Waiting for Prince Harry

by Aven Ellis

  “Mmmmm hmmmmmm,” I say, winding my fingers through his curls. “I did.”

  “Then I just killed this penalty,” Harrison says quickly. “We’re done. Get those skates off, Gorgeous. I have one last night in the penthouse suite, you know. And I intend to spend the night with you. Wearing that jersey. And nothing else.”

  I smile happily as he gives me a lingering kiss on the lips before unlacing his hockey skates.

  As I unlace mine, I realize just how much I am growing and changing because of this man.

  My Prince Harry.

  And I just hope with all my heart that I’m the girl who becomes his princess.

  Chapter 22

  The Pop Quiz Question: When do you know if you are in love?

  A) I have never been in love so I don’t know.

  B) When I do not care about anything but being with him.

  C) Sometimes it is a long road to fall in love. Other times, it happens in the blink of an eye. But when I fall in love there will be no question as to what it is.

  “You aren’t peeking, are you?” Harrison bends down and murmurs in my ear.

  “No!” I giggle. “But I’m dying to. I still can’t believe you had the guest house renovated in three days.”

  I have my hands over my eyes as Harrison guides me to the guesthouse. It’s Friday night, and we’re planning the renovation work on the old house we will start tomorrow. But first, Harrison wanted to surprise me with the secret renovation he had his designer do.

  “I just hope you love it,” Harrison says. “Okay, almost there.”

  I feel butterflies shift excitedly in my stomach. The hot, Texas air feels muggy on my skin, and I hear crickets chirping, along with the sound of the pool pumps running, as we get closer to the house. But those are merely clues to the location but not the actual surprise.

  “Okay,” Harrison says, stopping me and keeping his hands on my shoulders. “We’re here. Keep your eyes shut while I unlock the door.”

  “I’m dying,” I squeal.

  “You’ve already said that,” Harrison says. And without even seeing his face I know he is grinning.

  I hold my breath as I hear the key turn in the lock.

  “On the count of three,” Harrison declares. “One . . .”

  “Faster,” I say.

  Harrison laughs. “. . . Two . . .”

  Then he stops.

  “Harrison!” I yell.

  “What comes after two? I suck at math.”

  “Gah!”

  “All right. Three. Open your eyes.”

  I remove my hands from my eyes. And the second I see the house, I gasp aloud.

  The guesthouse living room is now a sewing studio.

  I begin to shake as I step inside. My hands fly to my mouth as I drink everything in. I knew he said he was going to create a sewing space for me, but this . . . this . . . it is beyond anything I ever could have envisioned.

  The walls are painted robin’s egg blue, my favorite color. There is a large white cutting table/work space in the center of the room, with tall stools covered with chocolate and cream polka-dotted cushion covers. Cream bookshelves line one wall, filled with bolts of fabric in all kinds of patterns—florals, stripes, and polka dots. Another unit has Mason jars filled with buttons and spools of thread in all the colors of the rainbow.

  I feel tears fall from my eyes as I slowly walk around the room. Then I see the sewing table, complete with a Pfaff machine.

  “Oh my God.” I gasp, ripping my hands away from my lips. “That’s a Pfaff,” I walk over to the machine, which is one of the most expensive sewing machines on the market. “This . . . Harrison . . . this machine is almost $3,000. It’s too much!”

  I graze my fingertips over it, as I know what this is capable of, and how it is used by serious sewers. I turn and look at Harrison, who is studying me.

  “I believe in you,” he says simply. “You should have the best to pursue your career.”

  I begin to cry. Nobody has ever believed in my sewing ability like this. Not my parents. Not my friends. And I’ve never believed in myself like the way this man does.

  Harrison walks over to me and turns me around to face the window seat, covered in the same chocolate and cream polka dot fabric at the stools. The seat is built below three large windows that overlook the swimming pool.

  “I want you to look at this every day you come in here,” Harrison says quietly, pointing up above the window. And there, in large, cream-painted letters, one word is spelled out:

  BELIEVE

  I turn around and look at Harrison, my heart racing inside my chest.

  “You just need to believe, Kylie,” Harrison says softly, wiping away my tears with his fingertips. “Believe in yourself. Believe in now. Don’t wait for the future. Sew. Plan. Dream. Believe.”

  My heart is beating like it never has before. Harrison believes in me, my dreams, of what I need to do with my life. He’s supportive and encouraging and is going to help me get there.

  It is this ginger Hockey God who has, in the very short time he has been in my life, changed everything for me.

  Harrison is my everything.

  And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m madly, completely, 100 percent head over heels in love with this man.

  “Thank you,” I say over the lump in my throat. “I can’t even begin to say that enough. This . . . this means so much to me,” I say, putting my shaking hands on his face. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

  And I love you so much, my heart whispers. I have never loved anyone the way I love you.

  “I wanted to do this for you,” Harrison whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “You deserve every bit of this, Kylie.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper again. “Thank you so much. It is . . . it is . . . beyond anything I could have dreamed of. I’m so completely grateful to you, Harrison. Just grateful.”

  Harrison lifts his head. “Well, I’m a little selfish. I took a corner of the room.”

  He nods over to the opposite side of the room, which has a huge, chocolate brown chair and a half and an ottoman. There’s a small cream table next to it, and a vintage style reading lamp on top of it.

  “That’s so I can read while you sew,” Harrison says, taking my hand and leading me over there. “And these,” Harrison says, pointing to two big polka dotted dog beds on the hardwood floor, “are for Lola and Cooper.”

  “I absolutely love it,” I say in delight. Then I can’t help it. I jump up and throw my arms around him. “I love everything about this. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  Harrison picks me up and whirls me around. We both laugh and then share a kiss in our new little home. I cup his face in my hands and give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

  Harrison lifts his head up. “I’m not perfect.”

  “You are.”

  “Stop it,” Harrison says, kissing me again. “In fact, a perfect guy would have had this whole guest house done before settling in. But since I’m not, the kitchen and the bedroom are functional but not renovated.”

  “I can help you with this,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine. “Are we starting with this area first?”

  Harrison rubs his fingertips over his jaw. “Well, the way I see it, we can do the kitchen in the main house first, tearing up the cabinets, and the floors, stuff like that. Then we’ll take on the master bedroom and bath after the contractors have moved the walls and made the closet larger. So we will work with the crews in the main house at the same time. We’ll do this guesthouse space by ourselves after everything else in the main house is completed.”

  “I can use my HP notebook so we can sketch some ideas for this house,” I say, moving back to the galley kitchen. “I think we could ma
ybe do some chalk paint on these cabinets to give it a new look. And new wallpaper, backsplash. Update the appliances. Oh! And I can sew some cute things for the bedroom,” I say, heading back that way as my mind is racing. “That Pfaff machine can do 207 stitches. And you can do satin stitch and machine appliqué—”

  “Slow down,” Harrison says, laughing. “Now I know how you felt when I was explaining the icing lines last night.”

  I smile, and he grins brightly at me. “Fair enough,” I say, laughing. But then I get serious and furrow my brow. “By the way, how did you know to get a Pfaff?”

  “Google is an amazing resource,” Harrison says, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him. His lips brush the top of my head and my heart floats happily in response. “Come on, Kylie. Let’s go sit down in our new chair and plan out what we need to do.”

  So we go back into the sewing studio and snuggle together in the oversized chair, planning and discussing the look we want to create for the guesthouse, and then I create a list of everything we hope to accomplish tomorrow in the main kitchen.

  I rest my head against his chest, and Harrison links his hand with mine as he talks about what we need to get at Home Depot tomorrow for cabinet removal. I nod and listen to his heartbeat, feeling a love and comfort I have never known before.

  And as I sit next to the man I love, in our chair, and look at the beautiful studio he created, I know one thing.

  We aren’t selling this house.

  This, if things go the way I want them to, will be our home. No, it’s not his Spanish dream home. It is much smaller than his current house, and not at all where you would expect the wealthiest player in hockey to live.

  But this home is our beginning. This is ours. We are dreaming and creating and making a new life here. This is where I fell in love with him, my ginger Hockey God.

  So it just feels right that this will be our home.

  Of course, I can’t say any of this. I can’t even tell Harrison I love him yet. I know it’s too soon for me to say it. But I know this feeling in my heart is true. It’s love. There’s no timetable for that, I realize that now. When it’s there, you know it.

  I knew it. Tonight. Right here, in this studio.

  In our home.

  And I just hope with all my heart that Harrison finds the same love for me here, too.

  Chapter 23

  The Pop Quiz Question: Home renovation projects can be incredibly challenging on a relationship. Is it worth it?

  A) I’d rather pay someone to do the work.

  B) It will have its moments, and we’ll fight, but we will work through it.

  C) Working side-by-side with the man I love? Seems more like fun rather than a challenge.

  Harrison slides underneath the kitchen sink in the main house with a wrench in his hand. “All right, Kylie. This is the first official step in our renovation journey. Are you ready?”

  I lean down and smile at him underneath the sink. “I’m not only ready, but I’m excited.”

  Harrison laughs as he begins removing the supply lines from the bottom of the faucet. “We’ll see if you have that same enthusiasm an hour from now.”

  I laugh with him and take a sip of my blueberry Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. It’s very early on Saturday morning, and we’re going to begin kitchen renovation today. We’re going to tear out the kitchen countertops, cabinets, and floor. Our plan is to install gorgeous white custom cabinets with glass panels, new butcher-block countertops, and then use reclaimed barn wood for the floor. Harrison’s also going to knock down the wall between the kitchen and the living room to open up the space.

  I steal a peek at him as he lies underneath the sink. He’s wearing the infamous bridge shirt—one of them escaped the crane accident by being at the dry cleaners—and an old, well-worn pair of jeans, rugged work boots . . . and a toolbelt. Which is sexy as hell on Harrison, I think, taking another sip of coffee. But the point being that he’s perfectly outfitted for the heavy-duty work we are about to undertake today.

  I’m in my own idea of a work outfit—an old, fitted SMU T-shirt, faded and frayed jeans, and, due to Harrison’s insistence, work boots. I look down at my boots and smile. Harrison bought them for me and said they were more protective than my cute Kate Spade tennis shoes. I brushed my hair back into a ponytail, and have no makeup on other than some BB cream and a swipe of pinkish-brown lip gloss. A completely un-sexy look, but one that is more practical for demolishing a kitchen.

  “Can you hand me the bucket, please?” Harrison asks, moving out from under the sink with the wrench in his hand.

  I grab the bucket and Harrison puts it under the sink.

  “Okay, supply lines disconnected,” he says, standing up and grabbing a towel to wipe his hands. “Now we’re going to lift the sink out.”

  “I see you were serious about having renovation experience,” I tease, taking another sip of my coffee. I remembered that Harrison said he worked two summers in high school for a contractor and learned all about how to do renovations.

  “Probably the most practical thing I ever learned,” Harrison says, removing the nuts from the faucet so he can remove it. “It’s hard work, but seeing the room gutted and bare and full of endless possibilities—I love that.”

  I smile to myself. I love how my life now seems full of endless possibilities on all fronts.

  I watch as Harrison unfastens the faucet to the sink.

  “I’ll take that,” I say as he lifts the faucet out.

  “Thank you,” Harrison says, handing it to me. I drop it into the nook area, where we are going to put things that need to be donated to charity.

  He then takes a blade and runs it around the edges of the old sink.

  “Now we can lift it out,” Harrison says, putting the blade aside. “Ready?”

  “I am,” I say, moving next to him.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Harrison says. We each take a side and Harrison lifts it out. Together we walk it over to our donation pile and drop it down with a bang.

  Harrison then grins at me. “Well, that felt good. Now let’s get the crew in here to do the rest of the work. I’m spent.”

  “Harrison,” I laugh. “They aren’t coming until Monday.”

  Harrison slides his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I can think of other fun things to do until Monday,” he teases, dropping a kiss on my lips.

  Mmmmm. I taste vanilla coffee on his full lips and suddenly using a crew for the rest of the work sounds extremely appealing.

  I kiss him back and smile up at him. “Did I ever tell you that seeing a man do manual labor has always been one of my fantasies?”

  Harrison bursts out laughing. “Oh, is that right? How long have you had that fantasy for, Gorgeous?”

  I suggestively loop a finger around his tool belt and tug. “Since you mentioned you were going to do a home renovation.”

  Harrison’s green eyes flicker. I can tell he likes when I flirt with him like this.

  “So not just seeing any man doing manual work, but this man doing it,” Harrison says sexily, rubbing the back of my neck with his hand in a way that sends chills down my spine.

  I lift my hand to the bridge design on his gray T-shirt and begin tracing the lines of the bridge with my index finger. “Yes. There’s something sexy about the idea of seeing you demolish cabinets.”

  Harrison furrows his brow. “What do you mean, demolish?”

  “Now you’re teasing me,” I say coyly, continuing to trace the bridge design on his shirt.

  “No, I’m not,” Harrison says, his hand still skimming along the nape of my neck and driving me utterly crazy. “We aren’t demolishing cabinets that way, Kylie. We’re taking them out using power screwdrivers.”

  “What? On TV they always demol
ish them with a sledge hammer.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Harrison says, a grin spreading across his face, “however, when they’re screwed in you can take out the screws and remove them. So the image you have of me slinging around the sledge hammer on the cabinets is sadly, going to remain just a fantasy.”

  Okay, now this is embarrassing. I had to go on and on about the sexy way he was going to demolish the cabinets . . . with a screwdriver.

  “But we’ll use sledge hammers on the wall over there, because it’s not a supporting wall. We can take that down ourselves easily,” Harrison says, turning me around so I can see the wall that faces the living room, “And then I’ll fulfill your fantasies, Gorgeous.”

  I can’t help it. I begin to laugh at myself, and Harrison laughs with me. He pulls my back to his chest, looping one of his strong arms around me, and bends down to murmur in my ear.

  “I’m afraid I need to disconnect the dishwasher and stove and move them first. Then we’ll pull out the cabinet drawers,” he says, his Boston accent heavy on the word ‘drawers.’ “Next we’ll take off the doors. Then we can remove the cabinets. All of which I am sure has zero turn on appeal for you.”

  Is he kidding? I almost burst out laughing because my ginger Hockey God looks hot no matter what he’s doing.

  And that includes disconnecting old appliances.

  “You might underestimate how good you look disconnecting a stove, Harrison,” I say, grinning.

  Harrison bursts out laughing. “I don’t know about that, but I do know the sooner I get these appliances unhooked and moved, and the countertops pried off, the sooner we can get these cabinets out.” Harrison then turns me around so I’m facing him. “And who knows, you might find the way I work a cordless screwdriver to be quite a turn on.”

  “Would you stop?” I cry, embarrassed. But even as I protest, I’m laughing.