~ All of Me (Love in the Future)

can I do to help?" I said, following Harold around my kitchen as if he was the owner.

He turned and smiled at me. "Dice those onions, please," he nodded to the counter where he'd placed out all the ingredients he found in my kitchen that the recipe rendered necessary.

"Yes, chef," I stated in a humorously firm manner.

"Chef?" he asked, catching my eyes before I could turn away to dice the onions.

I nodded. "Yeah, you are the leader here, no?"

He grinned. "You calling me chef has to be the sexiest thing I've yet to hear from your lips."

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Then I guess your name is chef from now on, not Harold," I joked, brushing it off like it wasn't a big deal. But honestly, it kind of was. I loved his name. Harold. There was something about it that fit him well. It truly captured the elegantly soft yet mysterious part of him, which is all I've seen so far. And I liked it. Maybe even a bit too much.

The devious smirk he gave me made me smile. "You can call me whatever you want, love," he whispered in my ear before moving away fast before I could turn around.

I forced myself to concentrate as I did what he'd asked, because I was quite close to chopping my fingers off at how often I got distracted by his movements. When I finished, I turned around to tell him so, it I got distracted by him. He moved so easily around my kitchen, as if he'd been here for years. Even I didn't know where half my shit was. But he, he knew it all. And it was utterly beautiful to watch him do what he loved to do.

He turned around then, catching my eye. "Hey, beautiful. Are you done?"

I nodded, I don't think whatever I said would have sounded like any language out there.

He smiled and took the diced onions to put them into the pan. He returned to me, smiling. "Would you mind chopping the peppers as well?"

"Yeah, of course," I quickly agreed, because I wanted to help. I wanted to do this with him. It felt so comfortable, so right. And I couldn't help but admire how easily he fit in my kitchen, moving around comfortably as if he'd been in this kitchen for longer than I have. I tore my eyes away from his gorgeous back and started cutting the peppers the way he'd instructed me to do so.

My mind began to wonder as I chopped the peppers. I drifted to a land of questions about everything. What I was doing and how it would all turn out. It all seemed so good right now. But would that stay, his feeling of lightheartedness that felt so good? I wanted it to stay. I wanted the light that radiated from Harold to stay forever. But I was much wiser than to believe that was possible. Life didn't stay in a medium, it would sway between the extremes of bad and good. And eventually, my life would tickle down to the opposite extreme of the good it was at right now.

Busy with my thoughts of the inevitable, I hadn't focused on how I was using the sharp knife in my hand. I hissed when sharp pain shot up my arm. My eyes darted to my left pointing finger and all I saw was blood. "Shit," I mumbled, low enough for only me to hear.

But apparently, Harold had heard it, too, because he was by my side the next moment. "What's wro-oh shit-you okay?"

I shook my head, biting my lip to tolerate the pain in my finger. "No. Yes. I don't know."

He took the knife away from my hands, putting it down and guided me away from the island. "Where's your restroom?"

I clenched my jaw as he led me to the hallway. "To the left."

We walked in and I stood, watching as Harold found the rubbing alcohol and a cotton inside the cabinet behind the mirror. I wanted to admire how good he looked in my restroom, because that's how creepy I've become, but I couldn't. The pain was too much.

"Come on," he turned to me, with the rubbing alcohol bottle uncapped in his hand. I bit my lip, aware of the pinching pain that was to come. His eyes softened as he understood what I was thinking of. He took a step closer to me and looked into my eyes with a reassurance gaze. "You'll be okay. I'm right here, alright?"

I swallowed hard and nodded. I held out my finger as a drop of blood dripped into the sink. "Just hurry, please."

"Here, hold my hand, it might help," he held out his left hand and I reached for it fast, desperate to hold onto something. He chuckled lowly before blotting the cotton piece with the alcohol and rubbing it onto my cut finger.

"Bloody hell," I hissed, gripping his rough hand so tight I almost feared I was causing him pain. "Is it over?"

"Yeah, almost," he squeezed my hand, "let me just put a Band-Aid on it." When I kept holding onto his hand, he smiled at me, "let go of my hand just for a second, babe."

I nodded shakily and let go. My hand immediately gripped my shirt; the pain was so painful. He wrapped a Band-Aid around my finger and cleaned up the sink. He then turned to me, examining my face for a moment, before saying, "how do you feel?"

"Like an idiot," I grumbled, looking at my finger.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around my shoulder. "We've all cut our fingers while cooking, love. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, but, I made a complete fool of myself in front of you," I sighed, looking up at him.

His smile widened. "So? Why does that matter?"

I grinned. "Well, see, I had planned on helping you out so well that you'd swoon and realize how amazing I am."

"Really?" He played along.

"Yeah, guess I failed, huh?"

He leaned in for a quick kiss that shook off the pain for the short that it lasted. I missed his lips as soon as he pulled away. "There's something to be said about you easily letting me into your home."

My eyebrow arched. "And what would that be?"

"That you have to be the most trusting and openhearted person I have ever met," he spoke with clarity, looking deep into my eyes, letting me see how honest he was being. My heart tripped over itself as he continued. "And that's enough to tell me how amazing you are, love. I don't need anything more."

My mouth gaped open as I took in what he'd said, unable to come up with something coherent and even remotely as aesthetic as what he'd said to say back to him.

I'm guessing he saw my speechlessness, because he grinned wildly. "Come on, you can rest while I finish up dinner."

I nodded, because I couldn't do anything else but wonder how I'd gotten so lucky with a guy like him.