Table 11 (H.S One Shot)
General Masterlist ceo!harry x fem!reader
Summary: based on this request. An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.
A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! iâm so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.
Word count: 8k
Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)
âCan you grab table 6 for me?â you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentineâs season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.
It didnât matter that it wasnât Valentineâs Day yetâeveryone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.
Youâd been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menuâÂŁ1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it.Â
âSure thing,â Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasnât here, you werenât sure how youâd survive these shifts.
London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentialsâyour rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the cafĂŠ down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.
As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunningâlike she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldnât guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.
You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday youâd climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.
Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.
He was greeted by the host, and you caught his nameâHarry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.
Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentineâs season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.
He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactlyâyouthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.
And worth a million dollars? That part wasnât in question. Everything about him screamed moneyâthe subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though heâd just walked in.
The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.
You felt a flicker of somethingânerves? Annoyance? You couldnât quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.
Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.
âThink thatâs the guy whoâs finally ordering the scotch?â she teased, nudging you with her elbow.
You snorted softly, shaking your head. âIf he does, Iâll frame the receipt,â you muttered.
Mandyâs grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.
You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldnât help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu heâd been scanning
âGood evening,â you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. âWelcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?â
He looked towards his phone on the table âJust water for now, thanks,â he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone
Not the scotch, then.
âOf course,â you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting
âThe scotch??â she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.
âWater,â you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.
Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. âCâmon donât be so sad, we will find that scotch guyâ
You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldnât help but glance at him againâhis fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldnât quite place.
âHere you go,â you said, placing the glass of water on the table.
âThanks,â he murmured, his voice low and steady. âCan I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, andâŚâ He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. âA Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,â he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.
âSmoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,â you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.
âThanksâŚâ he said going back to his phone No date, no wifeâjust him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentineâs frenzy buzzing around.
Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonaldâsâcalm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.
The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.
âCan I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?â you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessingâgiving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.
When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.
âBlackthorne Reserve, neat,â you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.
He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. âThanks... Can I get your name, please?â His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.
âY/N, sir,â you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.
âThanks, Y/N.â He smiled thenâa small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.
You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busyâtaking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some tableâs joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasnât demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?
When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.
âSmoked salmon and asparagus salad,â you announced.
âPerfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,â he said, and there it was againâthe faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.
The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.
Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightlyâa small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.
âAnother Blackthorne Reserve?â he asked when you were close enough to hear.
âOf course, sir.â
âDrop the âsir,â please,â he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. âHarry, my name itâs Harryâ
You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. âComing right up, Harryâ
At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. âBlackthorne Reserve,â you said softly.
âThank you, Y/N,â he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. âAnything else?â you said softly
He didnât immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurantâsome leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.
âBusy night,â he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.
You looked around as if you didnât knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. âAlways is, especially with so many couples out. Valentineâs coming upâ
âYeah,â he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. âGuess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.â
The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. âSome people prefer it. A quiet drink, good foodâitâs not a bad way to spend an evening.â
He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. âWhat about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?â
The question was unexpected, and you faltered. âNot much,â you admitted. âWork keeps me busy.â
He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didnât. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him thereâand whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.
As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. âCan I get the check, please?â
You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. âHere you go.â
He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. âThanks, Y/N.â
The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.
âHave a good night,â he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the eveningâunremarkable, yet lingering all the same.
And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldnât quite shake the weight of his presence. âY/N? Câmon thereâs a lot of mess hereâ you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.
-----
Valentineâs day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations
âGood evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?â the host asked.
âYes, Styles. Harry Styles,â came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.
âTable 11, if possible,â he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.
âTable 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. Itâs a lovely table by the window.â
There was a brief pause â19 it is,â he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.
The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. âGood evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?â
He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. âThanks, but before I order⌠Is Y/N working tonight?âÂ
Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. âY/N? Oh, yes, sheâs here tonight. Sheâs been covering the other section.â
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable âDo you think she could take my table instead?â
Mandyâs lips curved into a knowing smile. âOf course. Let me check with her, and Iâll be right back.â
As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. âYouâve got a request,â she said, her tone teasing.
Your brows furrowed. âA request? For what?â
âFor you,â she said, nodding toward table 19. âMr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what thatâs about?â
Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. âIâll take it and you can take table 10 for meâ you said, as you headed toward his table.
When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. âY/N,â he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. âGood to see you.â
âGood evening, Mr. Styles,â you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. âIâll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?â âWine, SolĂŠne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling waterâ he said not even looking at the menu âComing right upâ you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didnât ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasnât all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.
The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far cornerâand him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didnât look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.
Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.
âWould you like the check, Mr. Styles?â you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.
But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. âNot just yet,â he said. âAre you allowed to sit down for a bit?â
The question caught you off guard. âYes, of course,â you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.
You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.
âYou know,â he started, his tone hesitant, âI donât know if this is weird at allâand you can tell me to fuck off if it isâbut...â He paused, running a hand through his hair. âI donât have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.â
âWell, Iâm a good listener,â you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.
He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. âItâs Valentineâs Day, you know?â he started, glancing out the window. âSupposed to be about love, connection... all that.â He let out a dry laugh. âBut here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if Iâve got it all wrong.â
You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.
âMy love life?â he said, leaning back in his chair. âItâs... nonexistent. And itâs not like I havenât tried. But most people donât stick around. They see me, and they assumeââCEO,â right? So theyâre either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... whatâs the point? Iâll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldnât feel real.â
He paused, his expression softening. âItâs stupid, isnât it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and Iâve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like thereâs this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like Iâll never find someone whoâs really... my person.â
Your heart ached a little at his words. âI donât think thatâs stupid at all,â you said softly. âI mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,â you added with a small laugh, âbut... I get it.â
You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. âIâve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, thereâs no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.
âThe few boyfriends Iâve had?â you continued, shaking your head. âThey never got it. Theyâd complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goalsâwhat I wanted. And letâs be real,â you added with a small shrug, âitâs not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess Iâve given up on that, too. Whatâs the point, right?â
You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didnât laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.
âItâs different,â you said quickly, âbut... I think I understand. Feeling like youâre giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.â
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. âYeah,â he said quietly. âExactly that.â
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.
âThanksâ âAnytimeâ
-----
After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.
It wasnât that he wasnât kindâhe was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadnât meant to reveal. Youâd been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little thingsâa laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.
Your exes had taught you that love wasnât about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed moreâmore time, more attention, more of you.
And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.
Because what if he didnât? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of youâsomeone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysteriousâbut not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?
So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.
Until that night.
You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.
When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.
â123-456-7890 Call me? - Harryâ
The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadnât hesitated for a second. But you did.
You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreadedâthe moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears youâd been trying to bury.
Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?
You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.
----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. Youâd gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.
Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.
You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasnât entirely sure heâd made the right decision coming back.
âTable 11 again?â he asked the host.
---
You approached, trying to steady your nerves. âGood evening,â you said, your voice quieter than usual.
âHi,â he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasnât upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. âI hope you donât mind me stopping by.â
You shook your head, unsure what to say. âWhy would i?âÂ
âI just wanted to check in,â he said. âAbout the number. I wasnât sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, Iâm really sorry. That wasnât my intention.â
You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. âNo, you didnât cross a line,â you said quickly. âNot at all. Itâs just...â You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. âItâs complicated.â
âI get that,â he said softly, leaning back in his chair. âI just didnât want to make you uncomfortable. Thatâs the last thing Iâd want.â The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.
âThank you,â you murmured. âFor saying that. And for... being patient.â
He nodded, smiling faintly. âI figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.â
The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldnât speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision.Â
One wall completely down.
You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper youâd tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.
He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.
âI didnât call i did save the number in my phone but..i didnât callâŚâ you said, your voice barely above a whisper. âBecause I was scared. Iâve always been scared. But maybe...â You took a shaky breath. âMaybe Iâm tired of being scared.â
His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadnât let yourself hope forâunderstanding, warmth, maybe even relief.
âSo,â you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. âIf the offerâs still open, Iâd like to start over.â
His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.
âThe offerâs still open,â he said, his tone light but full of meaning.
For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. âCan I start you off with something to drink?â you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.
The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wineâa different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.
âYouâre not sticking to a favorite?â you teased lightly as you set the glass down.
He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. âI like variety. Keeps things interesting.â
âDoes that apply to everything or just wine?â you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.
He chuckled âGuess youâll have to find out.â
The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinnerâtonight, a wild mushroom risottoâyou couldnât help but make a small quip.
âRisotto,â you said, placing the plate down. âTrying to impress someone tonight?â
âJust my server,â he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.
As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didnât seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.
âThanks,â he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. âShould i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?â
You laughed, rolling your eyes. âAbout what?âÂ
He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. âWell, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with meâsomewhere that isnât here. I promise I wonât make you serve me.â
You blinked, caught off guard by how casually heâd said it. âYouâre asking me out?â
âToo fast?â he teased.
âA little,â you admitted, but your heart was pounding. âBut i like it this timeâ
He stood, shrugging on his jacket. âWell, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you donât have to carry plates around.â
You couldnât stop the smile spreading across your face. âOkay,â you said softly. âBut only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.â
âDeal,â he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. âBut just so you know, Iâm good with street tacos or diner burgers.â
The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.
-----
The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didnât compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.
After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, âI thought of you when I saw this.â
Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. Heâd call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. Youâd talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.
âDo you ever get a day off?â he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.
âNot often,â you admitted. âBut Iâm used to it. And hey, at least Iâm not running a company.â
âTouchĂŠ,â he replied, laughing softly. âBut donât think for a second Iâm not impressed by what you do.â
The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.
âTable for one?â you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.
âNot quite,â he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. âJust water, please. I didnât want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see youâÂ
You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. âYou didnât have to come all this way,â you said softly.
âI wanted to,â he replied, his gaze steady. âYouâre the best part of my day.â ---
The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.
âNeed a ride home?â he asked.
You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.
Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didnât. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.
It wasnât hurried or franticâit was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, âFinally.â
You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. âTook you long enough.â
And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.
----
It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.
âIâve been thinking,â he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.
âThat sounds dangerous,â you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.
âIâm serious,â he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. âIâve been watching how hard you work. Youâre on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.â
âThatâs just life,â you said, shrugging. âYou know how it is. You make it work.â
âI know,â he said, his voice softening. âBut it doesnât have to be like that. Not for you.â
You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. âWhat do you mean?â
He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. âIâm saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesnât involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where youâd have more time for yourself, for your dreams, andâŚââhis voice faltered just slightlyââfor us.â
Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. âHarry, are you asking me to quit my job?â
âNot asking,â he clarified quickly. âJust⌠suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever youâd like. Youâd have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.â Of course he wasnât asking, heâs Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.
The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotionsâgratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadnât expected.
âI donât know,â you said slowly, trying to find the right words. âIâve always worked for everything I have. I wouldnât want you to think Iâm justâŚâ
âStop,â he said gently, cutting you off. âThis isnât about charity. Itâs about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And itâs not just for youâitâs for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.â
You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. âAnd you think this would make me happy?â
âI do,â he said simply. âBut itâs your choice. If youâre not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, thatâs okay. Iâll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.â
That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. âWhat would I even do at your company?â you asked softly.
His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. âAnything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning eventsâwhatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.â
You bit your lip, considering his words. âYouâre really serious about this, arenât you?â
âDead serious,â he said, his tone firm but gentle. âYou deserve more than what youâve been settling for. And selfishlyâŚIâd love to have more time with you.â
His honesty warmed you in a way you hadnât expected. For so long, youâd carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasnât asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.
âOkay,â you said finally, the word barely audible.
His brows lifted in surprise. âOkay?â
You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. âYeah. Okay. Iâll do it. Iâll work for you.â
The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. âYou wonât regret it, I promise.â
âI better not,â you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. âBut just so you know, Iâm not going to be some pushover employee. If youâre a terrible boss, Iâll quit.â
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. âFair enough. But I think youâll find Iâm quite charming.â
You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. âWeâll see about that.â
In that moment, the fear youâd been carrying felt lighter. You werenât just throwing yourself off a cliffâyou were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.
----
Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhereâhis collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.
You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You werenât just an employee at his companyâyou were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.
Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, youâd go on adventuresâsometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way heâd kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way youâd hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.
One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. âLetâs go out for dinner,â he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.
âSure,â you replied, grabbing your shoes. âWhere to?â
He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. âVelours et Flamme.â
You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. âYouâre kidding.â
âNot at all,â he said, his grin widening. âItâs been a while. I think itâs time we revisit the place where it all started.â
Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.
The host greeted you with a polite smile âWelcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?â
âStyles,â Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.
You were led to a table by the window, the same spot youâd served him on that Valentineâs Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldnât help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.
âThis feels surreal,â you admitted, glancing around.
âGood surreal?â he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.
âVery good surreal,â you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. âCan I splurge a little? Or maybe⌠a lot?â
Harry tilted his head, intrigued. âWhatâs on your mind?â he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.
You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menuâs edges before landing on the words youâd been eyeing. âCairnburn 18,â you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.
âScotch?â he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.
âItâs something I need to do. Please,â you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.
He didnât question it, didnât protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. âAnything you want,â he said, his voice calm and sincere.
The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldnât help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that momentânot just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.
As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, ÂŁ1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. âTo us,â you said simply.
âTo us,â he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----
You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.
The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.
Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving moreâmore contact, more skin, more of him.
He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.
Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless
"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. âMoreâ Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.
He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."
With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.
"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.
"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"
You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.
Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan
"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"
You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured
His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.
When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.
Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.
Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harryâs arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everythingâthe receipt where heâd written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.
The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clearâit was waiting for tonightâs receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.
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