"I need a favor," she says because, really, George is one of the only ones she can go to.
It isn't anything major. Sure, someone else might consider helping her, but George is so lovely and dependable, and he never hesitates to help her whenever she needs him.
He grins like this is something he's been waiting for all day, like he'd somehow expected to waltz into the joke shop and ask for help. "Oh?" He smooths out the creases in his magenta work robes. "Really? Need a handsome date to a holiday party?"
Angelina rolls her eyes, shaking her head. That's George for you. Completely ridiculous, and absolutely hopeless. It's just one of the many reasons she adores him. Even on the most stressful days, he's there to find a way to put a smile on her face. "No, idiot," she says playfully. "I've got about fifty presents I need wrapped… Tonight."
He looks slightly disappointed at that. Angelina assumes it's just an act, a little silliness because of course he doesn't actually want to go on a date with her. "Right. That makes sense. Fifty?"
She shrugs. "I might have gone a bit overboard."
"A bit," George snorts, shaking his head. "I'll stop by yours around five?"
"It's a date."
…
The fire's lit, and the smell of cinnamon and spices fills the air of her flat. George arrives with a smile, and just seeing him makes Angelina feel a little less overwhelmed by the pile of gifts and the excess of paper.
"You weren't kidding," George says, letting out an impressed whistle.
"I most definitely wasn't," she confirms, smiling sheepishly. "Let's get cracking, shall we?"
George, it turns out, is good with wrapping gifts. Maybe it's his natural chaotic energy, but Angelina had expected him to make a mess of it. Instead, he takes care, measuring each bit of wrapping paper perfectly and folding neatly, taping it all together and topping it with a bow.
"Oh, these are… flashy," George says, holding up a pair of glittery purple stilettos.
"Katie likes them," Angelina responds, topping the silver bag containing her mother's quilt with a red bow.
"Uh huh." George tosses a deck of playing cards into a small bag, a gift for Angelina's cousin who loves Muggle "magic" tricks.
They both reach for the scissors at the same time, their hands brushing. Angelina pulls back like she's been burned, and, given how hot her face grows, she wouldn't be surprised to discover her flat was on fire. It isn't, of course. It's just George's effect on her, and she doesn't know what to make of that.
They're friends. Best friends. Closer than almost anyone in this world. George and Fred have always been two of her most favorite people. She can't feel this way about him right now.
But she does.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers, like he can see the confusion in her head, like he understands because he feels that way too.
Maybe he hadn't been joking in the shop. Maybe he actually does want to go on a date with her. Truthfully, she would do it in a heartbeat, but only if he wants to. Only if this isn't just one of his silly jokes, and he does actually feel this way.
And then his lips are on hers, and her heart flutters at the touch. His hands are soft and they ghost down her arms, and in that moment, she knows, without a doubt, that this is real, that George does feel this way for her.
"About needing a date for a Christmas party," Angelina murmurs when they break apart at last.
George offers her a lopsided grin, freckled cheeks stained with a soft pink blush. "I'm all yours."
