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A Summer Holiday	By : TwistOfLime Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 12021 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
Chapter Fifteen: To The Burrow and Back

Distracted as he was, Draco didn’t notice the three people sitting on the porch until he was already at the base of the stairs. He had almost managed to forget that Mr. Granger was arriving today.

“Morning!” Mrs. Granger cheerfully called down to him.

“Good morning,” he replied, carefully watching the man who sat beside her out of the corner of his eye.

“This is my husband John. John, this is Narcissa’s son Draco,” Emma said by way of introduction as Mr. Granger rose from his seat and reached across the table with an outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you Draco,” he said, shaking Draco’s hand firmly and regarding him thoughtfully. Under Mr. Granger’s appraising gaze, Draco was seized by a wild moment of panic where, absurd though the idea was, he felt sure the man knew that the hand he now held was the same one that had held his daughter’s breast last night as they slept.

“Nice to meet you too Sir,” Draco replied, taking a seat at the table.

“Hermione wanted us to tell you that she left for the Weasley’s and she’s sorry she couldn’t wait. She left almost as soon as we got back,” Mr. Granger said. If he was at all curious as to why Hermione felt the need to inform Draco of her whereabouts he didn’t let it show. “Are you friends with the Weasley’s as well?”

“Not really,” Draco said calmly, fighting the insane urge to fidget under the man’s unrelenting gaze. Malfoys did not fidget. “I’m acquainted with them but we’re in different houses and there generally isn’t much call for inter-house socialization.” Also, I’d rather spend the rest of my life as a slug than be forced to endure the weasel’s company for any extended period of time, he thought.

“So you must not have known Hermione very well either?”

“No,” though we have since become much better acquainted.

“Even so, I’m sure Hermione appreciates you being here. She never complains, but I think she gets a little bored out here all alone. I hear you’ve been keeping her company all week.”

Ignoring Narcissa who was snickering in the background, Draco decided to steer the conversation away from its current course. “Your wife and daughter have both been gracious hosts. I’m sure they’re happy you’re able to join them now. How was your conference?” he inquired politely.

“Ghastly,” Mr. Granger groaned, relaxing back in his chair. “I know dentistry isn’t the most exciting profession, but…”

Satisfied that Mr. Granger was done with him, Draco sat back and quietly observed while the man was distracted in conversation with the others. John Granger didn’t look much like his daughter, with a strong aquiline nose and short, dark hair beginning to go grey at the temples. Draco could see some resemblance to his daughter in the shape of his face, but only because he was looking for it. He was tall too, much taller than his wife and daughter. Had they stood next to one another, Draco probably could have looked him straight in the eye.

He didn’t seem much like his wife either. Where Mrs. Granger was almost nauseatingly friendly with an effervescent, bubbly personality to match, Mr. Granger seemed much more reserved. He was friendly, but not outwardly so. He was much more calculating about it, like he wasn’t going to take anyone or anything at face value. Draco supposed Hermione took after her father in this way; it was most likely where she got her uncanny ability see through all Draco’s defensive sarcasm and arrogance, why she was able to read him so easily.

“I’m famished. Anyone else for some lunch?” Draco heard Mr. Granger ask.

“John’s the chef in the family. I’m sure he’s under the impression that you’ve all been politely suffering through my cooking all week. I’m normally not allowed in the kitchen,” Mrs. Granger explained.

“Yes, well let’s see if I can’t make up for what you’ve been forced to endure,” he said, rising from his seat with a smile.

“There’s not much in the kitchen, dear.”

“I’m sure I can come up with something… Draco, care to help me in the kitchen?” Mr. Granger asked with a kind of artificial politeness that indicated this was not a request.

Wanting nothing more than reach across the table and throttle his mother, who looked like a giddy child on Christmas morning, Draco nodded silently and followed Mr. Granger into the house, reminding himself that if he could handle the Dark Lord, he could handle whatever Mr. Granger was about to throw at him.

He didn’t believe for a minute that the man only wanted his help with lunch and the whole experience was kind of surreal. Never before had Draco had to deal with protective fathers. The only thing that came close was Mr. Parkinson who quite literally would have paid for his daughter to marry into the Malfoy family and could have cared less about what Draco did or who he was as long as he brought with him his name and his money. Somehow he didn’t think the interview with Mr. Granger was going to be the same.

Ten minutes later Draco found himself silently slicing tomatoes, listening to the scrape of utensils and the muted conversation filtering in from the porch, while Mr. Granger whipped up some kind of herbed concoction. Neither had spoken and Draco was becoming increasingly anxious as the silence continued. He supposed Mr. Granger was doing it intentionally to throw him off balance. It’s what he would have done if the situation was reversed. Unfortunately knowing that Mr. Granger was deliberately trying to unnerve him didn’t make it any less effective.

“Couldn’t you just cut those with magic?” Mr. Granger asked suddenly, not looking up from the bowl.

“I could,” Draco replied cautiously, reaching for another tomato.

“Why aren’t you?”

“It didn’t seem appropriate.”

Mr. Granger nodded silently. “Hermione doesn’t do much magic in front of us either.”

Draco wasn’t quite sure what to say to this. “She’s probably not used to using magic at home,” he began tentatively. “I think it’s something all children of non-magical parents have to learn to deal with, balancing the two different parts of their lives.”

“Well put,” Mr. Granger said, now slicing onions and still not looking at him. “You say you weren’t friends with her at school?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

Draco noticed immediately when the sounds of Mr. Granger methodically cutting onions ceased and looked up to see Mr. Granger watching him with his hands braced on either side of the cutting board. “And now?” he asked. “How would you categorize your relationship with my daughter?”

I think I’m in love with her and I want you to leave so I can continue to grope her whenever I feel like it, he thought, wanting recklessly to tell the man the truth if only to see what he would do. “I suppose were friends now,” he said instead, holding his gaze.

Mr. Granger remained silent, watching Draco as if waiting to see if he would break. But Draco had been taught by Lucius from a young age how to bury what he was really thinking and feeling; Mr. Granger was much too decent a person, he didn’t stand a chance. Besides, what Draco had said was the truth. They were friends now and whatever Draco was feeling, whatever he might want, nothing had been said to indicate that they were anything more than that.

“Alright,” Mr. Granger said finally, turning back to his onions.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The day passed in a vague blur of anxiety and apprehension. Draco’s thoughts wouldn’t settle, chasing one another around in his brain and fighting for attention so that it was all he could do to sit there and act normally. Worries about Hermione, about what would happen to her once the time came to leave were overtaken by worries for his mother, for what life would be once they were back home. Then fear for Potter would burst to the forefront of his mind, fear that he wasn’t ready for what was going to happen, that he wouldn’t succeed. Every once in a while what Mr. Gregory had said that morning would break to the surface, the word love pounding a steady rhythm in his brain and he wondered how he really felt – how Hermione really felt. Around of this circled the memory of last night, threatening to swoop down on Draco and overtake him should he let his guard down.

Time seemed to move excruciatingly slowly. His head would whip around at every movement, whether it was Crookshanks slinking around the corner or Mrs. Granger taking a sip of her tea, expecting each time to see Hermione come bounding through the door. She didn’t come though, and soon Draco found himself sitting down to dinner, wondering how it was already so late when time had moved so slowly all day.

He wasn’t hungry in the least, but forced himself to eat and participate in the conversation. He wasn’t sure why he felt like this, whether it was caused by Hermione’s absence or by the lingering memories of last night’s meeting, but it was a weakness he couldn’t afford. Things were only going to get worse before this war was over and Hermione wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces like she had last night. It was odd how much he had come to rely on her in such a short period of time – pathetic really. But it was dangerous to do so; he needed to get a grip on himself.

While the rest lingered after dinner in the sputtering light of dying candles, Draco excused himself and made his way up to bed. Though he had barely slept the night before, he lay awake for a long time, listening to the others as they filtered upstairs to bed and then to the silence of the house, the heel of his palms pressed against his eyes to relieve the tension headache that pounded beneath his skull.

He knew Hermione must be staying at the Weasley’s for the night, but he lay awake waiting for her anyway, keeping time by the shifts from light to darkness as clouds drifted across the light of the moon. Next time, he thought as the moon’s white light flooded the room again, next time its dark again she’ll be back. The game he played was disorienting, the darkness so complete he wondered if he even existed anymore and the light casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls, blurring the lines between dreams and reality.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he woke later with a start, tangled in his sheets and drenched in an icy sweat, his heart pounding in his ears. He couldn’t remember the nightmare, its images vanishing with his return to consciousness, but he could feel the horror of it hiding in the corners of his mind, lurking behind his eyelids, waiting for his eyes to close once more. Disoriented and feverish he stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, cupping freezing water in his hands and splashing it on his face, trying to cool his heated skin and shock himself out of his nightmare’s grip.

It was raining out. The dark clouds that had been threatening rain all day had finally broke and he could hear it pattering on the roof over the sound of the tap as he braced himself against the sink. Reluctant to sleep again and looking for distraction, he made his way downstairs, Hermione’s dark and silent room like a black hole at the end of the hallway.

Out on the porch, he settled on the stairs, elbows on his knees, and let the rain wash away his nightmares and cool his fever. He sat watching the ocean as the night’s darkness changed to the grey light of dawn before dragging himself back upstairs, hoping that he was exhausted enough now for dreamless sleep. Collapsing on the bed still soaked with rain, he cocooned himself in blankets and fell asleep instantly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco awoke slowly, taking a moment to get his bearings after the turbulence of last night. The light flooding in through the window was weak and gloomy, though by the angle he supposed it must be late in the morning. The house was silent and he wasn’t sure what had woken him at first, feeling much calmer now than he did last night. As his eyes focused he realized that Hermione was perched on the bed beside him, wearing the same clothes she was in yesterday, her brow furrowed in concern.

“You’re flushed,” she said, her hand against his forehead. “And hot.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, leaning into her touch. “I just didn’t sleep well. What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“What are you doing in here? Where is everyone?” he said, arching his back as he stretched beside her, feeling much more disoriented now than he did when he woke up, waiting for Mr. Granger to burst through the door at any moment and scream at him for daring to touch his only daughter.

“They’ve gone into town to see Mrs. Gregory’s play. They’ll be back later tonight. They were gone when I got back, but there’s a note downstairs… Why are you wet? Why is the bed damp?”

“It was raining last night,” he explained, searching under the pillows for his wand, the process hindered by Hermione who kept interrupting to remove his damp clothes.

“In your room?” she asked sarcastically, tossing his shirt to the floor where they joined his pants.

“Outside,” he replied petulantly, casting a quick drying charm and watching steam rise from the mattress before settling back down on the bed.

“And you decided to go for a walk?”

“Yes.”

“In the rain?”

“Yes.”

“Without drying off afterward?”

“Yes,” he huffed in exasperation, deciding to end this line of questioning the best way he knew how, very aware that he was now naked in bed with her and slightly irritated that it didn’t seem to faze her.

Tangling his hand in her hair, Draco pulled her down to him, kissing her gently and running his tongue along her bottom lip, asking for entrance. She complied, opening her mouth to him with a soft moan as she lay down beside him.

“Did everything go alright with Potter?” he asked between kisses, slipping a hand beneath her shirt and tracing his fingers along her spine.

“Yes,” she sighed as he nibbled softly on her neck.

“I didn’t expect you to be gone so long.”

“Did you miss me?” she teased impishly, her hands playing across his chest, caressing his heated skin.

“I did,” he conceded. “Now that you’re back though I’ve remembered how thoroughly irritating you are. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Careful Draco,” she whispered, pinching his nipple and drawing a groan from him.

Reveling in the fact that for once they had a whole afternoon to themselves and a comfortable bed to enjoy it on, Draco slowly peeled Hermione’s clothes from her body taking the time to caress and kiss every inch of skin as it was revealed. When he hooked his fingers beneath the band of her knickers, easing them down, the air in the room stilled, waiting in breathless anticipation. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Hermione lying naked before him, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lips parted, hair splayed against the pillows in wild disarray. He couldn’t help but stare; wanting to memorize every inch of her so that it was emblazoned on his memory, a kind of talisman he could use as protection against the darkness lurking in his future.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, kissing her softly before beginning a path down her body. His tongue ran along her collarbone and down between her breasts as her hands tangled in his hair, urging him on. He yielded willingly to the pressure, cupping a breast in each hand, groaning at their fullness in his palms and suckling the pert bud of her nipple into his mouth, releasing it only to lave attention on the other.

He felt her spread her legs beneath him, allowing him to slip between them, the wetness at the apex of her thighs against his stomach. Smirking around her nipple when she began rolling her hips, he released a breast with a final squeeze, trailing his hand down her side and over her hip, dipping towards her center and swirling his thumb around her bud so that she arched beneath him with a moan.

“Draco,” she sighed breathlessly, releasing her grip on his hair to run her hands along his back and shoulders, pushing him down none too gently.

Once again he yielded to the pressure, desperate now to taste her, but still unwilling to end this gentle teasing, not knowing when he would have the chance again. “Patience,” he murmured against her skin as he settled himself between her legs and kissed his way up the inside of her thigh, stopping just before he reached her center to give the opposite side the same attention.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice sounding like she was close to tears of frustration.

He chuckled softly and throwing her leg over his shoulder he placed a single kiss against her lips before parting them with his tongue, lapping at her arousal and groaning at the musky, tangy taste of her. She urged him on with tiny mewls of pleasure as he sucked hard on that small bundle of nerves between her legs before letting his tongue drift down to her entrance.

He could tell she was close, her breaths coming in sharp gasps, the motion of her hips erratic. Moving his tongue back to swirl the bud swollen with her arousal, he entered her slowly with two fingers and instantly felt her spasm around him, her knees quivering, her keening cry as she came setting his blood on fire.

He placed a wet kiss on her thigh as she quieted and he felt her hands tighten their grip where they were tangled in his hair to pull him up from his place between her thighs. She kissed him languidly, sucking herself from his tongue, causing his stomach to contract with pleasure.

“Please,” she whispered, writhing beneath him, reaching down to grip him firmly, and he let his hand fall down between their bodies, stroking her with his fingers.

Suddenly, before he even knew she was doing it, she was on top of him, straddling him and rubbing the silky wet folds of her sex along his length.

“Why is it,” she purred as he involuntarily thrust up against her, “that you won’t make love to me Draco?”

He didn’t really have an answer to that and could only stare at her blankly, all the synapses in his brain firing uselessly, hyper-aware of how badly he wanted to be inside her. He didn’t really know why they hadn’t yet, because he wanted to desperately and there really weren’t any reasons not to. They’d just never talked about it and he found he couldn’t get himself bring it up. He supposed talking about it wasn’t really necessary; it wasn’t as if they had talked about anything else they had done. He could have just taken action and seen what happened, but the idea terrified him, which was weird because he certainly wasn’t a virgin and he was pretty sure she wasn’t either.

He supposed it wasn’t the act that terrified him, it was what it meant. He’d been with a handful of women, but he’d never made love with any of them. What Hermione was asking for, what he wanted to give her – it was different. He knew what they were doing was rapidly coming to an end, that real-life was crashing down around them. He knew he would have to leave her soon, to let her go. He just didn’t know if he’d be able to do that once they did this.

She hovered above him, watching silently as he struggled to answer her. She was never one to wait patiently though and when she ground against him again, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pinned her below him again in one swift motion, taking control back from her while he still could.

“Are you sure you want to, Hermione?” he asked quietly, running his fingers through her hair.

“I – do you?” she whispered, sounding uncertain now where before she had been confident.

“That’s not an answer,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

“You didn’t answer me,” she huffed with poor grace before continuing. “I want to,” she murmured against his lips, spreading her thighs so that he slipped between them once more. “But I – if you don’t… I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I can assure you that you are most definitely not forcing yourself on me,” he drawled, thrusting against her, sliding between the folds of her sex and bumping against that small bundle of pleasure buried between her thighs.

She gasped beneath him, the sound turning from one of pleasure to one of shock when he pulled himself off of her and grabbed his wand from the bedside table.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m assuming that whatever you have planned with Potter doesn’t involve children,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Oh,” she blushed. “I – You don’t have to worry about that… muggle contraception.”

He shrugged, tossing his wand to the side and settling back on top of her again, kissing her gently as he positioned himself at her entrance. He held himself there, propped on his elbows, stroking her hair back from her face with his forehead pressed to hers as he struggled to control his breathing. All it would take was a quick thrust of his hips and he would be buried inside her, taking her completely.

With a shaky breath, he tilted his head back to look into her eyes, frantically searching her face for any trace of doubt, asking silently for permission, wanting to make certain that this was really what she wanted but not at all sure he’d be able to stop if she asked him to. He was almost shaking with desire, the sound of his heartbeat pounding an erratic rhythm in his ears.

She reached up to gently stroke the back of her hand against his cheek. “I want you inside me Draco. Make love to me,” she whispered with a small smile, kissing him softly.

At that moment, Draco was sure he had never wanted anyone so much. Her whispered plea stole his breath and silencing his last nagging thought that you couldn’t make love unless you were in love, he shifted his hips and slowly sank into her, his low groan mingling with her soft gasp. It was ecstasy, the feeling of being buried inside her. She was so warm and tight and he swore he could feel her pulse beating a steady rhythm around him.

He pulled out completely, kissing her softly as he entered her once more, her nails digging into the flesh on his shoulders. He took a moment to catch his breath, to fight against the imminent threat of his release and allow her to adjust around him before he began to move, settling into a steady rhythm, her hips meeting him on every thrust.

He was trying to be slow and gentle, afraid to hurt her, wanting to make her burn with the same fire that scorched through his own veins, but it wasn’t long before his tenuous control snapped and he quickened his pace, hooking an arm behind her knee to allow him deeper inside her. He shouldn’t have worried he realized as she cried out beneath him, her back arching, her nails raking down his sides to grip his arse, urging him on and pulling him deeper still.

He felt her begin to pulse around him and struggled to hold himself off a little longer so he could watch her as she came. He had thought earlier that her lying naked in bed before him was the most beautiful thing would ever see, but he had been wrong. So, so wrong. This was the undeniably the most beautiful thing he would ever see: Hermione in the throes of orgasm, lips parted, eyes blazing, his name a strangled cry on her lips. He had never heard anything so erotic and his release swiftly followed, his back arching, vision blurring, as she pulsed around him, milking his release.

With a final thrust he collapsed on top of her, fighting against his weak limbs to move off her before he crushed her.

“Don’t move,” she said, wrapping her arms around him to hold him to her chest and he gladly stilled, laying there nuzzling her neck, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat beneath his own as he softened inside her.

Eventually he rolled off her, wrapping his arms around her as she curled into him. They lay like that for a long time, half asleep and satiated. Draco’s body may have been pleasantly exhausted but his mind wouldn’t rest. He had spent this entire thing with Hermione completely off balance, his heart and his head fighting a violent battle with neither side willing to give in and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. What had just happened shouldn’t have; he should never have wanted it and she should never have allowed it.

He felt like everything he had ever known had just been proven to be a lie and the absence of all these truths had left him untethered, drowning in a sea of self-doubt, uncertainty and anxiety. He had always told himself that whatever it was that they were doing was temporary and casual, that it existed separate from everything else, but he didn’t really care anymore. Both of them were probably going to die and before that happened he needed to know why this had happened. He needed to know how she felt because he had no idea how what he was feeling.

Draco fought with himself to stay quiet, knowing that he always chastised Hermione for disturbing the afterglow, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to ask, asking meant admitting that this was important to him, it meant he would get an answer that he might not like, but he needed to know.

“Can I ask you a question?” Draco asked tentatively, hating himself for asking, half hoping she was asleep and wouldn’t respond.

“Mmmm.”

“Why?” he blurted out lamely, detesting the hint of desperation that had snuck into his voice and knowing full well she would have no idea what he was trying to get at.

“Why what?” she countered.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him questioningly and sounding slightly irritated with him for his vague line of questioning.

“This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “Why did you let this happen?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“It’s just… what can you possibly get out of this?”

“I get plenty out of this,” she replied, kissing him so that he almost forgot what they were talking about before she released his lips and continued. “I’m not going to lie… you’re conceited, arrogant, entitled, sarcastic – ”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “I can see how you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”

“Be quiet and let me finish,” she admonished. “You’re all of those things and you know it… but, you can only see yourself as you were. Admittedly who you were was pretty horrible – no listen,” she insisted when he scoffed at her. “You’re conceited, but it’s superficial. You refuse to see anything good about yourself where it matters. You’re not the same person you were, you’re not the same person I thought you were… Despite your best efforts you’re actually becoming a pretty decent person, I like being around for that. I like who you’re becoming.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that, unsure if he was supposed to say anything. Mercifully she leaned in and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. “Plus your kisses make my toes curl.”

Draco chuckled and pulled her closer, running his hand down her back and over the swell of her bottom. Her answer hadn’t been what he was expecting, though honestly he didn’t know what he expected. She almost made it sound like she was rewarding him for good behavior, which was a very Hermione thing to do. In the back of his mind he acknowledged that he had always known she would never have allowed any of this to happen if she hadn’t truly believed he’d changed, but it was nice to hear her say it. It almost made him feel like it could be true.

Satisfied, Draco allowed himself to fully enjoy feel of her warm, naked body snug against his, closing his eyes to her touch as she traced her fingers aimlessly across his skin.

“What about you?” she asked as Draco fought the haze of sleep that threatened to overwhelm him. “What do you get out of this?”

Without pausing to think he answered her, his mind clouded with sex and exhaustion. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He felt her hands still their exploration and was suddenly wide awake, adrenaline surging through his veins, the reality of what he had just said crashing down on him in waves, wondering how he could have so completely lost his mind. “I’m sorry,” he began, trying to untangle himself from her, trying to think of what he could possibly say.

“I don’t think that’s something people normally apologize for,” she said quietly, refusing to relinquish her hold on him, but not looking at him either.

“No, but we’re not exactly normal. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to say it. I know – ”

“You didn’t mean to say it, but did you mean it?” she asked, interrupting his panicked rant.

He didn’t answer, partly because he was afraid he’d be sick if he opened his mouth and partly because he suddenly realized that he was in love with her. The realization was coupled with the certainty that she didn’t feel the same.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her hand on his cheek. She was finally looking at him, but he wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse. “I just… I don’t know how I feel. I don’t want to know how I feel. I – I can’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen and I’m scared, terrified literally all the time. When I think about the future, I can only think of Harry. I can’t think of anything else. I have a job to do and I can’t let myself get distracted. I care about you Draco, so much. I want to be able to lov – to be with you. I just… I can’t. I can’t let myself… I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m saying.”

She looked like she was about to cry. “It’s okay,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss her palm. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He didn’t want to talk anymore, he just wanted to lay with her and so he pulled her close, closing his eyes to her touch when she began tracing her fingertips across his skin again, tangling her legs in his.

He felt oddly contented laying there with her, despite the fact that he had essentially admitted he was in love with her and she had said she wasn’t. He understood what she was trying to say: it wasn’t that she didn’t love him, it was that she couldn’t allow herself to. Though he half believed she’d only said it to make him feel better, some optimistic part of him he hadn’t known existed knew that it was true. Love was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Neither of them could really and he knew that later he was going to pay for his weakness, but right now, with her arm around his waist and her warm breath playing across his chest he found it impossible to care.

He’d never expected to fall in love so he certainly didn’t expect her to. He was the one who had broken their unspoken agreement by starting this conversation when he knew he shouldn’t have and he wasn’t about to punish her for it. They had a few days left and he was going to take everything she was willing to give him during that time. He wasn’t about to spoil it because she couldn’t love him, when he couldn’t even say it to her. He’d worry about it later.
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A Summer Holiday