The next day...
As Harry was leaving his office, his mobile rang. He glanced at the clock, glad to be heading home before dark, something that rarely happened.
"Hello?"
"Harry? It's Grace."
"Hi Mrs. Granger."
"Hermione just rang me, but she didn't have a lot of time to chat, going to spa appointment and all. She wanted me to tell everyone she's having a good time and that the food is excellent. She's gambling and what's the term...clubbing?...tonight."
"Well, uh...that's good to hear. She deserves a good time."
"I agree, she certainly does. Oh, her room number in case anyone wants to ring her is..."
As Grace babbled, Harry's thoughts drifted to images of Hermione's lips wrapped around a drink straw. Yes, her long, soft hair flowing over a backless, silky, sexy dress; her lithe body swaying, her hips--
"Harry, are you still there?"
"A silky dress."
"Pardon? What dress?"
"Oi! Nothing!" he said.
She told Harry that she intended to pick Hermione up from Heathrow when she returned from holiday.
"Take care, Harry."
"Sure thing, Mrs. Granger."
Harry, you really are an idiot, a first class idiot, he thought. Silky dress??
**
In the meantime, Harry spent most of his time (both at work and at home) planning and imagining various scenarios he might use to ask Hermione out. Time was his biggest problem, because timing would be everything.
He didn't want to ask too soon in case she was still hurting over Trace.
He didn't want it to look like he was just waiting for Trace to be out of the way so he could have a shot at her, jockeying for position, even if it was the truth.
He didn't want to bother her if she decided that she didn't want to date anyone for a while.
Could he blame her? Trace left for no reason, the bloke before Trace cheated on her, and before that, Ron. There were some things that were taboo conversation subjects, and the fast-and-furious but ultimately doomed Ron-Hermione relationship was one of the subjects.
Three days before she was to return, he took a page from one of Hermione's many books and started making lists. He ordered twice as much Chinese take-away for the long night ahead.
What She Likes
What She Doesn't Like
Reasons To Ask Her Out
Reasons Not To Ask Her Out
What I Need To Do
He stopped and looked at the papers spread out over the coffee table. He flicked a noodle off one list (he wasn't good with chopsticks) and nodded in approval. Maybe this list thing isn't such a bad idea; it helps get a person's thoughts straight.
He next did something that he knew Hermione wouldn't care about. Or would she? He went through his wardrobe and tossed out everything that was old, tatty, too small, or stained. Was she just being tactful and nice all these years about his ridiculous wardrobe? He decided that from now on, he would look his best for her. She deserved nothing less. He took an extended lunch break and shopped for new clothes and shoes. The day before she was to return, he decided to ring her, just wanting to hear her voice. He made note of the time difference, (it was nine a.m. Las Vegas time) dialed, and waited. After four rings, her slightly breathless voice was heard.
"Hello?"
"Were you busy?"
"Uh...no, just in the bath. How's everything across the pond?"
"Busy with a new investigation, and I think Crooks has a girlfriend."
He heard her husky chuckle and it sent a shiver down his spine. "That's my boy."
"I heard from your mum and she reported that you were having a good time."
"Harry, it's brilliant! There's so much to do! I have so much to tell everyone when I get back home. I even won four hundred dollars at the slots last night!"
He opened his mouth to respond and heard, "Hold on Harry." He heard her cheery voice greeting a man's voice and a door closing.
"That was room service with breakfast. I slept in this morning, and I didn't feel like going down to breakfast."
"So, what's on the tray?"
"It's something that we Brits rarely have, and something Americans have made into somewhat of an art form, in my opinion anyway."
"That good?"
"Yes, waffles, and not just plain waffles at that. I'm talking thick, buttery, Belgian waffles topped with spiced apples, or strawberries with whipped cream, or blueberries with whipped cream. Breakfast has turned into my favorite time of day while here, and don't get me going about the omelets."
"Sounds great, so I'll let you at your waffles. I'll see you tomorrow then?"
"Yes, late afternoon, barring any unexpected flight delays."
"Take care, I've--well, we've missed you. Crooks wants his number one girl back." So do I.
"Bye Harry!"
**
That night, Hermione stood at the Bellagio water fountain a final time for the spectacular nighttime show. More than a few newlywed couples happily strolled by and she couldn't help but smile at their happiness. A voice with an accent similar to her own from behind startled her from her musings.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" an elderly woman asked.
"Yes Madame, it is."
"Ahh, a fellow Brit. What brings you to the desert, Miss...?"
Hermione extended her hand. "Granger, Madame. My parents gave me this trip as a birthday present."
The old woman nodded and tapped her chin. "Of the Islington Grangers?"
Hermione chuckled. "No Madame, of London."
"Well, there's many Grangers in London."
"Indeed there are."
"Why would such a pretty young woman be here by herself?"
"You know, I ask myself the same question, but without the pretty part."
The old woman tsked at her and shook her head. "Surely those young bucks back home must be lined up at your door?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh and a soft snort escaped. "I was seeing someone, but not any more. That's part of the reason why I'm here. I had to get away to get my head on straight."
The old woman rose, waved at someone behind her and she turned. An old man joined them.
"Tom, this is Miss Granger from London," she said.
He extended his hand. "Small world, huh? Pleased to meet you, Miss. Thank you for keeping my Kathy company. I didn't want her to miss the fountain on account of my failing bladder."
"Tom!" the old woman declared, scandalized.
"That's alright. My grandfather used to say things like that all of the time, it scandalized my grandmother to no end," Hermione said, smiling at the memories of her grandfather teasing her grandmother.
The old man looked at his watch. "Bedtime for us, I'm afraid. We have an early flight," he said.
"Back to England?"
"No, to San Francisco to see our grandchildren. This is probably the last trip to America we'll be able to make," the old woman said, holding the old man's hand tenderly.
Hermione felt tears in her eyes. God, how she longed for that kind of love.
"Out of curiosity, how long have you been married?"
"Sixty years, last month," the man said proudly.
"Good Lord! Congratulations!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Why thank you, dearie. You're still young enough to make it as long as me and my Tom, you know. Better get crackin'," the woman said, patting Hermione's hand.
**
Harry looked again at the clock on his desk and drummed his fingers on the desk. It was four p.m., the time for Hermione's return. He decided to wait to give her time to get home and settled. He didn't want to just burst in on her after such a long flight; jet lag could make even the best-tempered person a downright grouch. Why she didn't just take an international Port Key was beyond him, but he learned a long time ago not to question Hermione's motives. She usually had a good reason for anything she did.
He left his office shortly after six, bought some flowers and went to her flat. He knocked softly, disabled the wards, and carefully opened the door. He stepped in, looked in the living room, and saw her asleep on the sofa. He smiled at the sight. He walked silently to the sofa and took in the sight of her.
She was sprawled out, one hand resting on her stomach, the other resting above her head. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep and her glorious hair was spread all over the pillow. He grinned at her "What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas" t-shirt. He tripped over something at his feet.
Cowboy boots?
"Like my boots?" a sleepy voice asked.
His eyes shot to her face. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said with a shy smile.
Hermione saw his shy smile and it was if something had suddenly turned on inside her brain. She looked curiously at Crooks sitting on the top of the sofa as if he held an answer to a question. How many times had she seen Harry's sweet, shy smile? Why was that shy smile suddenly so appealing to her?
It's like the sun peeking through the clouds, she thought in a poetic sort of way.
"It's okay Harry, it's good to see you. Are those for me?" she asked, pointing at the flowers.
He forgot he was holding them. "Oh...yes! A welcome home present for our number one girl," and added, "the boots are fantastic."
"Aren't they?" she asked, picked them up and stroked the supple leather. "Which reminds me, I'm inviting the gang for breakfast on Saturday. I bought a waffle iron and a cookery book-"
"-a book, surprise there."
"-to make everyone some fabulous waffles and distribute souvenirs," she finished.