#hey 3

“Easy.” Harry pins him with a sharp glare. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

You glance at him, eyes wide. He ignores your shocked expression, tilting his chin toward the bag in your hands.

“Count them, love,” he tells you. The affectionate epithet tumbles seamlessly off his tongue. “John here isn’t exactly the most trustworthy partner.”

The other man guffaws. You sift through the sack, mouthing silently to yourself. At last, you look up at Harry and nod firmly.

“A dozen.”

“Good,” he grunts, stepping back. “Let’s go.”

The two of you resume your promenade. You weave in between crowds; Harry goes first, clearing the way, and you follow. A gaggle of children sprint past you, laughing happily with their arms outstretched. Over the raucous buzzing in the square, a quiet giggle reaches Harry’s ears.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, peering at you from over his shoulder.

You shake your head slightly and cover your mouth with your fingertips.

“Nothing,” you say. You speed up to match his pace. “It’s just—your wife?”

“Did you have a better idea?” he says dryly, cocking one eyebrow.

“I suppose not.”

“Right, then,” he grumbles, rolling his shoulders. “Until we arrive back home, you’re my wife.”

You peer up at him with shimmering eyes. “Lucky me.”