Sorry for the long wait for this update, we've both been annoyingly busy lately, although really we should have been better as the fic is 90% written!
We are continuing to work on your drabble prompts and the invite for new reviewers to leave prompts is still open! Oh, and Ex-Lurker, we hadn't realised when you prompted, but an egg whisk had already made an appearence in this fic...and here it is now!
"Harry!?"
"Morning," he greets her. "There's coffee in the kitchen when you're ready."
She laughs when he tells her he thought they should start over.
"Morning," she returns mid yawn, which makes him chuckle. "Coffee sounds wonderful."
"Come on then," he commands and she dutifully follows him to the kitchen, where he passes her a cup of hot, strong coffee. "Breakfast?"
"I thought you didn't have any food in?" she teases and shoots him a slightly flirtatious look over the rim of her coffee cup.
"Well, Sleeping Beauty, had you been awake you would have seen me leave to go to the shop." He enjoys the small brush that creeps into her face at his endearment. "Omelette ok?"
"Lovely, can I help?"
He thinks about it for a second before telling her she can set the table and she eagerly stands to get started only to realise that she has no idea where anything is kept. He's turned his back to her, and is busy whisking the eggs, so doesn't notice her stood in the middle of his kitchen looking lost.
"Um, Harry, where do you keep your cutlery?"
He stops beating the eggs for a moment and pats the drawer to his immediate left. "In here."
"Thanks," she murmurs and joins him at the counter. As she reaches for the handle she realises he's stood in front of it slightly and playfully nudges him out of the way with her hip.
"Who're you pushing about?" he asks, playfully, and her response is to push her tongue out at him and unrepentantly nudge his leg again before turning and gliding away triumphantly with the cutlery.
"Plates?"
"In the top cupboard," he says and directs her to the other side of the kitchen with a wave of his arm.
She wanders about and looks at the row of high cupboards, muttering that she might as well have just looked in every cupboard instead of asking because that's what she'll have to do anyway. Predictably the plates are in the last cupboard she tries but, more annoyingly, they appear to be on quite a high shelf. She's stood on tiptoes and swears under her breath when she still can't quite reach them properly.
"No need to swear, Ruth." His amused voice startles her slightly but not as much as the feel of his hands on her hips as he gently ushers her out of the way. The contact is only fleeting but the effect of his hands on her body is long lasting and she is still flustered when he places the plates on the counter in front of her. "You see, I am helpful really."
She gathers that her muttered ravings were louder than she had anticipated but doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting she needed his help. "It would be more helpful if the plates were at normal person height."
"They're hardly at giant level, Ruth," he counters, good naturedly, relishing every second of their morning together.
"I could accuse you of being sizeist, you know," she tells him, seriously, despite the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
He nods, gravely, poker face firmly in place. "You're right, it's a terrible oversight on my part; I can't believe I was so thoughtless. Feel free to punish me for it."
The twinkle in his eye in unmistakable and the colour seeps into cheeks despite her best efforts. For a moment she considers telling him that she might just take him up on the offer but it is only a fleeting thought and is dismissed almost immediately.
"Now, if you're quite finished insulting the layout of my kitchen, I'll cook your breakfast," he tells her, aware that his teasing has gone far enough for now, and heads towards the stove.
--
She manages, somehow, to spend most of the rest of the weekend in his company. Breakfast is followed by a long walk with Scarlet which stretches until early Saturday afternoon, and on Sunday they find themselves back in a local pub for what must be their 5th meal there in as many weeks. She is dangerously close to being forced to admit that this is getting out of control and well beyond the normal boundaries of friendship but, if she admits it, then it means she has to put a stop to things, and that's something she'd rather not have to do…and that's an even less appealing prospect than continuing to lie to herself.
She worries about it through most of Monday, preoccupied with runaway thoughts about the strange sort of domestic setup they managed to find themselves in these past few days, and is so far lost to her thoughts that time quite escapes her as she daydreams at her desk.
"Shit," she curses when a quick glance at her watch shows her that it is past four o'clock. "That's just bloody marvellous."
"What is?" asks Harry who has suddenly appeared by her desk.
She's slightly embarrassed that he's heard her outburst and wonders if she should really complain to him; he is still her boss after all is said and done, but she knows that he won't let her get away with not answering. "Oh, I've missed the washing machine repair man coming, that's all. I'll just have to reschedule and take my clothes to the laundry for another week."
"Ah, yes, I can see why that would be annoying," he sympathises. "What's wrong with it?"
"It's broken."
He rolls his eyes at her. "I'd gathered that much, Ruth. I meant which part of it is it that needs to be mended?"
"I haven't the foggiest," she tells him, honestly, and wonders if he's lost the plot a little bit. "It, er, leaks a little. Does it matter? Surely the repair man will be able to figure it out?"
"Well I could take a look at it for you, but, ideally, I'd need to know what the problem is."
She's flattered at his offer of help and likes the idea of watching him do something manual. A stray thought of him in her kitchen, in a slightly sweaty t-shirt, surfaces, unbidden, and she has to push it firmly away. "You don't have to give up your evening to help me out, Harry. I can live without it for a week."
"Nonsense. It's no trouble, Ruth," he assures her, with a disarming smile.
"Ok, thanks." She's aware that this is yet another thing to blur the lines of friendship between them but, oddly, she doesn't care as much as she might have done before. "I'll, uh, I'll make some dinner afterwards, if you like? As a thank you."
His smile is one of genuine delight and it makes her heart flutter. "That would be lovely," he says, quietly, before adding that he'll call and collect his tools on his way.
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