"Wanna hang out?"
I stare blankly at Harry, slightly puzzled after being so focused on the caramel tarts screaming at me. Then the words sink in, and… those words... doesn't that mean he wants to spend time with me? It does, right?
"You wanna hang out?" I question.
"That's what I asked you," he says, and I start to reply, but realise that he made a joke. I was hungry, then puzzled, and now I'm just startled. Harry made a joke. With me.
"You –"
Harry grins, then stares at me with his hands in his pocket, and flashes me a bashful-teenage-boy-who-forgot-his-homework sort of look. A look that is both pitiful and too much for my mind and knees to bear.
I sigh. Look at the floor, then raise my gaze to him, slowly and as confidently as possible; an invisible wall to block the whirlwind of thoughts swirling violently in my head. "So, we're ditching the group till dinner?"
Silence. Harry's staring continues. Then, in three strides he closes the gap between us, and his face is too close, far too close. Right now, if I lean forward too far, I might dive into his eyes and discover all his secrets, and that's what makes me step back.
I want to be close to Harry, but at the same time maybe I shouldn't. Maybe after he tells me everything he's so secretive about, things will change between us. And I like what's going on. I like the somewhat awkward glances, the gentle gestures, the feeling of being so young; it reminds me of when we first met in primary school.
It's upsetting that I always get the Harry I deserve and not the Harry I know and love.
When I take a step back, I realise how rude that must've seemed, so I reach to my right and grab a caramel slice. "Here!" I say, pushing it towards his chest, and relief washes over when he accepts it with a smile.
"You take one too." So I do, then nod towards the exit door, but Harry reminds me, "We need spoons."
I stare blankly at him. "Or we could just shove the plates in our faces," I suggest, being completely honest.
He chuckles, shaking his head. Tasmin, Tasmin. Why am I friends with you again? He hands the plate to me. "Wait for me outside," he says, eyes darting all over the place, like he's about to do something he's not supposed to do. The look is slightly scary, but it's the most excited I've ever seen him. And his childlike excitement is enough to get me hyped up for days. "I'll grab two spoons and meet you out there."
"But, why –?"
"So they don't see us escape," he tells me like it's obvious.
Before I can tell him that they have spoons outside also, he's off, running on the tips of his feet. A little child again. And since I don't want to be a party pooper and ruin his mission, I grin, turn on my feet, and scuttle outside. And when Harry returns with the spoons in hand, he doesn't look so much like a child anymore. But instead, he's got a literal child attached to his leg. A whimpering, sulky child attached to his leg. A whimpering, sulky child that I recognise, attached to his leg.
"Hey," Harry says. Then he gives me a weary look and glances down at the child. "I, um…"
I crouch down in front of the kid, reaching forward to ruffle his hair gently. He bows his head at the gesture, continuing to cry. I ask, "Do you remember me?"
He sniffles. Then nods. "Y–yes."
I'm about to ask if he's lost again, but that might distress him, so I say, "Are you waiting for your mum?"
He nods again, this time meeting my eyes with his tearful ones. "She… was supposed… to be h–here," he explains, stuttering uncontrollably.
I give him what I hope to be a reassuring smile. Then I look up at Harry, and he's staring, and that was the burning feeling I felt on the top of my head for a minute straight. It's like he doesn't even care about the child; the audacity!
I join Harry's side, and reach down to take the boy's hand in mine. It's clammy and shivering slightly, and I'm slightly concerned that this kid will have more anxiety than I ever will. But I squeeze his hand and say, "Don't worry, we'll wait with you."
Harry leans over and whispers, "You know this kid?"
"He ran into me when we were checking in a few days ago. Looks like he lost his mum again."
Harry thinks for a second. "Do you know his name?"
I bite my lip. I realise that I never actually asked. How rude of me. I shake my head no. Now it's Harry's turn.
"What's your name, little tyke?" he asks, and I realise once again that his British accent is absolutely adorable.
"Seb – Sebastian," he responds nervously. "But my mummy calls me Seb."
Harry nods, pouting. "Can we call you Seb, too?"
It takes a moment of thought; Can I trust these strangers? Then a frantic nod. "You can call me Seb," he confirms.
I grin at Harry, giving him an approving nod, and then gently saying, "Do you know where your mum might be?"
"I–I…" Seb pauses. "No."
"That's okay. Why don't we go for a walk to see if we can find her, okay?" I suggest.
Harry quickly presses his lips to my ear. "But what about the caramel slices?"
I laugh at the fact that Harry cares more about the caramel slices than a child, but I hand one plate to him and hold the other myself, and together, as we walk down the deck, we look like one, happy family.