Thanks for the kind words and what-not. Hope you enjoy.
Zeke carried his bag over to the couch, placing it onto the floor next to him before taking a seat next to Harper. He wasn't directly next to her – he made sure to give her plenty of space. Girls may cuddle during Spanish language soap operas, but strictly-platonic-to-avoid-breaking-bro-code-and-because-who-even-knows-if-she-digs-him-and-why-would-she friends? He was pretty sure they sat further apart.
"Hey, I think I've seen this one," Zeke said, pointing to the screen before glancing over to Harper. She looked absolutely fascinated by the characters' movements, and, if only for a moment, Zeke was happier watching her watch TV than watching TV himself.
That was, of course, until Armando and Raul started wrestling, crashing into a table with a loud 'thud!' That was his favorite part.
"Do you speak Spanish?" Harper asked after a moment, able to calm her nerves enough to ask a question. She could do this. She was Harper Finkle. She could fake the confidence of a hundred super models under the right conditions.
"I speak a lot of languages," he answered, puffing up his chest proudly. This transitioned into him slumping his shoulders, a nervous laugh – almost a giggle – as his hand reached up to scratch at the back of his head. "Um, Spanish isn't one of them, so no. I mean, not fluently."
Harper nodded, a smile pulling onto her lips and a twinkle shining in her eyes. He was amusing, even if he didn't know it. "So, what are you doing here? Not here as in this Earth, because I get that, and not here as in this house, because obviously you're staying the night with Justin, but here like this couch. I assumed you'd be sleeping in Justin's room? Not that I had any thoughts about where you'd be sleeping."
Zeke didn't think anything of her rambling – he had been known to use a word or four extra to ask a simple question.
"I was going to sleep on the air mattress I usually crash on, but apparently Max popped it last week," he replied, following it up with a whistling sound to mimic the sound of air escaping. "Mrs. Russo was nice enough to bring a blanket and pillow down here for me so I could crash on the couch." He motioned to the chair where the sleeping supplies were, a "Sweet dreams, Zeke" post-it note resting on top.
"Not sure how I missed that…." Harper mumbled, and suddenly a realization hit her.
She was sitting on Zeke Beekerman's bed. Sure, a minute ago she was fine and comfortable and obeying all boy-in-the-house rules provided by her second family, but now? Now she was crossing into dangerous territory. She moved to the edge of the couch, hands folded in her lap as she chewed on her lip.
"You know, if we were on TV back in the day we'd have to keep at least one foot on the floor at all times," she told him, then glanced at his feet. Both were on the floor. Hers were, too. They were in the clear.
As she glanced away, she noticed Alex's milk bowl sitting on the table. This was like Zeke's nightstand, if the couch was his bed, and there was a mess in it! What kind of hosts were they, to leave a mess?
"I'm sorry about this," she said quickly, standing up to grab the bowl.
It took Zeke a few minutes to realize what Harper was sorry for. He was still focusing on the foot thing, his eyes glancing at the black house slippers he was currently wearing. Sometimes Harper was a bit difficult to keep up with. As quickly as his mind went, hers went twice that speed.
His eyes followed her into the kitchen, squinting as he examined her every movement. Sure, she was just washing a dish, but it seemed like there was something different about her. Zeke stood up in a swift motion, gliding across the living room and into the kitchen.
"You don't have to wash that," Zeke insisted, elbow bumping against hers as he attempted to relieve her from dish duty.
"It's no problem," she replied quickly, eyes glancing up toward him. "I'm used to cleaning up after Alex." A pause, as Harper found herself getting nervous once again. He was still standing right there, in what Alex referred to as her 'kiss or clobber' radius. Harper was certainly not going to do either of those things to Zeke, at least not anytime soon. She had to think quickly.
"We have ice cream, if you want some," she said, tilting her head to motion toward the freezer. "I mean, obviously there's ice cream. You helped me pick it out." It was only slight babbling. A definite improvement, right? "I loved your little vest, by the way. I don't know if I told you that but I thought it, so I just thought I'd…tell you."
Shaking her head, Harper placed the clean bowl in the drainer. Zeke had already gotten the ice cream from the freezer and placed it on the counter, a smile forming on his lips as he realized she'd gotten his favorite. "Thanks," he replied, opening the cabinet to grab clean dishware. "Do you want some?" She nodded, and so he grabbed two. "The vest is kind of dorky, but it's green so it's not so awful. It'd be cooler if you'd trick it out."
"Do you want me to?" she asked, pulling spoons from the drawer and handing one to Zeke. She would later look back on this moment as one of perfection – she spoke comfortably and at a normal pace, and upon reflection she would acknowledge that his fingertips brushed hers as the utensil passed between them.
"I don't think my boss would dig that, but I appreciate the offer."
Zeke handed Harper her bowl of ice cream, motioning for her to walk first to wherever she would like to sit down. Since Zeke's pillow and blanket were technically not on the couch yet, she decided the room was still a living room and not a bedroom. She was overreacting before.
Of course, she was still going to keep her feet on the floor.
As she sat on the couch, using her spoon to stab chunks of peanut butter cup, Zeke's eyes carefully watched her. Something was driving him absolutely nuts. He knew there was something different about her, and it wasn't just that she looked adorable digging the chunks out. He did that, too, though he was sure that ice cream mining was not as cute when he did it.
After a moment it finally hit him. Instead of the usual out-there outfits she wore, Harper was dressed down. Green plaid pajama pants and a plain gray T-shirt, no jewels or sparkles or trash attached.
"Who knew that the fashion forward Harper Finkle dressed like us common folk at nighttime?" he asked, and he was almost positive he noticed her cheeks flush. "It's strange to see you in normal clothes. Not a bad strange," he insisted quickly. "And not that your clothes aren't normal. You know what I mean, right?"
He sure hoped so, because he really didn't want to try to explain it any further.
"I know," she promised, fingers tugging at the T-shirt before moving to brush her curled hair from her face. She knew her cheeks were red, but her hair wouldn't hide that fact. "Mrs. Russo thought I should own some clothes that were washer and dryer safe. I have to admit it's much more convenient this way."
"Props to Mrs. Russo," Zeke acknowledged, placing his bowl on the table. He then slowly reached his hand out toward Harper's shoulder. "May I?" She didn't seem to flinch away, so his fingers tugged gently on the back of her shirt, his other hand brushing her hair away so he could read the tag. "Machine wash cold with like colors, tumble dry."
This was probably the weirdest thing anyone had ever done, Harper decided in that moment, and this was coming from the girl who once made a sweater out of her own hair. At the same time, there was an odd comfort in his actions, and she wasn't as nervous or awkward as she had once been. Once a guy reads your laundry instructions, what do you really have to be nervous about?
He pulled back slowly, fingers brushing gently against the back of her neck. After a moment he gripped the back of his shirt. "What's mine say?" he asked her, grinning as he leaned toward her. With a laugh, Harper reached out and read the tag.
"Same thing," she answered, gently patting his back before pulling away.
"Well how about that," Zeke said as-a-matter-of-factly. "We're laundry buddies. High five?"
Harper granted him the requested high five, and when she would think back on this moment in bed later that night, she'd remember the spark she felt as her much smaller hand gently smacked against his.
She was sure the butterflies in her stomach and the grin on her face weren't going to disappear, just as sure as she was that she never wanted to wash the plain gray T-shirt he seemed so interested in.