in his partners for that to even be an issue. Not that Sophia’s in a relationship with him, but it’s genuinely the first time he’s seen someone react this radiantly about such a mundane thing about him, about Gordon fucking Ramsay, that old man, really?!

Alright, Harry can be honest and say that he’s most definitely feeling the simmering of jealousy because he really fancies Sophia and here she is close to waxing lyrical about his old boss. Of all the people he’d encounter to get his dire love life back on track, it’s got to be someone from his past. And he’s not talking about an ex partner who he can just disregard as unimportant old news. Harry bets Sophia watches Ramsay on the regular, how can he be old news for her?

“He’s not that special, really.” Harry shrugged, tampering down his annoyance at even picturing that smug, teasing face of his previous boss which he often gives Harry whenever one of their line cooks gets ‘distracted’ by Harry’s luscious long curls.

“How can you say that?” Sophia gasped, “Surely we’re talking about the same Gordon Ramsay here.”

“I’m sure.” and Harry doesn’t want to divulge further than that. “He’s just loud and demanding is what it is. I’m pretty certain you can also comprehend that just from watching him on the telly.”

Sophia only narrowed her eyes at Harry for his dismissive tone. “You’re right, but that’s only a small part of why Gordon Ramsay is such a magnificent chef. Don’t you guys say it’s never good to be quiet in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, but Gordon’s just overbearingly loud. Trust me, he needs his executive chefs like myself to get him to calm down most of the time or else his kitchen would literally be on fire already with how much of a cruel devil he can be with the brigade.”

Harry said that statement as to scare Sophia, not make her stop on her tracks once more and give Harry moony eyes.

“Gosh, I’m not one for cursing or getting cursed at but, I’d even personally ask Gordon Ramsay to tell me the F word just to feel like I’m part of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“What the fuck?” Harry’s eyes widen, not missing the cheeky glint in Sophia’s cerulean boys.

“I said a cursing Gordon Ramsay, not you.”

Unintentionally, that last two words of Sophia’s tap directly on Harry’s growing jealousy.

“Can you stop saying his name?” Harry found himself asking sternly, not able to stop his mouth from blabbering even when Sophia visibly stiffened at his words. “You’ve said his name in your last five sentences while talking to me. Do you like him or something?”

The question is out in the open before Harry can even think better of it. He feels the embarrassment settle on the tips of his ears, eyes falling to the floor just waiting for Sophia’s painful reply as he moves to give both of them some distance. He feels like such an inexperienced wanker for getting jealous that easily.

Thinking that he should just probably apologize before Sophia inevitably rejects him, the latter closed the distance Harry previously gave them. She resumed her position in Harry’s close proximity, Harry’s hyperawareness indicating that Sophia’s much closer to him than before with the side of their bodies flushed together, fingertips resting on the kitchen counter with barely a sliver of space left before they’re touching.

“No, I don’t like him like that.” Sophia said in clarity, whispering her next words in the quiet of the room. “Why would you even think that?”

Harry shrugged, feeling Sophia’s curious stare at his side profile. “I don’t know? You just kept singing him praises so what was I supposed to think?”

Harry was still not returning Sophia’s gaze, though he can feel the incredulity in her stare.

“That I’ve watched the guy a bunch of times on the telly and I just find him so talented in his craft but not because I fancy him? What else was I supposed to talk with you about when all I know is that you’re generally a friendly guy who’s easy to be with that’s apparently a chef but does not want to expound on it further? Harry, what was I supposed to say?”

Now Harry feels downright foolish. “I’m sorry.” Harry finally returned Sophia’s gaze. “You’re right, I just wasn’t being a proper company like I promised and completely read your words the wrong way. I’m really sorry, love. Clearly it’s been a really long while since I’ve made a new human connection. I’m proper shit at it.”

Gone was the jealousy in Harry, replaced by a feeling of shortcoming at the pit of his stomach, lips painted with a self-deprecating smile.

“Hey, don’t say things like that about yourself.” Sophia frowned, dainty fingers now touching the spaces between Harry’s own, giving him a feather-light touch enough to diminish his negative aura.

“You might have made it difficult for me to think of any conversation starters that just aren't annoying small talk, but you’re not an awful company, Harry. Far from what you’re saying, actually. My best friend and I have sadly met a handful of those awful companies, and trust me, you’re not a poopyhead like them.”

That startled a laugh out of Harry. “Excuse me, did you just say, poopyhead?”

Despite the roll of eyes she gave in answer, Sophia still had a fond grin sitting pretty on her lips. “I’m not an advocate for cuss words, so I say stuff like those as a substitute. It’s not my fault they sound funny.”

Harry unintentionally snorted, “More like ridiculous.”

“Heyy!” Sophia whined as Harry found himself wrapping his arm back around Sophia’s body, pulling her pouting face on his strong hold like second nature. “You’re not making this easier for yourself. Don’t think that I’m already allowing you to help me bake my red velvet babies.”

“Our red velvet babies.” Harry cheekily retorted, smirk back on his face like he just didn’t lose faith on his own flirting skills just seconds ago. Now isn’t Sophia the magical one? Able to easily get Harry out of his untimely, self-deprecating funk?

“Only mine.” Sophia bit back. Even though her head is tilted upwards all adorably, Harry can still see the determination clear as day on her face.

“Ours, lovely. We’re both in my kitchen so it’s bound to be our red velvet babies.”

“Not if I kick you out, though.”

And again, how is Harry not going to allow her to do that?

Harry settled with an easy, carefree smile. “Alright, if that’s what you want. But, you have to say it to my face first.”

Harry might not have enough faith on his relationship building skills, but he’s quite certain that Sophia is the opposite. The girl’s too kind and lovely to be able to kick a new friend out of his own space.

Sophia looked conflicted for a second, blue orbs searching Harry’s face if he was kidding or not. Harry wasn’t and when Sophia realized that hard truth, she visibly softened in Harry’s arms.

“No, I can’t do that.” She confessed, “I might burn down your brand new kitchen if I was left alone here with my own baking skills, or lack thereof.”

Sophia didn’t say the last bit in a light of embarrassment like most people would do when they learn Harry is a chef and they want to impress him. Ironically, it’s Harry who wants to impress Sophia now after learning that new and highly beneficial fact about the girl.

“Good thing I’m a chef then, yeah?” Harry asked with newfound determination springing in his veins. “Now why don’t I start showing you how to make our red velvet babies while you tell me why you love them so much?”

Sophia didn’t say otherwise nor corrected Harry that it was still her red velvet babies. It’s such a silly little thing but it honestly made Harry feel really giddy as he helped Sophia make the cupcake batter like it’s something he’s doing again for the first time. He felt alive, in the most calm and serene way possible. Sophia’s rapt attention and gentle movements like a breath of fresh air for Harry. It’s been awhile since he’s felt the extreme need in him to share his special place with someone and to want them to have the best time with him out of it.

Sophia for her part seemed as content as Harry to be in the kitchen, voice soft and light as she shared with Harry her innate love for red velvet cupcakes while religiously following Harry’s gentle instructions on how to sift her dry ingredients. Harry grew more keen to teach Sophia his own red velvet cupcake recipe after learning that Sophia leaves and breathes the specific recipe of her best friend.

As a professional chef, he didn’t understand why people like Sophia and his sister Gemma could ever think that he doesn’t have the ability to change their opinion of their favorite dish. Sophia literally scoffed at him after suggesting the idea, endorsing that his recipe is approved by her beloved Gordon Ramsay.

“I don’t care.” Sophia stated simply, “I can’t betray my favorite red velvet babies just like that.”

“You haven’t even tried mine!” Harry protested good naturedly.

If Sophia didn’t look so angelic while she smiled up at Harry, he would have thrown a proper cocky fit. Sadly, it looked as if Harry would let the girl get away and stomp down on his ego all she wanted.

Harry can’t be mad at anything though, especially when Sophia was naturally returning all of Harry’s soft touches. Might it be Harry’s hand at the small of her back as he guided Sophia nearer to the edge of the countertop, Sophia squeezing his bicep to get his attention after he demonstrated how to crack an egg pouting that she wasn’t that unknowledgeable in cooking, Harry finding himself reaching over to wipe Sophia’s face with tender fingers after the girl clumsily turned on the mixing bowl while it was overflowing with their dry ingredients, and Sophia returning the favor after she had accidentally spilled some of the red food coloring on Harry’s hands.

They were in the middle of portioning their batter into its separate cupcake holders with Harry taking the lead and Sophia cleaning the edges as a final touch, when the latter asked a specific question.

“So what’s the occasion that made you want to bake cupcakes today? It’s for a special someone, huh?”

That alerted Harry, hands stopping their movements as he tilted his head to look directly at Sophia. He doesn’t know where the question came from so Harry couldn’t judge if Sophia avoiding his eyes meant anything.

He was unsure so he answered with another question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean..” Sophia began, trailing off looking as if she was carefully trying to select her next words. Harry doesn’t know if he should be nervous or what. “I mean that when we met earlier, you said you were there to buy ingredients for red velvet cupcakes. Cupcakes that you were going to bake for someone.”

Oh. Oh.

Sophia essentially had just asked him if she was seeing someone and Harry doesn’t know why he felt shy rather than smug.

He felt the apples of his cheeks turn warmer, “Uh nope. Not baking for someone cause I don’t necessarily have a someone to begin with.”

“Oh.” Sophia muttered, a tone of surprise swimming in just that one word before she’s rambling. “I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed because that’s awfully rude of anyone. I’m truly sorry, it isn’t my place to ask anything about that matter. I should have just let you tell me if you have only wanted of course, instead of running my bloody fluffball of a tongue. If you want, you can totally have all the red velvet cupcakes to yourself and-”

Harry couldn't help but interrupt Sophia’s adorable rambling with a deep melodious laugh, nose scrunching at Sophia’s flustered state.

“Fucking hell, you’re so cute.”

It’s such an honest statement that Harry didn’t have any sense of control to even prevent it, and didn't have the heart to curse himself when the situation turned even more cliché when Sophia and him locked eyes after he spoke, both of them with wide eyes and cherry red cheeks.

After a minute, the two were giggling like idiots.

“I can’t believe you just asked if I was dating someone so randomly.” Harry teased, both of them returning to their task at hand.

“I said I was sorry.” Sophia mumbled embarrassedly, forehead dropping on Harry’s shoulder as the latter continued to chuckle in delight.

“You don’t really have anything to be sorry for, but I think it’s only fair that I’m offered the same opportunity to ask the same thing.”

Harry felt the way Sophia caught her breath with her head remaining nestled comfortably at the dip of his neck and shoulder. He already loves how innately tactile Sophia is.

“No someone.” Sophia quietly replied, Harry almost missing it only for the fact that he honestly felt her words engraving it’s way on skin making him feel warm and gooey at the information.

“Good.” Harry found himself replying, attuned to Sophia’s smile as the girl wordlessly nuzzled her button nose in Harry’s neck even further.

And that’s how they finished arranging their red velvet cupcakes. Not with Sophia clumsily dropping the cupcake molds even before it reaches the oven, nor was it with Harry fighting his way to prove to Sophia that his recipe is way superior than anything she’s tasted before after offering the kind girl the first taste of their red velvet babies.

No, that’s not what happened.

Harry was simply content eating his cupcake on the right hand, left hand rasped tightly by the girl from the baking aisle.

*~*~*

“Babe, can you please sit down with me and relax?”

That should have made Gemma stop from pacing their living room, but it’s probably the fifth time her lovely boyfriend has said the same thing to her albeit with different words. The point still remained though: Gemma needs to relax ASAP.

“I am relaxed, what are you talking about?!” Gemma all but snarled in the quiet of their freshly cleaned space all decked-out and ready for the night’s special festivities.

“Yes you’re relaxed and you definitely did just not scream at me.” Michal replied with an air of sarcasm which Gemma believed she deserved as she paused her movements.

“I’m sorry, love. I don’t mean to be difficult, I’m just getting really nervous about tonight.”

It’s the first time Gemma admitted it out loud, typically a stubborn woman who doesn’t want to seem she doesn’t have everything under control. Michal, being her amazing boyfriend who's used to every mood she could be in, slowly stood-up from his position on their couch to stand beside Gemma and hold her hands in his.

“I understand that the fear of not being the perfect host tonight is looming over you especially since it’s H’s first time to join us in your infamous wine night. But what I don’t get is why you’re this bothered by it; he’s just brother, love. Harry would be the last one to genuinely talk shit about you that goes beyond siblings teasing each other.”

Gemma controlled the groan of frustration trying to break free from her. “Babe, you don’t understand.”

Michal, the ever patient, “Then help me try to understand so I can help you calm down.”

And this is why Gemma bought a house with him. The man has the ability to let her pride down so easily around him and admit that not everything is a task she can handle alone.

Ironically, it’s somewhere between those lines on why her best friend canceled on her with just a day’s notice. Gemma glared at just the thought of it as she bounced herself on the couch to appease her boyfriend.

“Ugh!” Gemma groaned, fingers coming-up to rub her temples. “I just feel it in my gut that something bad is bound to happen tonight. Not only did Soph cancel on such a special night, but H is also bringing some girl with him that he barely even knows. Wine Nights at Gemma’s is such a prestigious occasion and my baby brother is inviting someone who he hasn’t even spent a week with to know yet! Tell me how all that doesn’t sound so disastrous?”

Saying it out loud was both relieving to the tensions that grew in Gemma’s veins, but also bloody terrifying how her fears suddenly sounded far too real now.

Gemma blamed it all at the first phone call she received from Harry early afternoon yesterday. A phone call that truly made Gemma almost threw her phone against her office wall after hearing what his brother was planning.

“Did you seriously just say what I thought you did?” Gemma clarified, phone clutched tight on her ear, feeling the slowly growing alarm within her.

“Yes, Gemma.” Harry simply replied, all calm and collected on the other line as he continued with the words that threw Gemma in the middle of a hysterical fit.

“She’s my person, Gem. She’s the type of girl you put a ring on.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Gemma hissed, completely caught-off guard. “I didn’t even know you’ve met anyone in your first week back in London, and now you’re thinking of fucking proposing already? What the fuck happened to you in the past three days?!”

The next hour that transpired was one of the most bizzare moments in Gemma’s whole existence. Not only was she startled that Harry actually talked to her for that long over the phone, gone was his usual slow drawl replaced instead by an up-beat, excited step on his voice. The most surprising and downright concerning thing about all of it is that Harry wore Gemma’s ears off with all the stories of his past few days concerning this stranger of a girl her brother has met on the baking aisle of Waitrose.

“In the baking aisle, are you bloody serious now?” Gemma’s face twisted unfavorably at how Harry sighed almost dreamily in confirmation.

“And you wouldn’t believe how in that moment alone, the universe already manifested in front of my eyes how perfect we are for each other!”

Universe..manifest? Since when did her brother start speaking Gemma’s language of crystals, manifestations, and the power of the universe? If she could, Gemma would have reached across the line of her phone to shake her brother’s shoulders and ask where the fuck did he hide her real brother who doesn’t speak in flowery words let alone about love!

Gemma wasn’t privileged enough to have that opportunity with Harry going off with the end of his story that included red velvet cupcakes and this entire baking sequence complete with innocent, wandering touches that ultimately ended with the two of them eating their baked cupcakes while cuddled together already talking about new plans to do.

Harry gushed that it was the most unique and cutest meet-cute ever. Gemma made sure to burst his bubble and said it was the cliché shit Harry himself hated in romance films.

“Why does it sound like you’re not being happy for me?” Harry asked, the unmistakable tone of creeping sadness evident.

Gemma sighed, not wanting to be that type of sister who becomes overbearing and overprotective of their brother when it comes to romantic partners. Gemma always prided herself for being an open-minded woman who gives people chances no matter how undeserving they are sometimes.

“H, you have to understand that my hesitancy in rejoicing with you only stems from the fact that these all just sound so crazy.”

“Crazy? In which part of me finally meeting the girl I want to pursue and spend my life with in the near future is insane?”

Gemma groaned, keeping-in her smartarse retort already at the tip of her tongue. “That sentence alone sounds bloody bizarre to me, Haz! I’m truly ecstatic for you that you easily found a connection with someone considering mum and I have been telling you to settle down for ages already. But, we didn’t tell you to do all that in one go. You’re ready to marry someone you’ve only met for three days, that doesn’t sound so safe and wise coming from your sister who’s the more reckless one between the Styles siblings. I don’t want you to take my crown on that, H.”

Relief slowly washed the expanding panic in her system when Harry broke into a laugh after Gemma’s honest speech. It only lasted for a while though because Harry decided to open his big mouth and continue his earlier crazy narrative despite Gemma’s wishes.

“Gem, call me crazy all you want but fucking sue me if love hadn’t changed my perspective in life! I don’t give a bloody care if I’ve only known my person for barely a week, she’s my person, Gem. That’s enough rationality for me to want to go to the nearest Cartier boutique and fucking drop on one knee! Besides, I think you’re underestimating your little brother’s game. The last few days with her were all spent with me wooing her, let me tell you all about it.”

Wooing? Did her brother seriously just say that?

No answers were needed for such a stupid question when Gemma proceeded to be on the special screening of Harry Styles’ one man show of wooing splendor. Mind you, Gemma didn’t even sign up for this, Harry quite literally dragged her ears off once more as he vividly retold his past few dates.

Instead of saying that it’s quite excessive to have three consecutive dates in the first week of meeting, Gemma deserves a clap on the back for holding back her tongue as she complimented Harry’s choice of making a six-tier red velvet cake for a movie night at the girl’s place.

Talk about a bloody extra wooer.

“It was our second date, well technically the first one but I’d like to say our meet-cute was our perfect first date.” Harry said in that same tone of excitement that had never left his voice since the moment Gemma picked-up her phone.

“So I wanted to make a lasting impression that I truly value whatever she tells me. It made absolute sense that I baked her a cake, and not just any cake, Gems. But a red velvet cake! My person loves red velvet, she adores it so much that she even has red velvet cupcakes shaped pillows! Isn’t that adorable, Gem?”

Adorable? More like pretty obsessed. Besides, Gemma already knows someone who’s also obsessed with anything red velvet. If she knew Harry would be so tickled about a person that is so into red velvet, then Gemma would have said that fact about Sophia from the get-go. Her best friend lives and breathes red velvet, too bad Harry had already ruined any chances to see that.

It was clear that Harry only had her eyes on this girl. He pretty much gushed to Gemma that in their movie night, he couldn’t offer any drop of concentration in the Harry Potter film they were watching. Voldemort was rising back from the dead and there Harry was, eyes more fascinated at the girl’s side profile all throughout the movie. Gemma might have not faulted her brother there for a fetus Voldemort is nothing but creepy, except that Harry continued his story by saying that the moment Cedric Diggory died, was also the moment he decided to kiss his person.

Gemma was appalled. “Seriously? In that moment of the film? You couldn’t even keep it in your mouth until the movie ended and instead stuck your tongue down the poor girl’s throat at the most unromantic part of the film? Actually, why in the world are you two watching Harry Potter on a movie date? I taught you better than that, Harold.”

“I wanted to save her from the dreadful part of the movie, Gemma.” Harry exclaimed, like it made perfect sense. “I wanted to replace the bad memory of Cedric Diggory dying with the magical moment of our first kiss. And just so you know, I did not give her a french kiss. I’m a gentleman, Gemma. It’s all about gentle lips and innocent nips.”

Gemma would rather talk about anything but kissing with her brother so she had no choice but to prompt Harry about their third date. Best believe Harry turned to the topic change like a puppy chasing a stick.

“We had a lovely picnic at Hyde Park where we watched the sunset go down.” Harry released a dreamy sigh afterwards, “It’s not the first time I prepared food for someone, or either is it the first instance I was able to watch the sunset disappear with someone I care about. But Gemma, that afternoon was the most surreal experience of my existence. I felt so content just being able to sit there on the picnic blanket, cuddled with her. I felt so vibrant that I was able to hold her against me, to have my fingers interlocked with hers, that I was able to just angle my head slightly and be able to reach her lips whenever I wanted to. I’ve never felt this happy in awhile.”

Now that’s something; Gemma has never heard her little brother talk in such light. It was so new to Gemma’s ears that it was successful enough to stow her worries about the girl away for a minute and instead be genuinely thrilled for her brother about meeting someone that makes him feel happy.

It was because of this mood that Gemma didn’t have it in her to question Harry’s decision of having her wine night as their third date. At that moment, she felt more honored than anything. And come today, she’s on the brink of full on panic.

“Babe, I’m quite certain that nothing of disastrous proportions will happen tonight.” Michal assured Gemma in the present, “H won’t bring just anyone to meet you, so we just have to trust his word that the girl is really special for him.”

“That’s easier said than done.” Gemma groaned.

“I know,” Michal sympathized like the caring boyfriend that he is. “But I’m going to be here the entire night to help you calm down when you need it.”

Gemma doesn’t want to sound mean but she knows Michal’s used to her frankness by now. “You’re not that good at calming me down, love. Only Soph can completely bring me out of my panicked state. And too fucking bad she can’t make it tonight.”

Gemma can’t help but feel bitter, especially now recalling the phone call she got that same night after Harry had turned her afternoon in a complete 360 degree turn.

Gemma was in the right mood to rant to her best friend about bunny H’s craziness when she saw Sophia calling on her phone after her dinner that night. Who would have thought that Sophia only added to the loco of her brother.

“You’re not coming?!” Gemma screeched in greeting when Sophia opened their call saying her plans have changed for Friday night, meaning she can’t make it to the special Wine Nights at Gemma’s. How preposterous?

“Yes, that’s just what I said.” The sigh that followed Sophia’s confirmation conveyed her personal dislike for bringing this news to her best friend. Gemma at least felt a little bit comforted that Sophia was quite remorseful for her news unlike someone’s brother.

Gemma let out a sigh of her own, more for her own thinning patience in life than anything else. “For the love of everything holy, will you tell me what the heck has taken place for you to bail on me this Friday? You know how special this wine night is going to be for me, love.”

“I know,” Sophia reaffirmed softly, “and I’m truly sorry that I have to skip it. I swear, once you meet my sweeter-than-Ramsay chef, you’ll be completely on my side. I can’t just say no to our fourth date cause he might think I’m not being serious about him or something.”

If it was possible, the world stopped to a screeching halt when Sophia’s words came barreling in Gemma’s already jumbled and frazzled brain.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Is what Gemma screeched in reply, heart truly racing at the onslaught of things that she’s learning about today. “What is it with everyone in my life today deciding to fucking turn my axis with curveballs that are bound to make be bloody crazy! Do you want to send me to the A&E or something?!”

Gemma knew she was overreacting, but she can’t help to just let it all out when her single brother from days ago is now writing his own meet-cute romance movie even though he despises every single one that Gemma made him watch, and now her best friend for life is suddenly telling Gemma she’s practically ditching her wine night for a boy, specifically, with her sweeter-than-Ramsay chef.

Gemma’s frustration is justified (and brewing panic), thank you very much. Good thing Sophia is the only person who can successfully calm Gemma down with the gentle tone of her voice alone.

“Hey, calm down, everything’s alright.” Sophia’s soft voice allowed Gemma to release the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “No one wants to send anyone to the A&E, babe. I might have impulsively sprung a big news to you, and I’m sorry for that. But we should all just relax, it’s not that much of a big deal.”

That made Gemma release a laugh of pure disbelief. “Not a big deal? You literally just informed me that you now have a man that rather competes with your favorite tv chef mogul. Sorry for freaking the fuck out, but weren’t you just single last Friday?”

The sarcasm in Gemma’s tone only slightly makes her feel bad for giving her best friend some of it. Besides, Sophia herself knows she deserves it knowing how blunt Gemma can be.

“Well, a lot can happen in one week.” was Sophia’s sad excuse of a reply.

Gemma snorted, “Yeah, a lot can happen in a week that’s worth more than just your lousy reply. Come on, Soph. How can you not tell me this right after you realized the dick that you found was that good?”

“Gemma!” Sophia squawked, “We haven’t had sex yet, bloody furball! We’ve just met this week and been on three dates. It was so out of the blue and new that I genuinely didn’t even think of telling you this early on.”

“And yet you’re telling me right now, mind you, that you’re also dumping me over this recent dick you found. Should I be offended?”

“Can we stop referring to him as a dick?” Sophia sighed in apparent exasperation, making Gemma smirk at eliciting a reaction out of her.

“Actually, I wasn’t calling this mystery man of yours a dick like in a mean way. It’s more like, I’m referring to his actual junk and your relation to it.”

Gemma believed that stupid utterance was worth it for the way Sophia had actually groaned in pure agony at the end of the line. Gemma can picture her best friend looking all flushed and uncomfortable from her crass words.

“This isn’t about getting laid, Gems.”

“The frustration in your tone begs to differ. Maybe you do need to get acquainted with mystery man’s dick already.”

“Gemma Styles!” The laughter that bubbled in Sophia’s indignant exclamation of her full name made Gemma trust that her best friend is not annoyed at her apparent teasing remarks. It’s what Sophia deserved for keeping this vital information from her.

“Alright, I’ll stop.” Gemma chuckled, “Be thankful that you’re only getting my crude teasing as punishment for breaking out best girl pal code.”

“What code are you talking about?”

Now it was Gemma’s turn to let out an exasperated sigh. “Our best girl pal code of: ‘I’ll solemnly tell my best friend about any dick I found. May it be the dick that would whisk me away to my happily ever after, or the dick that can bring me to cloud nine just for a night.’

Sophia chuckled, Gemma clearly picturing her shaking her head. “I can never forget such fluffing stupid code if it existed, I can assure you that. But babe, seriously though, I’m sorry for having to rush this news to you, over the phone no less! If I wasn’t just so nervous about our next date, I would have gotten to plan and meet you over dinner or something. But that’s out of the picture now, and I’m meeting his sister tomorrow already and I don’t want to mess up.”

If Sophia was known to be the one that can successfully calm Gemma down, it’s only a perfect fit like everything in their friendship that Gemma is also capable of returning the favor. So that’s what she did, easing comforting words to Sophia’s ear that enabled her flustered best friend to slowly untangle her worried thoughts.

“I just want to be the perfect girl for him, you know?” Sophia shared in full sincerity, “He’s so different from all the men I’ve met before, Gems. Different in the best way possible in the way that he’s managed to remove my fears about commitment and the idea of depending on someone.”

That made Gemma whistle in interest. “Now that’s a big feat. And he’s managed to do that in barely a full week?”

“Yes.” Sophia’s single confirmation was also laced with a tone of surprise like that Gemma is feeling. “I barely know him but he makes me want to try. To try and explore this undeniable connection we’ve stumbled upon. He’s so fluffing sweet, Gems, takes everything I tell him to heart. He makes me feel so warm with just a single glance, his soft touch makes me feel alive. I haven’t something this strong, and so natural with anyone.”

Sophia’s words were raw and completely honest, successfully making Gemma’s own heart warm at the growing bliss she feels for her best friend. If there was anyone in Gemma’s life that deserves all the love in the world, that’s Sophia. Self-less, solicitous, sweet, Sophia. She’s the triple S deal here and any guy with a real heart can detect that.

And as Sophia continued to share her cavity-inducing sweet recollections of her past few days, Gemma is slowly getting the glaring hint that this mystery chef man is one of the few sensible men living who knew they hit the goldmine with only the first glimpse of Sophia’s blushing cheeks. Gemma doesn’t know if she should feel relieved that Sophia seemed to have met her perfect match, or absolutely devastated that her best friend and brother are on the same path of love exploration but not with each other.

“Well there goes my aspiring cupid career.” Gemma sighed in slight defeat after Sophia told her that her mystery man chef is taking her to his sister’s dinner party that’s why Sophia had to ditch her.

Sophia chuckled. “Babe, I’m sure your brother H would still appreciate your help on the love department, or something.”

“Yeah, or something.” Gemma snorted. “Would you believe it if I told you that he actually called me first than you, but said the exact same things you just told me.”

A few beats pass with silence on both ends of the line before Gemma thinks Sophia had finally digested her words.

“Holy fluffball! Are you for real?” Sophia said in surprise, which Gemma isn’t sure if she’s happy or annoyed about.

“So fucking serious.” Gemma deadpanned, “Just like you, met a girl sometime this week and spent the remaining going on dates with her. And knowing how truly perfect you two are for each other, it’s not a surprise that just like you again, he didn’t want to tell me the name of the unlucky people you’ve both captivated in the fear that I’d search their socials and act all psycho-loco.”

Sophia replied with a loud laugh, the audacity of that woman. “Wouldn’t blame your brother one bit.”

“Oh you cheeky bugger. Or should I say, cheeky fucker? Since you need to get it on with this mystery chef man of yours when I can seriously feel the sexual frustration all the way from here.”

“I’m really going to hang-up on you if you don’t stop talking about intercourse.”

“Oh my god, you really need to get laid if you can’t even say the word sex without being in the brink of planning to maul your chef man.”

“Gemma!” Sophia hissed in a laugh with her, “No one is going to maul anyone, get your head out of the gutter for the love of christ.”

“Excuse me, you’re the one who acted all territorial on the man when a few women were checking him out on your guy’s park date. The fact that he even verbally affirmed you that he likes your possessiveness and even made sure to lock you on his lap to even further deliver the message, all bloody screams extreme, flammable, sexual tensions.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that bit.”

Amen to that. If Sophia thinks she can get away from Gemma’s unrelenting teasing words about her new-found lovelife, then she’s completely got it coming for her. Not only is it payback time for all the times Sophia has done the exact same thing to her when Michal and Gemma were only starting their relationship, but it’s also a stepping stone for Gemma to corrupt Sophia to become more of a sexy vixen who’s comfortable with her body. God knows she’ll combust herself in sexual frustration if the next stories she hears from Sophia are about her and just making out under the stars with sweet chef man.

And now that Gemma thinks about it as she lets the simmering panic for her wine night to cool down, Sophia better have some spicy deets to share to her after flourishingly leaving Gemma in her own devices to meet her brother’s new beau.

Speaking of which, the resounding doorbell in her house makes Gemma certain that she had just summoned the bunny herself.

“Should I get that first while you calm down here?” Michal asked, the ever considerate one.

“I think we should do it together, rip off the band aid style.”

Michal smirked at Gemma’s growing bravery. “Of course, the only style Gemma Styles knows how to rock.”

Accepting Michal’s waiting hands, Gemma stood up beside her corny boyfriend as she tried to channel every bit of valor she could get before she faced the inevitable whirlwind couple waiting for them at the end of the door.

Too bad she didn’t prepare well enough for the most loco surprise of her life that no band aid can ever mend.

*~*~*

“Baby, relax, will you?”

Sophia’s wandering nervous thoughts were placed to a halt when she felt Harry’s large hand finding purchase on the meat of her bare thigh as he reached across the console of his car while driving. The sweet gesture, if anything, only increased Sophia’s heightened nervousness at meeting Harry’s sister and her longtime boyfriend at their home.

Ever since her phone call from Gemma last night, Sophia had been on the edge being hyper aware of Harry’s soft touches analyzing if there’s an actually sexual tension between the two of them. The answer was apparently plain and simple because the moment Harry picked her up for their date looking so fluffing good in his floral suit, Sophia felt the caress of his long curly locks hitting her cheeks as he kissed her in greeting all the way to her core.

So not only is she nervous that she might embarrass herself in front of Harry’s sister due to her clumsiness, but now Sophia also needs to keep herself in-check all night long before she inevitably mounts on Harry’s lap and staking her claim on his neck in front of his sister and all her other friends. Thank you for that, Gemma Styles.

“I am relaxed.” Sophia softly replied, folding her hand with his in a vain attempt to not direct herself Harry’s hand to linger upwards than just the expanse of her thigh.

“I may have only taken you to three dates so far, but lovely, I take quite an offense that you think I’m not able to detect your nervous tells. Actually, you make it easy for me cause you do it a lot around me.”

“Oh here’s Mr. Cocky gracing me with his presence again.” Sophia chuckled in sarcasm, Harry giving their connected hands with a squeeze.

“C for confidence, baby. Don’t go mistaking it. Besides, you do that exact same pouting lips and furrowed brows combo like right now when we watched Goblet of Fire and you were preparing for Robert Patinson’s death.”

Actually, Sophia was nervous during that time because she was discreetly looking at Harry from her peripheral vision trying to keep her cool from attacking him with kisses. The unknowing innocent man was cuddled close to Sophia with his eyes trained on the laptop screen, seemingly engrossed with his kissable pink lips that are in-between the pads of his thumb and index finger. Sophia was nervy because she’s never felt that unyielding urge to kiss someone, the fact that it would be their first kiss too screams volumes. Thank everything holy though that Harry was the one who made the first move with all his gentle kisses or else, Sophia would have traumatized him if she pounced on him with tongue and teeth from the get-go.

“Or that time on our third date when you did the same signs cause you were nervous what people in the park would think when they saw the two of us with you straddling my waist like an adorable baby koala.”

Also known as the possessive Sophia slip-up which was a rather beneficial occurrence than that of a disaster. Sophia honestly thought that the moment she hissed like a flipping cat to the fifth woman who gave Harry the full head to toe sweep like it totally didn’t look like the two of them were on a date (cue the picnic set-up and interlocked hands, ehem!) Harry would not want to do anything with her anymore.

Who wants a possessive girl on the third date, anyway? The previous Gordon Ramsay protege beside her apparently, who proceeded to tell her: ‘I live for women who get territorial about me’ like it was the most appropriate answer to give. For Harry maybe it was, but for Sophia? That verbal confirmation which answered all her relationship concerns from the past, only made her nervous that there might be a fat chance that the wetness that pooled on her panties as a result from Harry’s honest words would leave a stain on Harry’s jeans when the latter didn’t give her any opportunity to escape the confines of his stronghold with her stuck on his lap.

“Oh! The best example would be after our first ever date. You cannot deny that you were pouting at me with the crumbs of our red velvet babies coating your plump lips with furrowed brows looking all nervous that I won’t ask you for another date.”

Now that one was spot on. “Can you blame me though? I didn’t even know us baking that afternoon was a date in the first place.”

“Of course it was,” Harry argued like all the times Sophia questioned it, “I never bring anyone, let alone girls, to my kitchen without it being a special situation which in our case, was a date. Also, I’m not a stupid twat that would let the girl of my dreams get away from me when I already caught you at the baking aisle.”

“You’re being cheesy again.” Sophia mumbled, rolling her eyes at the grinning driving man despite the resurgence of the pink flush on her cheeks.

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry shrugged and gave Sophia the smirk she’s definitely slowly falling in love with. “It made you forget about whatever was making you nervous, and look, we’re literally in my sister’s subdivision and you didn’t even bat an eye.”

That made Sophia take a sharp breath. “Way to remind me again then! I told you to tell me when we’re near so I can fix my makeup before we meet her.”

Harry just laughed at Sophia’s misfortune as the latter scrambled to find her compact and other makeup essential in her tiny bag to retouch.

“Because I told you, there’s no need for that. You already look more gorgeous than anyone there tonight, including my sister.”

“Harry!” Sophia chastised, giving Harry a side-glare in the middle of applying a layer of gloss. “You can’t say stuff like that or your sister would kick the two of us out. I want her to like me, alright?”

That now earned Sophia a glare as Harry replied in full conviction, “Baby, my sister’s going to like you because you’re an amazing person inside and out. She’s not blind to kind people, and if she suddenly decided to not like you for whatever insane reason, it wouldn’t matter to me. I’m the one pursuing you to be constant in my life, not her.”

Sophia almost ruined her skirt by dropping an open tube of lip gloss to it, thank bloody furball she caught it by mere seconds. “Again, you can’t just say things like that!”

“Things like what?” Harry had the audacity to laugh even louder as he suddenly turned the engine off his car. It was only the moment that Sophia realized the two of them were actually already in their destination and here she was, on the brink of extreme panic by not being completely prepared yet.

With still an open-lid tube of lip gloss raised on one hand, Sophia looked at an amused Harry with wide eyes. “We’re at your sister’s place already?” she whispered like said sister would actually hear her fear.

“Yup.” Harry nodded as cool as a breeze as his big hands reached for the gloss on Sophia’s hands. “Now, didn’t I also tell you that it would only be pointless to apply more gloss when we’re going to be drinking wine all night. Besides, I’d be snogging you too and I don’t want to eat gloss, thank you very much.”

At that point, Sophia had her jaw drop to the floor of the car as she sat unmoving on the passenger seat. “I don’t think I could do this.”

“Sure you can.” Harry easily replied, returning the closed lip gloss in Sophia’s bag all the while unaware of the burning turmoil Sophia was facing. “I don’t think I have to repeat it again and again that it’s only dinner with my sister and her boyfriend and friends. It’ll just make you nervous if I say it all like that.”

How can Sophia tell Harry that not only is she nervous about gaining his sister’s acceptance over dinner but that too of her own desire to snog Harry senseless after he made that comment without sounding like a delusional (and horny..) person?

Before Sophia could ask for help from the gods, Harry took it upon his own hands and seemed to move at the speed of light in Sophia’s static position and the next thing she knew, Harry was already opening her door for her like the chivalrous man she’s grown to know in the past few days. No matter how much her brain is telling her to start panicking in a serious fashion, one look at Harry’s dimples makes her want to fight otherwise.

Holy fluffball, those two craters are lethal to her heart.

Harry proceeded to bend down and place a soft pec on Sophia’s slightly parted lips, leaving a gentle bite to her plump bottom flesh before their connection was separated.

“You’re ready.” Harry affirmed rather than asked. Usually, Sophia is annoyed with people who are straight out bossy and telling her what to do without her consent. But in that moment, Sophia was rather turned-on at Harry’s assertiveness more than anything else.

Sophia found herself nodding her head cause apparently her body is a traitor who’s easily susceptible to dimples and pure confidence. And speaking of a betrayal, everything in Sophia seemed to have forgotten all her pressing worries just from minutes ago as Harry successfully led her out of the safety of his vehicle. Blaming it further on Harry’s hypnotizing touch around her waist, Sophia literally had not looked around her surroundings to even have a clue of what Harry’s sister’s place looked like.

Harry just flashed her a comforting smile before he rang the doorbell, giving Sophia no time to chicken out.

“You’re amazing,” Harry suddenly told her, further pulling Sophia in the blanket of his sweet eyes.

“You’re amazing.” Sophia couldn’t help but argue plainly when her English vocabulary seemed to be missing somewhere between Harry’s honey-dripping words and her easily hooked body and soul.

Harry chuckled, “Baby, don’t start an argument you can’t win, especially when my sister’s seconds away from ruining our flirting moment.”

His odd bluntness made Sophia laugh, all bright and loud that she didn’t hear the first ring of a highly familiar voice opening the door. To say Sophia almost broke her neck from turning it so fast to take a look at the culprit of that sound, was a complete understatement. The fact that Sophia’s head was still connected to her neck, allowed her the perfect opportunity to scream her lungs out in pure horror at seeing the last person she could ever expect at the end of that door.

“What the fuck?!” Gemma Styles screeched, all pairs of eyes exchanging between her and a screaming Sophia.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Sophia said back without thinking, totally past any coherent thought.

Since swearing is so against Sophia’s whole being, both Gemma and Michal were stunned into their place at the open door with their jaws slacked open. The same thing can’t be said with Sophia’s date beside her whose arm had considerably tightened his hold around her midsection.

“What the fuck is happening?” Harry said in the most steely voice known to earth that takes no room for any bull poop. His usually soft radiating green orbs have turned cold and hard as it locked its gaze on Gemma. “Did you pull your illegal ninja shit again so you could get intel on who I was dating?”

“Illegal ninja crap?” Sophia repeated in shock with her eyes looking at a gaping Gemma. “What in the world is he talking about?!”

“Nothing!” Gemma dismissed quickly, “He’s talking about nothing!” Gemma returned Harry’s hard eyes in a freakishly twin-like manner. “What did I say about accusing me of being a nosy shit?”

“Cause you're a nosy shit! It completely explains why you know my date!” Harry let out loudly before saying the last thing anyone would ever think he would say. “If you’re clearly telling the truth now, don’t tell me Sophia was the girl you tried to mess with back in your experimenting uni days that warranted her getting cursed tonight. Don’t you dare think I forgot about the girl you fucked and ended up getting disappointed cause you couldn’t get her to orgasm; it’s not her fault or Sophia’s fault for that matter for your lousy skills.”

“You fucked a girl without telling me?” Sophia found herself saying, borderline insulted to a flushing red Gemma who was sending death glares at Harry. “How could you not tell me that?! I could have helped you practice so that poor girl could have had a good time!”

The words were out of her mouth before Sophia could even have a semblance of care and thought at the words she said. Michal laughed rambunctiously with his body bent in half at the sheer volumes of it, while Gemma and Harry had just looked at Sophia like she lost the plot.

She might as well have when she retreated back in her mind regarding her previous statement.

“Now what the fuck is really happening?” Harry asked in total confusion, boggled eyes searching for answers from anyone. Sophia was just in the same boat to be honest.

Thankfully Gemma stepped in before any mayhem could have taken place. But, just like Sophia’s earlier regrets about not thinking before speaking, maybe she spoke too soon about being grateful that someone could finally give her answers. Gemma’s red painted lips are twisted upwards in the most smug grin Sophia has seen on her best friend; it screamed trouble from miles away.

“Well, would you look at that!” the woman that was slowly turning to the evil witch to Sophia’s eyes cackled, “I guess I am a super cupid and all!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked once more as realization slowly dawned its way inside Sophia (if slowly resembled a bucket of ice water pouring down on her) as Gemma continued to pierce the two of them with that cruel knowing look.

“Oh jesus.” Sophia muttered when Michal’s confirming nod thrown her way could have been any indication. Sophia was once more on the brink of cursing when the man beside her had only expressed his confusion again.

It’s no surprise that his blunt and impatient sister took reign once more. “Haz, your person is my Sophia too.”

The ever hard headed replied, “No, she isn’t. She’s mine.”

Everyone else totally did not do a facepalm at his possessive remark.

“I’m not saying she’s my romantic soulmate, you twat!” Gemma chastised. “What I mean is she’s my Sophia from uni.”

It was hard to watch the exchange unfold when Harry dumbly repeated, “Sophia from uni…like your best friend you’ve been trying to set me up with?”

Gemma didn’t even have to reply verbally, just a single raise of her perfectly sculpted brow with that gloating tint to her irises had directly hit Sophia and Harry’s utter stupidity straight in the head bursting it into pieces.

The next thing Sophia knew, Harry jumped out of his hold on her. He looked at Sophia with eyes as big as saucers, that gorgeous mouth opening then closing in barely a second, clearly lost for words to say. “You’re sunflower…” is what he settled for bringing momentary confusion to Sophia.

It clicked quickly to her though, eyes moving sideways to give Gemma an amused face. “Sunflower? You couldn’t have set my alias to my favorite flower? Well at least it wasn’t as ridiculous as what you gave him.”

That made Harry more verbal, “What did she tell you to call me?”

Sophia was no way near apologetic at the well pleased look she gave him in return, “Bunny H.”

“Bunny H?!” Harry exclaimed in near hysterics, the calm and composed (and cocky?) chef Sophia was beginning to warm up real good to was suddenly gone. “Can you have honestly given me a much more ridiculous name, Gemma?”

“I thought it was cute!” Gemma defended in laughter.

“I said you wouldn’t like it.” Michal assured Harry who was slowly coming back to his usual collected self starting with returning to Sophia’s orbit with his securing arm wrapping itself around her once more.

“I certainly like you more now mate than my sister.”

Gemma scoffed, “I’m not offended if that’s what you think.”

“Sure you’re not.” Harry easily affirmed, “You just had my girl tell you that she’s game to practice bedroom skills if you ever want to hit on another girl. I don’t think anyone would be easily offended at anything after having that once in a lifetime offer.”

Would it be possible to leave these guffawing idiots and head straight back home? Sophia thinks no amount of wine she would drink tonight will be enough to suffice the burning embarrassment she gained due to her blabbering tendency.

“Aww, baby, I’m just messing with you.” Harry softly assured Sophia who conveniently molded herself into Harry’s front, hiding her flushing face inside the lapels of his floral suit.

“Aren’t the two of you adorable?” Gemma cooed, making Harry snicker, “See? If the two of you have taken your respective head out of your arses and agreed to my credible cupid ways much sooner, the two of you won’t just be calling each other baby, you’d already have babies of your own by now.”

“Who said that too isn’t far from now?”

Harry’s cheeky reply made Gemma gasp audibly, Sophia craning her neck to look at her best friend while remaining comfortably nestled on Harry’s torso.

“Don’t you even joke about that.” Gemma said in a serious fashion before catching Sophia’s rolling eyes that seemed to make her remember something. “Oh! Why am I even getting concerned when someone here is clearly not getting any action when all I see in their aura is sexual frustrations.”

Sophia doesn’t know if she should feel offended, or grateful that the people dear to her know her too well (too too well) when every single pair of eyes gazed down at her as if Gemma called her out which she should have just done if this was the result.

Sophia decided to draw the line there. “I’m not going to talk about sex with any of you when I’ve already done enough damaged on my own.” She fought her traitor body and used all of her strength to detach from Harry’s warm frame.

“Can I have the wine now even if I didn’t bring your special roses?”

Finding out that Harry’s sister is actually her best friend, Sophia’s earlier nerves and qualms about meeting such an important figure in the life of the boy she’s dating was quickly flushed in the drain. Feeling completely in her element, Sophia accepted Gemma’s open arm as the two ladies linked their hold together, walking inside the couple’s house like every single Friday night.

Except this time, Michal isn’t the only one third wheeling the best girl pals as they conversed about Sophia’s newfound love life. Instead, Harry was the new member of the Wine Nights at Gemma’s, acting as the official fourth wheel of the Gemma x Sophia supremacy.

“This is how it’s going to be now, huh?” Sophia heard Harry ask Michal as the two boys trailed after them.

“Yup.” was Michal’s resounding reply, “You unknowingly just signed-up to share your girl with your sister.”

“Well fuck me, yeah?”

Is it sadistic for Sophia to think it was everything she wanted?

Gemma stopped walking by the time they reached the kitchen, addressing the two boys.

“If I hear any of you complaining about Soph and I’s eternal love for each other, I won’t second guess myself by throwing your share of wine on your idiot faces.”

Yup, Sophia wouldn’t have it either way.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harries #harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #tpwk #gemma styles #wine night #harry styles imagines #harry styles story #oneshot #harry styles au #long hair harry

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misskathcake · 2 years

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SNEAK PEEK: Bunny and the Wine Nights at Gemma's

Because it's Bunny's 28th today, here's a little sneak peek on my upcoming work! 💞

*~*~*

Gemma Styles has a very special place in Sophia’s heart.

Sophia met Gemma one early afternoon, sitting at the common rooms while sipping on some wine.

So how can Gemma not have a special place in Sophia’s heart when she said the sweetest thing ever to her in just a day of meeting?

Now Sophia’s sweet nature is honesty not one for swearing but screw that stupid piece of poopy-headed exes because no woman should feel like they’re not enough for some boy.

Clearly, Gemma and Sophia balance each other out in an impeccable fashion and find themselves in a continuous tight-knit friendship even after graduating.

He’s a good guy and a truly brilliant choice, in Sophia’s opinion.

What’s not good however is her realization that there are still lingering little things that she might not know about her best friend.

Like the fact that Gemma wants to set Sophia up with her younger brother.

The remaining part of the fic comes sometime this February 🙈

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harries #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #tpwk #new fic #sneak peek #harry styles fanfic #gemma styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagines #one shot

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misskathcake · 2 years

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😘 Tbh, your earlier ask was what challenged me to add smut in this holiday bunny fic, thanks for that and Merry Christmas! 💝

"Show your Bunny that you love him so-oh-oh.." MASTERPOST

A best friends to lovers Christmas story featuring the best JB song of all time: Mistletoe.

Set in the too-white Winter Wonderland of a bungalow and the Cheshire Christmas Market, Bunny and Sunflower spend their first Christmas Eve together alone.

A sparkling 39.3k words, this is a holiday whirlwind of a story that's both soft and fluffy like the winter snow, and warm and crackling at the touch like sitting by the fireside.

My gift for myself and to all of you,

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, lovelies! 🌟

Chapters:

- The First Cup of Hot Chocolate

- The Second Serving of Cranberry Sausage Rolls

- The Third Piece of Mistletoe Cookies

#i appreciate you

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misskathcake · 2 years

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🥺💗

Gingerbreadbunny

My other Holiday fic!

❄️🎄❄️

The light pitter-patter of small feet on the carpeted floors is enough to tingle Harry’s senses to awaken.

That’s what being a father to a too sunny, too active, too animated, too independent three-year-old daughter does to you.

Harry feels the familiar dip of his side of the bed, lips threatening to curl up on their own as his closed eyelids can imagine the highly cute way his daughter crawls to reach his ‘sleeping’ body, her little bum wiggling upwards to reach her father’s long torso. The sign of her daughter’s success is felt through warm, small hands finding purchase on Harry’s sleep-puffed face.

“Wakey, daddy, wakey.” Harry’s daughter tries to whisper in the quiet of the cold room, little fingertips tapping her father’s cheek in earnest.

Harry acts as if he was still asleep, body rumbling in a loud snore like all those times his daughter has decided to wake his wits too early in the morning without the necessity of waking at such time. Her giggles at Harry’s ridiculous acting etches the smile on Harry’s lips that he’s been trying to hold-off, his daughter’s knowing hands squeezing his cheeks together.

“Daddy, I know you’re awake, silly.” Molly giggles, same green eyes brightening up as Harry flutters his own to look at her daughter.

Harry is known to exaggerate sometimes, but he thinks it’s only fair that he feels the air get knocked out of his system every time he gets a good look at his daughter’s face that is no doubt a mini replica of his sleeping wife’s gorgeousness. Molly might have gotten his green irises, but all other physicalities (and personality, just wait and see) is all Sophia’s down to the T.

With that being said, the faux innocent tint his daughter is giving her sleep coated eyes, is one that Harry is familiar with even before Molly was born.

“Princess, why are you awake this early?” Harry quietly rumbles, hands reaching up to fix his daughter’s sleep rumpled hair, the little girl barely allowing Harry to do so as she moves away from his hands by crawling her way up to plant herself on her father’s chest.

“Ooof,” Harry lets out in slight surprise, resting his hands to hold Molly’s little body steady on his warm chest. “Always so jumpy in the morning, you are.”

Molly only giggles at her father’s comment, little chubby arms wrapping around Harry’s neck as she perches her chin right at the top of her father’s sternum.

“Have to wake-up cause it’s the 24th daddy,” Molly explains, “Why you and mummy still sleeping?” she tilts her head in a frown, far too adorable for Harry’s tired state.

Harry bops her nose, “And how do you know it’s the 24th hm, miss smarty?”

In a tone far more exasperated than the fond look Harry is giving her, the three-year-old rumbles, “It’s in the advent calendar, daddy! Last door today, mummy said!”

“Shh.” Harry quickly tells her daughter in a gentle approach, forefinger placed on his lips that his daughter tries to copy but fails ultimately because her pouting lips are pressed on Harry’s skin. “Inside room voice please. And mummy is still sleeping so we have to be quiet, okay?”

Understanding dawns swiftly on her daughter, green eyes rounding just like her cute little mouth formed in an ‘oh’ as she looks at her mother’s sleeping form beside Harry on the bed.

“Quiet, mummy is asleep.” Molly repeats firmly to Harry, the latter dimpling that he just got slightly told-off by her daughter by doing nothing after he slightly told her off for the one being too loud.

Harry really doesn’t want to accidentally wake Sophia by their daughter’s far too early bright energy since Sophia had been a real trooper last night finishing all their unwrapped gifts. Harry prides himself in being ace at gift wrapping so Sophia and him had planned to do most of it last night in one go. What they didn’t put into consideration is their daughter’s absolute excitement to anything Christmas related, Harry needing to assist a fussing Molly last night who didn’t want to sleep because the toddler was high-strung for their Christmas Eve activities the next day.

Nine hours of sleep later (she could have had twelve if she didn’t hackle her father for three hours worth of Christmas stories, singing and cuddles), Molly is obviously invading her parents' peaceful room to exude her youthful excitement for the festive day ahead.

That makes Harry stop in realization.

“Princess, how did you know it’s the 24th today? I don’t remember mummy ever saying that to you exactly.” Harry quietly hums, brow raising at the way her daughter bites her lip at his question. “Have you woken-up extra early to practice your numbers?”

Molly is obsessed with Christmas. She has been asking her mother to assist her with her special, sugar-induced treats advent calendar because despite her persistent independent desires, Molly is not yet completely fluent with her numbers thus the dates of the month are still quite tricky for her to remember correctly. How she was able to remember that today is the 24th of December, brings high suspicious thoughts into Harry’s mind.

Molly spills out giggles from her pink lips, cheeks squishing down and nuzzling on the expanse of her father’s neck like the cuddlebug that she is. Harry only hugs her tighter to his body, gently soothing her giggles to not escalate into full-on rambunctious laughter that will wake her sleeping, pretty mummy.

When Harry gently squeezes Molly’s hips, a reminder that he’s still waiting for an answer, Molly’s grinning eyes are trained at her father before answering in full honesty.

“Went downstairs to counted the days on the advent calendar before going to mummy and daddy’s room.”

“Darling.” Harry drawls, voice trying to sound exasperated but is overthrown by the feeling of endearment at his daughter’s antics. “What do I keep on reminding you about going down the stairs by yourself?”

Molly pouts, the words uttered by her father usually proceeds to him being cross with her. “Daddy, I promise I really went carefully down. I hold with my two hands the bars of the stairs, promise, daddy.”

“Did you really?” Harry exhales, eyes shining in admiration for his daughter’s innocent words of pure sincerity.

Molly nods her head enthusiastically, little chin digging on Harry’s skin almost uncomfortably. “Yes, I super promise, daddy.”

Instead of replacing her pout back to that of her saccharine smile, Molly’s bottom lip protruded even farther, green Bambi eyes rounding in a full wounded look which got Harry alert in mere seconds. But before he can fuss over his daughter and ask what’s wrong, Molly is grumbling on his chest.

“My tum-tum was telling me it was wanting food so I went down, daddy.”

Harry’s resulting laughter now deserves that earlier reprimand of his daughter to be quiet. How can he be blamed for letting out such an obnoxious noise when his daughter’s words are not far from the way Molly’s own mother would grumble to him. Sophia is highly notorious for getting close to tears when she’s hungry, there’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that Molly’s saddened pouting face right now would escalate to that level if he doesn’t give her something to eat real soon.

“Did you eat anything then, darling? To soothe your tum-tum’s hungry calls?”

Molly shakes her head glumly, “No. Never eat breakfast with no mummy or daddy, mummy and you said.”

Harry positively coos at his daughter’s sweet words, Sophia and him instilling in Molly at a young age the importance of a family eating together when all are in the same place. Whether it’s in the kitchen at their home, daddy’s kitchen at his tour bus, or mummy’s kitchen at her nail salon. It’s a testament to Molly’s strong-willed mind that always wants to explore how far her parents would let her do things on her own, by still valuing the words they tell her.

“Aw, poor baby.” Harry coos, lips dropping to kiss his daughter’s forehead behind her messy fringe. “Did my darling wake daddy up so she can have food for her tum-tum?”

Like the true toddler that she is, Molly’s earlier display of a saddened puppy instantly shifts to that of an excited puppy at the mere mention of her father being there to provide her with food. Due to another thing contrary to his daughter’s wishes of feeding herself, she actually can’t do that if she can’t even reach the top of the kitchen counter without using one of their wooden chairs to stand on.

“Yes please, daddy.” Molly politely replies, the dents on Harry’s cheeks digging even deeper at the way he’s beaming at his daughter.

“Okay.” Harry taps her cotton bottoms clad bum, “Go wait for me near the stairs while daddy needs to get dressed before he becomes your chef.”

Molly makes a conscious effort of covering her giggling lips with the palm of her small paws, Harry shaking his head, highly endeared at his daughter who has quickly slid away from his hold on her body. Harry only realizes that Molly is actually already dressed for the day in a warm toned jumper with a silver, sparkling collar and plain, cream trousers. Gone were her favorite Frosty the Snowman pyjama set that Harry had stressed over last night after his daughter started having a tantrum when Harry told her it was still in the wash. Thank god for dryers really!

Harry’s slight lamenting for all his efforts washed away just like that is interrupted by Molly’s excited form turning back at him before making her way out to wait near their stairs.

“Daddy,” Molly says in a loud whisper, “wear a jumper cause mummy said it’s going to be super coldest today.”

Harry chuckles lightly, “How cold did mummy say it was going to be today, darling?”

Molly wraps her small arms around her own form, acting like she was shivering, “The super coldest!”

If only Sophia and Harry weren’t against the idea of having their daughter star in ad campaigns at such a young age, Harry’s pretty sure Molly’s charisma and adorable acts would have garnered them a hefty paycheck, enough to have bought all her Christmas gifts this year.

“Well in that case, daddy should bundle-up and listen to mummy, huh? The same way you little miss should be listening to daddy’s instructions earlier. No food for the tum-tum if cuddlebug isn’t careful.”

That etches a serious aura on Molly’s face like a determined little puppy, “Cuddlebug would be careful, daddy.” she says in full determination before making a show of slowly walking out of her parents room. That leaves Harry giggling to himself while fetching his equally warm clothing in their closet.

Having learned how to dress up quickly not only for hectic tours and Gucci fashions shows, but that too of being freshly out the shower and your daughter is already wailing for your attention, Harry easily finishes getting ready for the day in just under five minutes. The man smiled approvingly at his daughter who was waiting patiently at one of the single couches in the upstairs living room area by the stairway, the couch big enough to look like it was swallowing her small form.

“Look who’s being a good girl early this morning.” Harry says, offering his hand for Molly to take. “Such a patient girl, princess. I think you’re definitely going to get your pressies from Santa tomorrow.”

Molly gives him a toothy smile, preening at her father’s words while accepting his help of getting down from the large single couch. “You think so, daddy?”

Harry easily picks up his toddler to carry down the stairs, the little girl’s one arm snaked behind his neck while the other rests on his cheek waiting for an answer with her green doe-like eyes exhibiting intense anticipation.

“Daddy really thinks so, princess. You’ve been really good and helpful to mummy while daddy was away so I’m sure that Father Christmas will know that too.”

“How he know?” Molly quirks a confused brow as Harry takes the two of them to their kitchen. “You talk to Santa, daddy?”

“Not really because I don’t need to. Santa sees everything, remember?” Harry says while carefully depositing Molly on the surface of the marbled kitchen counter.

Something in his last words spiked a current of sheer joy on Molly’s face, the latter quickly wobbling to stand on her feet on the kitchen counter allowing Harry to assist her excited frame as to not to fall on the floor and cause her father a heart attack.

Despite being Sophia’s daughter through and through, Molly is still Harry’s daughter as well. Greatly exemplified when said daughter suddenly begins singing a classic Christmas tune all animatedly, with her small body bopping this way and that.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake!” Molly all but belts in her high-pitched voice, “He knows when you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!”

There’s nothing that gets Harry the most than seeing his daughter singing her heart out, easily getting tranced to join along the fun as they sing the chorus together, Harry’s arms gently swaying along Molly’s in a little happy dance.

“So! You better watch out, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m telling you why. Santa Clause is coming to town!”

The two finish in absolute flourish, Molly’s ear-piercing screech hitting the last note of the song perfectly in Harry’s opinion. They both dissolve into rambunctious laughter after their singing moment, Harry’s heart growing triple its size at how unbelievably amazing his daughter is.

Harry drops a kiss to Molly’s grinning cheek, “I think that wonderful singing has made my princess more hungry, huh? Don’t worry, daddy’s going to give you a smoothie first before I start baking our brekkie.”

Harry misses the pout that formed on his daughter’s lips, back already facing her while getting some lime and spinach in the fridge, only to be interrupted by his daughter’s whine.

“Daddy! No green stuffies, please!”

Harry faces his daughter with his mouth ajar, “What do you mean no green stuffies? You love daddy’s smoothies, love.”

Molly shakes her head furiously, “Nu-uh, green smoothies are yucky!”

Harry actually gasps at the disgusted face his daughter is sporting, “Since when did my smoothies become yucky to you?”

“Mummy said eewiee last time you maked us smoothies so I say eewiee too.” Molly replies like it was a no brainer and Harry’s amused to say the least.

He should have seen it coming with the way most things about his daughter are slowly unfolding to be like the traits of her mother every day that she grows-up. Sophia’s aversion to green vegetables and fruits were put into a hold after the two of them have discussed that it was important that Molly would learn to love healthy foods and drinks at an early age. Harry’s quite certain that Sophia didn’t mean for their daughter to hear her disgusted comment about his smoothie since she’s been the best mother by being a good example to Molly and gulping her own pains away with Harry’s green smoothies every time he makes them.

But of course, their daughter had to be an attentive one and all Sophia’s efforts are put to waste at their daughter’s incessant look of displeasure after seeing Harry holding the green ingredients this morning.

“Don’t wanna green stuffies, daddy.” Molly pouts further, “Tum-tum don’t likey.”

Harry sighs, “What are you going to eat then, darling? Daddy’s still going to bake our brekkie and that would take awhile.”

Molly’s grin springs back to her face in an instant, it’s tone far too devious for a toddler which makes Harry quite apprehensive of what she’s about to say.

“May I please go to the pantry and I find snacks to eat while you bake brekkie, daddy?”

Molly asks the question so innocently, Harry not seeing the harm of agreeing especially with how polite she had asked for his permission.

“Alright.” Harry relents, acting exasperated at his daughter’s cheerful face. “You may go to the pantry and pick a snack. But please, pick something healthy, love. And please eat it at the dining table where I can see you, okay?”

His daughter nods her head enthusiastically, “Yes, daddy.” puckering her lips to land a kiss on Harry’s chin before quickly asking for help to be brought down to the floor.

Harry shakes his head in amusement once again as he easily carries Molly’s lithe body from the kitchen counter down to the heated floors, the little girl scurrying away to the door of their pantry before Harry can even tell her to be careful with her steps.

Like her mother, Molly has grown-up to love snacking at any moment the hunger for it strikes. Being the independent bee that she is, Sophia had decided it was only wise to get Harry to make their daughter a stepping stool that can be used for the pantry so that the little girl could go and get her snacks by herself after informing the two of them where she’s going.

Harry had been hesitant of the idea at first, scary thoughts of his baby girl loosing her footing on the stepping stool and falling on the ground without them near had plagued his mind. Those negative thoughts were quickly diminished when Sophia had ordered online a kit for the stepping stool, Molly’s eager aurora excitedly asking her father to assemble it for her, small hand not only tugging on his bigger palm but that too of his heart strings, was enough to get him to agree.

And now he isn’t regretting the decision. Harry makes the most out of the silent reprieve his daughter has given him by getting the dough that he chilled last night together with some butter, sugar, and flour from the cupboards all for the cinnamon rolls he’s going to be baking for their Christmas Eve breakfast.

Harry’s sweet tooth of a wife had actually been the one that had requested for this specific dish, and who was Harry to deny her kind wish when it was the season of giving after all. Besides, Sophia deserves some doting love from him after being the best mum in the world this past year with him being away from tour, or with Sophia being also his mum on tour when they were in the city where Harry was set to perform.

Harry wants to make this a special and delicious breakfast for his wife and daughter that he actually doesn’t notice what Molly is eating, just content seeing the flurry of her crazy-messy hair as she busies herself in the dining table while Harry begins to roll out the dough he proofed last night.

After rolling out the dough to be thin and wide enough for his liking, Harry’s focus was shifted to making sure he’s brushing equal amounts of butter on every surface of the dough as well as the brown sugar and cinnamon mixture he’s sprinkling is also of equal parts.

Too focused on the art of baking for his girls, Harry does not notice his wife coming down the stairs in all her sleep-rumpled glory, all cozily dressed-up and warm for the winter weather.

“Mind if I join the two of you here?” Sophia’s sweet voice breaks Harry’s engrossed state as he watches his wife almost glide to the kitchen towards them. Such a graceful creature that one.

It should have been a tell-tale sign when Molly didn’t even acknowledge the presence of her mother despite always worshiping the floor she walks on, wanting to be Sophia’s little version every single day. But one thing the married couple has learned after having their first child, is to value every second of child-less time that God gives them. So can you really blame the two when they went straight to each other in a tight embrace, lips locking in a sweet morning kiss.

“Good morning, my sunflower.” Harry dimples at his smiling wife, “I’d really want to cradle your face and kiss you so tenderly but my hands are sticky with sugar and cinnamon.”

Sophia coos at Harry’s pout, “It’s okay bunny, I’d just be the one to hold your face and kiss you good morning so tenderly.” Cupping Harry’s giggling face on the small of her palm, Sophia raises on her tiptoes to entangle their lips together in a loving kiss.

“Mummy! My kissies too!”

And that’s why you grab every opportunity you have to be able to snog your wife peacefully.

Harry and Sophia both sighed in each other's lips, more endeared than exasperated really, just like for everything else their daughter does.

Sophia turns her head towards Molly at the dining table, “Of course, my love. How can mummy forget my kissies for you?”

Their daughter shrugs, infamous pout forming once again, “I don’t know. Mummy should not forgetting to share daddy’s kissie with me too.”

Both Harry and Sophia let out surprise laughter at Molly’s clear admission of childish jealousy regarding Harry’s kisses. He should have known that a jealous mother would also mean a jealous daughter. Come to think of it, it’s not the first time Molly has interrupted their holiday smooches, only this time there weren’t any tiny hands pushing their heads away from each other.

“Oh, how unkind of mummy for not sharing daddy’s kissies with you, baby?” Sophia humors their daughter. “Why don’t you come here with us darling and give daddy amazing kisses and I go fix your messy hair while you’re at it with your father’s affection.”

Molly smiles, adorable baby teeth showing. And that’s when they see it.

“Molly!” Harry gasps together with Sophia, “What have you been eating, young lady?”

Molly shuts her toothy grin in an instant, features flushing in muted pink at being caught. She doesn’t reply to her father, so Harry has no choice but to follow his wife whose hand he’s holding, drags him to the dining table.

“What is this?” Sophia asks, gesturing incredulously at the plate of ‘snacks’ Molly had chosen from the pantry.

One of Sophia’s dainty white and gold plate sets that’s perfectly arranged for tonight’s roast dinner, is filled with mini Lindt chocolate bears, its classic gold wrapper with the touches of red, blue, and green all fit for the holiday outfits the adorable bears are wearing.

Seeing that her parents are more fond rather than cross (unfortunately) at her, Molly doesn’t cower away in the fear of getting scolded and instead gives her parents another toothy grin, evidence of her early sweet treat visible.

“They’re choccys, mummy.” Molly answers, so angelic-like it makes Harry believe Sophia and him are doomed when Molly becomes a teenager and get away with every single devious thing she’ll do because her parents are utter suckers for her precious face.

“I can see that they are choccys, darling.” Sophia confirms, head turning to Harry with a curved brow. “Now I don’t understand why your daddy let you eat some this early.”

Harry’s brows furrow, bottom lip sticking out just a little bit because it feels like the scolding will be directed at him unlawfully. “Sunflower, I told our little princess to get a healthy snack. Didn’t I, love?”

Molly might charm her way to get past her cheeky antics but one thing that she can’t do is lie straight to her parent’s faces, another thing she’s inherited from Sophia who can’t lie (even for a surprise for her husband) for the life of her. That trait goes in favor for Harry most of the time, easily getting the answers from Sophia when it’s date night and she had planned for them a surprise. Sophia can’t even last a whole five minutes in their ride and she’s already spilling the beans to Harry.

“Yes.” Molly pouts, nodding her head dejectedly. “Daddy said healthy snack before brekkie but I gotten choccys instead, sorry mummy and daddy.”

Molly makes grabby hands for either of her parents to pick her up, Sophia being the nearest one extending her arm to raise her daughter up and hold her tights to her chest. Molly quickly presses her soft baby lips on her mother’s in a kiss filled with apology, little head tilting at the side to reach for her father with her lips remained pursed. Harry coos, bending a little to meet his daughter half-way through, Molly smacking an equally apologetic kiss to his lips.

“It’s alright baby,” Harry promises quietly, “You’re forgiven, mummy and daddy aren’t cross with you.”

Sophia hums the same sentiment, giving her daughter a soft smile, “Daddy’s right, we’re not going to get mad at you if you’re so kind for being honest and apologizing right away. Look who’s in the nice list of Father Christmas?”

That brings the grin on Molly’s face back, giggling almost bashfully at her mother’s praise. “Sure mummy? Santa didn’t putted me in the naughty list cause I eated choccys for brekkie snack?”

“Yes, mummy’s sure baby. Remember, Santa has eyes everywhere, yeah?”

Both Harry and Molly lock gazes at that, mirth swimming in their green irises causing a frown of wary to etch on Sophia’s face.

“Uh-oh, why are you two looking at each other like that?”

Instead of replying, the father and daughter turned into the amazing singing duo that they are, breaking into the same Christmas song number from earlier. This time around, they’ve placed Sophia in the middle of their little dance routine, Harry and Molly showing Sophia how to properly shimmy her shoulders and bop her bum and hips like they’re back on tour once again.

It doesn't take long before Sophia and Molly tap out from tiredness, Harry giggles on his hands at the rather adorable flushed faces of his girls, bodies bent with their hands placed on their respective knees catching their breath like they’ve just ran a marathon. It’s yet another trait Molly got from her mother, getting easily physically exhausted and then pouting up at Harry asking for ‘cool down cuddles’.

On any regular day, Harry would have instantly jumped at the opportunity of getting to smother his two tired girls in his snuggles. But today’s Christmas Eve, he’s not going to let them have shitty breakfast just because they’re all too clingy and need attention, that’s really the bottomline of it, isn’t it?

Hence, Harry musters the bravest face he can make, one that can resist the double-trouble of his wife and daughter’s identical puppy eyes and pleading pouts (a hundred times more fucking difficult than anyone can ever imagine), asking Sophia to help Molly freshen-up and erase any traces of chocolate on her face. Despite Sophia’s resistance, she agrees minutes later upon remembering the bird nest state of her daughter’s hair, and the promise of freshly baked cinnamon rolls once they arrive back.

Harry promptly returns to work once Molly and Sophia have left hand-in-hand up the staircase once more.

One who absolutely loves cooking for his girls, Harry expertly cuts and rolls the cinnamon buns and is placed perfectly in a large baking dish in no time. It still does have to be baked though, so Sophia and Molly arrive back in the kitchen with the growing aromas of sugar mixed with spicy notes from the cinnamon, inhibiting the entire room.

“Oohh, smells yummy.” Sophia observes, nose visibly raising in attention to waft the heavenly scent.

Molly, who’s in her mother’s arms with her hair fixed into little adorable spacebuns, copies her mother with ease, eyes closing all lovely, “Oohh, smells yummy!”

The two adults share a laugh at their daughter’s undeniable cuteness, amusement unceasing when the cinnamon rolls have baked with Molly physically sitting on her own tiny hands to prevent from taking a bite of her own roll after Harry had served them with it at the dining table. Both Sophia and Harry have told their daughter about five times (in the span of two minutes) not to eat it yet for it’s still piping hot after being taken out fresh from their oven.

Harry would like to think that as much as Sophia is on his side for their daughter’s safety, he’s pretty sure Sophia is also at the edge of her seat, waiting for the go signal from Harry when it’s already alright to eat their sweet breakfast without anyone burning their tongues.

After all, the two do love their sweet food. Harry shares the same observation at the table once Sophia and Molly have dived straight into their own cinnamon rolls, forgetting about knives and forks unlike Harry.

“I mean, I like sweet food.” Sophia answers Harry's comment, “But I don’t know if I love it, per say.” and then proceeds to lick her fingers clean from the sugary icing Harry had poured earlier.

Harry raises an incredulous eyebrow at that, Sophia huffing with an eye-roll at her husband’s smirk.

“Okay, I love sweet food then,” Sophia relents, “but I don’t like sweet breakfast all the time. Like, I also want some savory food in the morning on some days.”

Harry snorts, “Since when? I’m pretty sure our baby girl was eating chocolate bears earlier because she got that from you, like all things really.” and he gives Sophia his own set of eye-rolls, the underneath tone of bitterness in his voice is not lost in Sophia’s ears.

Sophia cackles, “That’s so not true.”

At the same time, Molly perks-up after hearing the magical word, “Choccy bears?” she asks in excitement, mouth messy with white icing and crumbs of sugar and cinnamon making the spouses giggle at their daughter’s messy nature.

Harry reaches forward to wipe his daughter clean, chuckling when Molly cranes her little neck to catch Harry’s thumb on her mouth to eat the sweet mess. Honestly, if anyone didn’t know any better, they’d probably think Harry is starving his daughter from the way she absolutely lights up after savoring those little granules of sweet food.

“Yeah, choccy bears,” Harry muses with a grin at his daughter, “darling, don’t you just love choccy bears cause mummy loves choccy bears?”

That makes Molly beam, all toothy and sticky hands clapping in glee, “Yes! Mummy loves choccy bears so I maded sure I love it too!”

The smug look Harry offers Sophia after that, is enough to convey the ‘I told you so!’ without needing to say it verbally. Sophia just pouts at her husband, brows meeting in the middle.

“Well mummy has a sweet tooth, so what can she do?” Sophia shrugs before turning to give Harry a fleeting look, baby blues looking too devious for Harry’s liking which all of a sudden disappears to give Molly an excited beam.

“But good thing daddy does quite well with helping us with our sweet cravings, yeah princess?”

Molly nods eagerly at her mother before turning to Harry with a lovely smile, “Yup! Daddy loves giving mummy and Molly with sweet treats, love daddy a bunch for gotted us choccy food all the time!”

Harry just absolutely preens at his daughter’s love-oozing words, “Aww, I love you too, princess. There isn’t anything daddy won’t do to get you and mummy what you like.”

“That’s why we love you,” Sophia says, devious baby blues back on a locked gaze with Harry’s own curious ones, “Always doing your best to give what Molly and I want or need. It’s a good thing you’re also down to help Molly make gingerbread cookies later because we’ve been craving for some since the start of the month.”

Molly actually screeches on her seat at the mention of that, fisted hands banging on the table ardently. “YES! Daddy and I bake gingerbread men NOW!”

In turn, Harry actually groans on his seat with Sophia cackling in laughter and Molly continually exclaiming the need for Harry and her to start baking already, the toddler far too keen already after talking Harry’s ear off about baking gingerbread cookies together ever since last night. And yes, it’s mainly the reason why his daughter didn’t want to have her kip last night.

This lot mainly stemmed from Sophia’s love for watching the Hallmark Christmas movies once the start of the holiday season has arrived from around the corner. Molly, being the studious girl that she is in wanting to be the best mini version of her mother, had also taken a liking to these films as mother and daughter tandem made a routine of watching a film or two a day to get their Christmas spirits going.

Most of the Hallmark films that Sophia has taped in their telly, revolved around some sort of Christmas baking with a love story entangled in it in some cheesy way. Molly, being a child who doesn’t really care about kissing under the mistletoe or awkward fumbling in the skate rink that turns to cliché falling on the ice and accidentally kissing, has focused her keen attention on all the baking of sweet treats in the movies.

As much as Harry is thankful that his daughter is not yet at the age of thinking that any boy would be much suited at taking care and loving her compared to her father, Harry is also placed in an unfavorable position after his daughter had pleaded with him that they too bake in the holidays like those people in the films.

Sophia’s a decent cook but she’s absolute crap in the field of baking, so it was clever of their daughter to direct her widened eyes and fluttering lashes at her daddy who on a normal day can’t resist giving in to that look.

What happens when it’s given to him during Christmas time?

Harry absolutely stumbles on his feet to teach his daughter how to make gingerbread cookies, that’s what happens.

That statement is also conveyed in literal terms, like Harry is literally stumbling on his own two feet from the amount of flour his daughter is placing in their dry ingredients bowl, so much that it’s also spilling on the kitchen floor causing Harry’s clumsiness to come into action.

“Alright, I think that’s enough, baby.” Harry says, hands coming up to wave off the puffs of flour floating in the air. He stands closer to his daughter who’s standing securely on one of their dining chairs, head raised to look at Harry in clear concentration, an extremely adorable look that Harry can’t help but giggle at.

“What’s next, daddy?” Molly eagerly asks.

“Now we have to add the remaining dry ingredients, like the salt, baking soda, and all our spices.”

To prevent more spillage, Harry takes it upon himself to tell Molly to wait (a hardship on its own that would take a lot of time to share how) while he measures into little cups all the other dry ingredients so all that his messy daughter gotta do is to dump its contents on their big bowl in an easy, and way cleaner manner.

Harry learns quite quickly that there’s nothing easy with teaching a toddler how to bake. Molly’s pudgy tiny fingers dipping on every measured cup, tongue poking out in disgust after having a taste of pure powdered cinnamon, clove, all spice, and ginger, all of which Harry had told her not to put directly in her mouth.

“That’s so yucky!” Molly grumbles, “Why we putted that in our gingerbread men, daddy?”

Harry shakes his head at his daughter’s cluelessness, filling a glass of water for Molly to drink to wash out the unpleasant symphony of spices in her pink tongue. Harry finds her amusing because he’ll never forget how Sophia did the exact same thing, and asked the exact same questions when they first baked gingerbread cookies together way back when their daughter wasn’t even born yet. Harry just hopes that Molly has a far better future in the baking scene than her mother.

“It won’t taste horrible later, princess, I promise.” Harry replies, accepting the empty glass from his daughter’s careful hands. “It just doesn’t taste good right now because it’s not cooked yet. Once it’s all mixed with our wet ingredients, we’ve rolled the dough and cut our gingerbread men, it’s going to taste really yummy once it’s done baking in the oven.”

His daughter only hums in acknowledgement at that, her attention span of being a toddler is quickly transferred to the pink KitchenAid mixer that Harry has just placed in the kitchen counter.

“I like the color pink.” Molly points out the electronic mixer.

“Why’s that?” Harry humors her despite knowing the answer just like he knows the sun will come down later and it will rise again tomorrow.

“Because mummy likes pink, so I like pink too.”

And how can Harry forget about that? His bloody nails are painted pink right now because Sophia seems to have a collection of all the shades of pink found in the spectrum of colors in the form of nail polishes. At the same time, he still lets out a shudder from the pointed glares that Sophia had given him for all the red outfits he wore at tour.

Harry proceeds to slowly instruct Molly about the wet ingredients that she needs to pour in a separate bowl. This time, he doesn’t bother warning Molly not to taste the sugar or molasses, but does place a foot forward when his daughter all out gobbles a cube of butter, buttery fingers trying to reach for another one which Harry intercepts easily.

“No more butter for you, missy.” Harry chuckles at Molly’s disgruntled face, traces of butter smeared on her lips, “Or we won’t have any cookies if your tum-tum eats them all.” Harry then tickles her pudgy stomach causing Molly to shriek in laughter.

In no time, Harry’s strong arms are guiding Molly’s smaller ones in combining both the dry ingredients with the wet ones, Molly’s fascinated eyes trained on the whirling motion of the mixer as it combines all the components of the gingerbread cookie into a warm brown colored dough.

“Wow.” Molly awes as Harry scoops the dough from the bowl, molding it a bit with his practiced hands before wrapping it in clingwrap.

“That’s cool, huh?” Harry dimples at his engrossed daughter. “Now we just have to wait and put it in the fridge to chill for an hour.”

His daughter’s enchanted expression of seeing their creation turn into a dough for her gingerbread men is quickly replaced by a petulant pout.

“Why?” Molly asks in a tone of pure protest, “Why put in the fridge, daddy? I thought we going to maded it now?”

Harry, having the sixth sense for a Christmas-obsessed toddler tantrum, makes his way to the fridge and swaps the dough they just made to one that he made from last night.

“Ta-da!” Harry showcases the chilled dough to his daughter animatedly, the green eyed girl covering her mouth in a gasp of surprise.

“Oh my.” Molly mutters when Harry begins to sprinkle the surface of the kitchen counter with flour, rolling out the batch of dough he prepared last night.

“Amazing right? I knew your little impatient bum couldn’t wait to get your gingerbread men assembled.”

Molly doesn’t reply from her father’s rib at her character. Either because she’s a child who can’t detect teasing that well, or because she’s precisely like her mummy who doesn’t take a damn from Harry whenever he calls out Sophia’s own impatient whining. Harry has his bets on the latter option of why Molly just ignores his words in favor of excitedly arranging the assortment of gingerbread man cookie cutters he bought specifically for her as an early Christmas present.

“Alright,” Harry claps his hands free from any excess flour after successfully rolling out the dough in the perfect thinness he was hoping to achieve, “daddy is going to show you how to cut out one gingerbread man, and you princess can do the rest after.”

Molly wordlessly hands Harry one of the cookie cutters, eyes glued solely on the slow motions of her daddy’s hands as he flours the cookie cutter before placing it in the dough.

“Now you have to press it hard, like this.” Harry tells her, pushing on his palms quite exaggeratedly with his face frowning in the faux strenuous activity just to hear his daughter’s amused giggles. “No giggling here darling. You have to put all your big girl strength in cutting these cookies or else there won’t be any cookies to eat.”

“No way!” Molly protests easily, “Have to get the gingerbread men cutted cause it looks so good in the telly that mummy and I watch.”

“Well here you go then,” Harry says, offering the jar of flour for Molly to take some for her cookie cutters, “cut away, my fine baking apprentice!”

Once again, Molly doesn’t pay attention to anything he said, just proceeds to copy her father’s earlier actions, little tongue poking out all cute in concentration as she presses hard on the cookie cutter to make sure it makes a dent on the dough.

Harry watches the scene unfold with unbridled pride blooming in his chest, attention lasered on every minute changes in Molly’s features that the second a small frown begins to form on her forehead, Harry is straightaway ready to ask what’s wrong.

“Why the gingerbread men have no heart, daddy?” Molly replies with a frown.

The question catches Harry off-guard. “What do you mean, darling?”

Molly sighs, “A heart, daddy!” she exclaims like Harry doesn’t know his basic anatomy. “Mummy said every living creature on earth has gotted a heart. That’s why we have to be kind to everyone even if they are meanies cause they also have heart and I can’t breaked other’s heart, daddy. Have to be kind, always, mummy and you said.”

Harry and Sophia have properly taught their daughter the vital importance of being kind in this world no matter the circumstance. What they should probably think of teaching Molly is how to not go melting people’s hearts from how wonderful and precious she is!

“So you also want to give your gingerbread men a heart, baby?” Harry coos, eyes probably formed into its own heart slits.

Molly nods, pink lips curved upwards, “Yes, daddy! Heart for my gingerbread men too cause people have gotted to be kind with them, too.”

Harry’s endeared to say the least, needing no other prompt to get their heart shaped cookie cutters for his daughter to use. “And we can’t go having people being mean with your gingerbread men cookies, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Molly affirms brightly, hands planting themselves on her hips with her eyes narrowing. “Don’t like meanies hurting my gingerbread men, but I still be kind if they do cause mummy said I be the bigger person.”

Harry tries to cover the laugh trying to escape from his mouth at the look of utter danger in his daughter’s green pools. “And you are the bigger person, princess. Look at you, you’re almost as tall as daddy!”

Harry’s poor attempt at joking results in an unimpressed pout on Molly’s lips, whining, “Daddy! That’s not funny.”

Harry wants to feel offended at Molly’s unpleasant words against his humor if only he didn’t know already that once again, his daughter takes on her mother for not being quite fond of Harry’s love to jest around. Oftentimes, the two girls are the first to groan at Harry’s dad jokes every time there’s company at home to entertain. Harry could say he might be annoyed, but he really isn’t when he knows deep down, Sophia and Molly would not have him in any other way despite their matching contempt every time he says, ‘knock, knock..’

The pair return to cutting their gingerbread cookies, Harry helping Molly to get the heart cookie cutter in the middle of each gingerbread man. Harry even made sure that the heart cookie cutters they’re using are all of the same size since Molly had given him a stink eye when he said some of them might be smaller than others.

“Daddy! All have same big heart, no small hearts!”

Harry prefers not to get berated by a toddler with a lot of sugar in her system, so he just follows along as he gently transfers each perfectly cut gingerbread man - with BIG hearts - on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

Molly knows that neither of her parents allow her to be anywhere near any heat source which enables her to not start-up a fight when Harry proceeds to put the baking sheet in the pre-heated oven by himself.

“Want to go watch with mummy in the living room while daddy cleans up here?” Harry bends down to his daughter’s level to ask.

Molly shakes her head. “No. I have to help daddy to cleaned the messy in the kitchen.”

“Of course,” Harry smiles with a knowing glint in his eyes, “Mummy doesn’t like messy too, huh?”

Molly nods her head this time, a little smirk forming on her lips that makes Harry shiver internally on how in the world can she already look this devious when she wants to be at such a young age.

“Yeah, mummy doesn’t like messy.” Molly repeats, shaking her head. “That’s why mummy doesn’t like your studio, daddy!”

“Heyy..” Harry pouts at his giggling daughter of a traitor who’s exposing the current disarray state of his at-home studio, “That’s not true, love. It’s only messy right now because I let you color your Frosty the Snowman and Santa books there while I’m recording my songs for the new album.”

“Not true!” Molly declares, “Daddy’s studio is always messy!”

His little three-year-old should have thought better before saying that.

If she did, Harry would not be chasing her around in their messy kitchen with the promise of tickling her until she laughs so loudly like Father Christmas. It’s no surprise though that Harry catches Molly in his arms not even a full five minutes later, the child flushed tired in his arms once more making Harry embody the Christmas spirit of peace and decides not to go ahead with his tickling spree.

They’re in the middle of actually cleaning the kitchen counter when Molly does catch Harry in surprise.

Harry was now sitting on the chair Molly was using earlier as a stepping stool to reach the top of the kitchen counter, his daughter sitting comfortably on his lap, face nuzzled into the warmth of his neck, Harry’s own arms wrapped around Molly’s little frame hugging her tight in his embrace.

“Daddy?” Molly whispers into the skin of where his shoulder meets his neck.

“Hm?” Harry hums, hands gently running up and down Molly’s spine in an act to relax his surely tired daughter from all their baking and running about.

“May I please give mummy the first piece of our gingerbread men cookies that we maked? I love mummy a bunch of tons so I want her to gotted the first one.”

Molly Styles might be the exact replica of Sophia from the top of her head until the ends of her tiptoes, personalities and traits might also be a carbon copy despite her young age.

But one thing that Harry is dead-on sure that Molly got from him, is something so special that he doesn’t give a fuck if it’s the only thing his daughter got from his gene (the green eyes too, thanks).

Molly loves her mummy just the same as Harry loves his wife.

They give Sophia the same love, care and adoration that she deserves, Harry’s definitely happy to know and that it’s something he’s proud to say Molly got from him.

Molly wants to give Sophia the first piece of the gingerbread cookies Harry and her made just the same as Harry would make sure his wife gets the first serving of food in any Christmas party held under his honor.

Molly would wait patiently for her mummy’s reaction upon taking the first bite of the holiday cookie just like Harry who waited for Sophia’s reaction to the Christmas ornaments he got from every state he visited in the US during his last tour. Both father and daughter need that smile of approval from the woman they love to function properly afterwards.

Despite being a lover of sweet treats herself, Molly would only give half of her attention on the gingerbread cookie she’s eating, the remaining half is trained on her mother, waiting if she needs a drink before ordering her daddy to make mummy her special Christmas hot cocoa with extra marshmallows at the top.

Similarly, Harry would only give his favorite Christmas film ‘Love Actually’ half of his mind while the rest is focused on his wife who’s decorating their home all festive and cozy for Christmas time, always on high alert if she needs a hand on something.

After having enough taste on the gingerbread cookies, Molly would gladly cuddle her mummy in her small but insanely powerfully huggable arms, knowing full well how much Sophia loves a good warm snuggle with every food coma she nurses. Sophia’s tired state from last night had also garnered similar results, Harry welcoming his tired wife from all the gift wrapping she had done, her entire body going pliant in Harry’s strong hold as he oozes all the love and appreciation he has for her in that simple body contact.

The Christmas-obsessed Molly would even disregard all the fun holiday activities she has in mind just to show her mummy how much she loves spending time with her and doing barely anything. The little girl would no doubt agree to Sophia’s request of cuddling all day of Christmas Eve in the couch watching more Hallmark Christmas films or the Grinch once Harry gets bored of all the soppiness.

In the same regard, Harry would gladly politely decline any offers his friends have to join them for some Christmas party at some high-class pub or even a shopping trip to a fancy Christmas market, all in favor of joining Molly in loving up Sophia with her favorite hugs and kisses.

Harry and Molly’s love for the woman truly has no bounds, would happily do the same thing again come dinner time with Molly letting her mummy have the first bite of the Christmas roast, attentive eyes waiting for the signal to get her daddy to make mummy the ‘Christmas special drink for mummy and daddy only’ aka: mulled wine.

Harry wouldn’t even mind if that was the case, he’ll most likely even volunteer to start the cuddle fest himself after their Christmas Eve dinner. Arms wide open for his girls with Molly helping him make sure mummy is snuggled tightly with the thick, knitted blanket they got from Nanny Anne. It wouldn’t be a secret if the two indulge Sophia with another Christmas movie at night time, maybe one of the Princess Switch movies or Elf once Harry gets confused on why there are two Vanessa Hudgens that suddenly turn into three come the next movies.

All in all, when Christmas morning comes, Harry is confident that Molly and him love Sophia wholly and just the same by letting her have the first go at the pressies under their fabulously decorated Christmas tree.

Never mind the fact that Molly is a three-year-old toddler who’s been waiting for Santa’s gifts ever since the start of the ber-months, or that Harry is a 27-year old man who still outshines her daughter by opening more gifts than her in under a minute because he’s definitely still very much in-touch with his inner child once the holiday season strikes.

All of those Harry and Molly can disregard and throw the notion outside the door and into the snowing England pavements.

All in the name of their shared love and gratitude for Sophia.

“Yes.” Harry simply replies to his daughter, the two’s features slowly brewing in identical grins despite their clear differences in looks. “We can give mummy anything we want this Christmas Eve because we love her.”

“YES!” Molly cheers far too brightly for something so simple and so innate to them, “We love on mummy on Christmas Eve!”

And pretty much any other day of any other week of any other fucking year, they’d love on Sophia as much as they want.

This Christmas Eve is no exception.

#i appreciate you

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misskathcake · 2 years

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Gingerbreadbunny

My other Holiday fic!

❄️🎄❄️

The light pitter-patter of small feet on the carpeted floors is enough to tingle Harry’s senses to awaken.

That’s what being a father to a too sunny, too active, too animated, too independent three-year-old daughter does to you.

Harry feels the familiar dip of his side of the bed, lips threatening to curl up on their own as his closed eyelids can imagine the highly cute way his daughter crawls to reach his ‘sleeping’ body, her little bum wiggling upwards to reach her father’s long torso. The sign of his daughter’s success is felt through warm, small hands finding purchase on Harry’s sleep-puffed face.