Reluctant Hearts

Chapter 20

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The sun bathed the Saturday morning in a warm, golden glow when I emerged from Harry's bedroom bleary-eyed, hair in a tangled mess. Harry looked up from his coffee and phone and grinned.

"Well good morning, Medusa. I see you've perfected your snake hair look today," he quipped.

I gave him a withering look, unamused by his jesting so early. "It's too early for your commentary, Harry," I grumbled, shuffling to the coffee maker.

"Not a morning person I see," Harry continued to tease. "I thought true love's kiss was supposed to awaken Sleeping Beauty?"

"Keep it up and this 'Sleeping Beauty' will turn into the evil witch and curse you," I threatened over my shoulder, pouring a generous cup.

Harry held up his hands in mock surrender. "Point taken, I'll zip it now." But his eyes continued to twinkle with mirth over the rim of his mug.

Since it was a lovely day, we couldn't let it go to waste as Harry and I  drove out to a whimsical little bookshop cafe I had been wanting to visit. We browsed leisurely through the shelves of antique books, my eyes gleamed with anticipation as I ran my fingers along the spines of weathered classics. Harry followed me through the narrow aisles like a lost puppy.

We found ourselves drawn to a cozy nook by the window, sinking into the plush armchairs with our coffee and pastries.

Harry peeked over at my book selection, a collection of romantic poetry, and his eyes glinted mischievously. "Find one you want me to read to you?"

I rolled my eyes at his cheesiness but my heart secretly fluttered. I flipped through the pages before landing on one that made me smile. "Here, let's hear it," I said, handing him the open book.

Harry cleared his throat dramatically before launching into an exaggeratedly sultry recitation:

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate..."

His raspy voice wrapped around each syllable, carrying clear across the cafe. Other patrons couldn't help but glance over, drawn by the magnetic pull of Harry's delivery, and a few couldn't suppress the smiles that tugged at the corners of their lips.

Yet, amidst the stolen glances and shared amusement, Harry remained steadfast in his focus, his eyes locked onto mine. The world around us seemed to fade away,  his gaze held a depth that mirrored the verses he recited, and with each line, I found myself drawn further into the spell of his Shakespearean sonnet.

By the end, we were both laughing under the stares of onlookers. "Well, how was that?" Harry inquired, his eyes twinkling with a playful gleam as he punctuated the question with an exaggerated bow. The theatrical gesture was met with another bout of laughter, both from us.

"Simply brilliant," I declared. "You have missed your calling as a Shakespearean actor."

Harry's eyes twinkled. "All because of you, my muse." He lifted my hand and placed a smacking kiss on it. My cheeks burned but inside I was floating. Moments like these - playful, affectionate, comfortable - were everything.

"What would I do without you?" I asked fondly, pulling him in for a smooch.

"Suffer incessantly of course," Harry replied breezily, making me grin.

On nights we couldn't be together, Harry would FaceTime me from bed, his sleepy voice tinged with the weariness of the day, would murmur through the speakers, a comforting lullaby. He would recount the events of his day, until the night would catch up to us. One of us would inevitably doze off.