#third times the charm au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adore-laur · 10 months

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THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM

— flashback from the dadrry universe about how you & harry first met 🍸

——

Harvelle's was where Harry went to unwind. The dive bar in downtown Santa Monica was home to an intimate, narrow bar room that had once been a popular speakeasy nearly a century ago. Live jazz music, bewitching burlesque dancers, and eclectic alcohol choices attracted people from various backgrounds to visit and escape reality for a while.

Harry was there after a strenuous ten-hour shift, his back and feet aching to the highest degree. No amount of pain pills or sleep had fixed it, so he decided to come to a place where he could drink his sorrows away and focus his mind on anything other than his premature midlife crisis. The hangover he'd wake up with tomorrow would be dire, but thankfully, he'd have the weekend to recover.

As a generous patron of Harvelle's for over a year, his designated seat was the circular stool snug against the corner of the bar. Every Friday evening after work, he'd sit down, slap his credit card in the bartender's hand, and quietly sip cocktails while he observed everyone around him dive into drunken ecstasy.

This night was different, however, because someone at the opposite end of the room caught his attention.

In a trance, he watched you sway your head to the sultry music playing while holding a martini glass filled with pink liquid. Something strawberry-flavored, probably. He flicked his gaze to your lips, which puckered around the thin straw and took graceful sips occasionally. You were... gorgeous. Effortlessly so. You had the kind of face Harry would remember for a long time, even when he was slightly tipsy.

His lemon drop martini was half empty, and his eyes drooped from either exhaustion or the alcohol coursing through his blood. Tendrils of his hair fell over his forehead, which his sunglasses failed to hold back. His sheer, patterned shirt was sticking to his skin because of the room's humidity.

Or maybe it was because of you.

There had to be a way to garner your attention from where he sat. Your body was turned away from him, the shimmering lights from the rotating disco ball dancing across your back. Harry didn't want to be the type of guy in a bar who uncomfortably invaded a woman's space and sparked a lousy conversation until he could sense boredom practically exuding from them.

So, after the band finished playing a song, Harry put two fingers in his mouth and produced a loud whistle as everyone else clapped. It worked, much to his surprise. Your head shifted to glance back at him, and Harry felt instant regret. Too annoying? Had he turned you off?

"Sorry," he mouthed for some stupid reason.

You just smiled kindly and ran your eyes up and down his figure before casually jerking your head in invitation. Harry pointed at himself to ensure he was reading your gesture correctly, and you nodded in response while patting the empty stool beside you. The bar wasn't packed since it was nearing the early morning hours, so he grabbed his martini glass and stood up before approaching you. He awkwardly sat beside you and decided he should introduce himself.

"Hello, I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand.

You placed your hand in his and gently shook it, telling him your name. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

"Where are you from?" It had been a brutal couple of months of having minimal luck in the dating realm, so he hoped he wasn't coming across as a total moron.

"Topanga," you answered, absentmindedly twirling the straw in your glass.

Harry had already fallen in love with your voice, if possible. "Wow. That's all the way in the mountains."

Shrugging, you sipped your drink, then said, "I don't like big cities. If I could, I would live closer to the coast, but properties are so expensive there."

Harry crossed one leg over the other, trying to appear nonchalant even though he was nervous as all get-out. "Like a beach house?"

"Yes, exactly!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "Maybe with my own private beach or something. That'd be amazing."

"Sounds like a dream," he replied, placing his chin in his palm.

"And what about you? Where does a guy like you live?"

"I live in Santa Monica in an apartment complex a few blocks away."

"That's nice. Do you come here often?"

Harry didn't want to give off lonely, miserable drunkard vibes, so he chose not to fib. "Um, sometimes," he admitted sheepishly, hoping his answer wasn't too vague.

"This is actually my first time here. It's quite intimate."

Harry licked his lips, desperately fighting the urge to longingly stare at yours whenever you spoke. "Yeah, it is. They have burlesque dancers on Saturday nights."

You whistled attractively. "I'm sure you enjoy that."

"Hey," he dragged out, smiling a bit. "I appreciate their flexibility." Too far, man. Dial it back a bit. "Just kidding," he quietly added.

You downed the last of your drink and then tapped your phone screen. "Yikes, it's getting late. I should probably head home."

A wave of disappointment and insecurity washed over him. He was just getting to know you. Had he said something wrong? Was he boring you? He could be quite the awkward, clingy idiot when he was drunk, so he genuinely felt worried as to why you had to leave so suddenly.

His brain was hazy, and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "Can I have your number before you go?"

You collected your purse, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, but not tonight. Ask me again when you're sober."

Harry went utterly speechless. You hadn't said it dismissively or rudely, but it caught him by surprise nonetheless. In response, he just lamely lifted his drink in a cheers gesture as you left him alone, mysteriously disappearing through the exit and never glancing back.

——

You were running considerably late to work. A mandatory meeting was supposed to begin in less than twenty minutes, and you'd only just pulled into the parking lot of some random restaurant to pick up a cake for a coworker's birthday today. You followed the directions your boss gave you, which led to a burgundy building on the outskirts of Santa Monica. Luckily, the bakery section of the restaurant was right next to the lobby doors, so you parked your car and rushed inside.

When you pushed the glass doors open, a bell chimed, and you immediately heard something clatter to the ground, along with a hushed swear. The place was empty of people; chairs were still stacked upside down on the tables. Its modern interior design with neutral shades provided a subtle background for the colorful pastries crowding every corner. There was also a grand window display of desserts, all aesthetically and meticulously organized.

A man suddenly came shuffling out of the swinging kitchen door, his hands full of supplies teetering on each other.

Oh, it was the hot guy from the bar you went to about a month ago. What was his name again? Harvelle? No, that was the bar's name. Maybe it was Henry? Hector? Hubert? You didn't exactly remember, but you were positive it was something close.

Anyway, he seemed flustered in his oversized knit sweater and green trousers. A Styrofoam coffee cup was balanced in the crook of his elbow, and honestly, it looked like he just woke up. Yet somehow, he appeared even more beautiful than he did in the moody lighting of Harvelle's. His features were now accentuated by the pure daylight pouring through the windows.

You cleared your throat and waited by the front counter, observing him clumsily set things down before flipping through a notepad and blindly reaching for a pen off to the side. He had yet to notice you, too caught up in whatever task he was trying to complete.

After a few silent seconds, he ripped out a piece of lined yellow paper scribbled with scrawly handwriting and skimmed over it while walking forward to greet you. When he glanced up, he froze in place. His green eyes took in what seemed like every inch of your being. His fingers twirled the ballpoint pen he was holding.

"Hi," you said quietly, adjusting your purse strap.

"Hey," he replied, scratching under his eyebrow with his knuckle. "Uh, hey. Hi. What— why are you here? Sorry, that sounds rude." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I meant, how can I help you?"

You bit back a smile and took out your wallet. "I'm here to pick up a cake for my work. We're having a birthday party for someone, and this is where I was told to get it from."

"Ah, okay. Can I have the name associated with the order?"

"It's under mine, but I—"

He politely interrupted with your name unfurling from his mouth as a question. "We talked at Harvelle's not that long ago, right?"

He remembered, and you thanked the heavens that you quickly noticed his name tag because otherwise, you would have been guessing every name in the book.

"Yeah," you confirmed with a nod. "And you're Harry. You asked for my number."

His cheeks flushed pink as he rubbed his forehead with an embarrassed scrunch of his nose. "I'm so sorry about that. It wasn't the greatest first impression, was it?"

"I've had people try worse lines on me," you assured him with a laugh. "So, how much is the cake? I only have cash on me."

Harry checked his notepad. "Twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents."

You fished out a crisp twenty- and five-dollar bill, then handed them to him. He took them, his hand brushing against yours as he opened the cash register.

"Did you know there's a Carlo's Bake Shop in Santa Monica?" you asked.

"Mm-hmm. It's just around the block, actually."

"That's wild. I almost screamed when I found out."

Harry slowly smirked and closed the register with his hip, silently counting your change in his palm. "Why? It's just any old cake shop."

You gasped with wide eyes. "Excuse me? Any old cake shop? It's from Cake Boss!"

"Cake what?"

"The show that was on TLC with Buddy Valastro. Hello? Do you live under a rock?"

He tilted his head and tucked a pen behind his ear. "You're speaking Greek to me. I've no idea what you're on about."

"Never mind." You rolled your eyes playfully and began gazing at the displayed pastries. "Do you make everything here?"

"If I'm not scheduled elsewhere, then yes," he answered. "I'm usually here for the morning part of my shift."

"What else do you do?"

"I'm mostly an assistant chef in the restaurant kitchen, but sometimes I bartend or run the bakery."

"Well, everything looks delectable." You checked your watch and huffed when you saw the time. "I need to get going."

Harry snapped his fingers twice. "Shit. I almost forgot to give you your cake." He turned around and opened the see-through fridge, searching for the correct box. He eventually took a baby blue one out from the bottom shelf before setting it on the counter and taping the receipt he printed out onto the top.

"Here you are," he said, sliding it toward you before taking a sip of coffee.

You found yourself liking the way his voice sounded when no one else was around. "Thank you. Um, you forgot to give me my change."

Harry cupped both of his cheeks and slowly shook his head. "I am so sorry. It's early, and I didn't sleep much last night."

Waving him off, you said, "It's okay. Mondays, am I right?" You mentally facepalmed yourself for sounding like a loser.

"Right. You get it." He breathily laughed and handed you your change.

You put your wallet away and then picked up the cake box. "Thank you again."

"Of course," he replied with a handsome smile. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."

"Same here." You checked your watch for the second time. "I really need to go, but I'm sure I'll come visit another time to buy something for myself."

Harry gestured a thumbs up. It made your heart skip a beat for some reason. "Please do," he said. "Have a good day, yeah?"

"You as well."

You headed toward the door, and just as you were about to pull it open to leave, Harry called out, "Hey, wait!"

You abruptly stopped and turned around. "Did I forget something?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "No, but you told me to ask you sober, so can I— sorry, may I have your number? Please? Or we could go out somewhere?"

Your spirit sank. "I'm actually running super late right now. I'll try to come back soon, though. Promise."

Harry nodded, his head dipping low. "I understand. I'll catch you later."

"Bye," you whispered hastily before stepping outside.

When you finally got to work and sat down for your meeting, you thought about Harry the entire time.

——

Harry was bartending when he saw you again. He was topping a white Russian with cream, almost overflowing the glass, when he did a double take at your figure walking toward the counter. He wasn't expecting you at all, entirely confident that he'd never cross paths with you again after his failed attempt at asking you out a few days ago.

You were dressed in a black suit with matching heels. Your hair looked frazzled, but it was ridiculously attractive. He had to check that he didn't make the customer's drink wrong because of how many times he had glanced at you.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, sitting on an open stool in front of him. "I had a feeling you'd be working here tonight. Are you busy right now?"

Harry nervously swallowed and slid the drink down to the customer. "Hey. N-not really, why?"

You bit your lip, your teeth puncturing the soft flesh. "I just wanted to say thank you for the delicious cake. My coworkers loved it."

"Oh, thank you," he said, casually placing his arms behind his back. "I'm happy to hear that."

"I also came here to tip you." Harry followed your movements with his eyes as you took a ten-dollar bill out of your pocket, smoothing the creases against the edge of the counter before holding it out. "This is for you. You're very talented."

He accepted the money because, in all honesty, he really needed it. "That's kind of you. I appreciate it."

Harry couldn't believe he had the woman he couldn't stop daydreaming about right in front of him. His mind scrambled for a flirty gesture or pick-up line to impress you, and he ended up going for what he was best at. Jerking his chin up, he smoothly asked, "Can I make you a drink?"

You set your elbows on the counter. "What do you suggest?"

"A strawberry margarita. Isn't that what you ordered at Harvelle's?"

"It was! I'm surprised you remember."

He wanted to say it was impossible not to since he had been besotted with the way you puckered your lips around the straw, but he refrained for the sake of his dignity. "I'll make it for you right now," he said. There are also appetizers in the back if you'd like some. Jalapeño poppers are the special tonight."

You nodded eagerly. "I'd love some."

Harry walked toward the kitchen, smiling as he grabbed a steaming basket. He thought it was going well so far, and it was wild that you had visited to simply tip him.

When he came back, he set the food and a couple of napkins in front of you. You immediately took a bite as Harry started making your drink.

"I'll go out with you, by the way."

If he hadn't been working, Harry was sure he would have acted like a lovesick girl at a sleepover who was spilling juicy details about their crush while giddily kicking their legs in the air. Him? You wanted to go out with him, of all people? The burnt-out food service worker who drove a shitty Subaru and was living paycheck to paycheck?

Maybe the third time's the charm.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he stuck a sliced lemon on the rim of your glass.

Before you could reply, a customer pulled him away, waving him down. He apologetically smiled before rushing over and helping them as fast as possible. Once done, he spread his hands on the counter and tapped his fingers. "You're serious?"

You leaned forward and stared at him with a glint in your eyes. "Dead serious."

Harry blew out a sharp breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Would it be lame if we got dinner here since I work literally every day this week?"

"I don't mind at all," you replied without missing a beat. "Whatever works for you."

"Cool." He straightened his posture and flung a dishrag over his shoulder. "How about this weekend?"

You hummed, quirking your lips to the side. "How about tonight?"

Harry's eyes went wide, clamminess instantly infiltrating his palms. Tonight? As in, there wasn't enough time to mentally prepare himself for a date tonight. Is it even considered a date? He was freaking out.

"Unless you're not in the mood," you added quickly. "I understand if you just want to go home after work."

He briskly shook his head. "No, no, I'm in the mood. Totally in the mood. I get off in about an hour, if that's not too long of a wait for you."

You lightly knocked on the counter three times. "Perfect. I'll sit here and watch you make drinks until then."

He just grinned and handed you your margarita. "Wave me down if you need anything."

Throughout the last hour of his shift, Harry tended to everyone in the bar while checking in on you every so often. Making sure no one tried to hit on you, for the most part. After his coworker finally arrived to replace him, he washed his hands and rounded the counter to stand next to you.

"Let's head outside where it's quieter."

You nodded and grabbed your drink as he led you away from the crowd, his hand hovering over your back. He didn't want to overstep unknown boundaries too soon.

"Where do you think strawberry margaritas are better? Here or at Harvelle's?" you inquired as you both walked to the outdoor seating area right by the beach.

"Here, obviously," Harry said with a smirk. "Why, does mine taste bad?"

You both sat down opposite each other at a circular table. "No. I'm just wondering since you're the expert."

Harry bashfully smiled, then became a little more serious. "Listen," he started, "I'm sorry again about asking for your number while tipsy. That wasn't very gentlemanly of me."

You laughed and said, "Don't worry about it."

"All right. Good."

After you ordered food and more drinks—Harry insisting that he could get everything for free since he was a loyal employee—the two of you began getting to know each other more, taking turns asking questions and falling into an easy flow of conversation.

"Do you want kids?" Harry asked on his tenth or eleventh turn, his rings clinking against his glass as he tapped it.

He watched you ponder the simple yet complicated question, wondering if asking such an invasive thing was a stupid mistake. "I'm not sure," you replied eventually. He let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm still young, and I don't think it's a decision I can confidently answer right now. What about you?"

Harry cradled his cheek in his palm. "I definitely want babies in the future—with the right person, of course, so I guess I have to wait for that first."

Your eyes softened as you took a sip of your drink. "How many babies?"

"Hmm, maybe two. Three, if my partner doesn't hate me by then."

"Boys or girls? Or both?"

"Honestly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You nodded as he rested his foot on the bottom of your chair. "All girls would be ideal. I don't know why; it's just what I see for myself."

"I get that," you said, nudging your foot against his. "Daughters would be really special to raise. They make the world go round."

He hummed in agreement, subtly brushing his kneecap against yours. "I also think I could learn so much from them, you know?"

"Who, your hypothetical children?" you teased.

He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess. We're speaking hypothetically, right?"

"Sure. Unless you're speaking it into existence."

"With how my love life is going, it doesn't seem likely."

You made a noise of protest. "Don't say that! You're a handsome guy."

"Well, my looks only get me so far."

"You're also sweet and charming." You took a small bite of food and maintained eye contact with him. "I'm shocked you're not taken already."

"I swear it's because of my job," he muttered. "Whenever I tell someone I work in a restaurant, they look at me like I'm a disappointment."

You retracted your head. "What's wrong with working in a restaurant?"

"You tell me," he murmured around the rim of his glass.

"I think it's hot."

Harry nearly choked on his drink, raising a fist to his mouth as he coughed in shock. "Come again?"

"You're a chef."

"Assistant chef," he corrected.

"Same difference," you continued confidently. "You can cook food, you can bartend, and you know how to woo a woman. That's hot."

"Are you sure you're not just quoting Paris Hilton?"

You rolled your eyes with a knowing smile. "Maybe, maybe not. Please tell me you've watched The Simple Life."

Harry stared at you, waiting for the punchline, but you looked completely serious. "No," he deadpanned. "Absolutely not. I will never watch trashy reality shows."

"Not even The Bachelor?" you asked, leaning closer with interest. "That's my favorite franchise to watch."

"You're insane if you enjoy that," he replied, wiping a napkin around his lips. "Anyway, back to you calling my job hot. Elaborate, please."

You gawked at him. "Has no one ever told you that before?"

He blinked slowly with a straight face. "It's not like I have the sex appeal of Bobby Flay, love."

Your eyes scanned him up and down. "I'm sure it's hidden somewhere deep inside you. Do you wear a chef jacket?"

"Yeah."

"See? That's hot."

He barked out a laugh. "You're lying to me."

You mimicked his surprised expression. "I am not!"

Slightly leaning over the table, he looked at you with unwavering eye contact. "Liar."

"You don't know me."

He said in a low, self-assured voice, "I'd like to."

A heartfelt exhale escaped your beautiful lips. "Then stop assuming I'm a liar when I compliment you."

Harry breathed in deeply and glanced at your lips. One brief look at them rendered him weak, their shape curving into a smile, stained pink due to your margarita. He wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn't be very romantic to do so in public. He could kiss your cheek instead, but he already imagined how awkward he'd make it. He could hold your hand—a more subtle gesture that wasn't too bold. That sounded manageable.

So, with a single swig of his liquid courage, he went for it. His hand slowly scooted to your thigh under the table, delicately grabbing your fingertips with his own. He rubbed his thumb along your knuckles and set his fingers underneath your palm so you were holding hands, fingers not interwoven but holding nonetheless. You'd gone quiet; whatever you were about to say was lost in the intimacy swirling in the air.

Harry squeezed your hand and said, "Let's walk down to the beach."

"Okay."

Harry let go and stood from his seat, then pulled you up with him before leading you to the sand. The sun had fully set, yet several campfires and tiki torches lit the way to the shore. There was barely anyone out, which was perfect for Harry since he planned to kiss you senselessly. At least, he hoped so. He might chicken out, which was highly likely considering his heart nearly gave out whenever you looked at him.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Pardon?" Harry's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Damnit, you beat him to it.

You took off your heels and started walking toward the water. "You heard me."

"Yeah, I-I did," he stammered, sliding his shoes and socks off as he strode up to you.

His black work shirt almost caught fire from the tiki torch with how fast he walked toward you. The waves calmly met the shore, and he admired you step into the shallow water, the Ferris wheel and pier merely twinkling lights in the background. The nearby flames danced off the reflection of the ocean as well as your skin, and he swore he'd never experienced such a magnetic pull toward someone before. He followed you like a puppy on a leash, digging into his pocket for a mint he secretly grabbed. He popped it into his mouth.

Eventually, he faced you with the water rising just below his knees. You were staring at him with a particular look, and he took it as his cue to initiate the first move. "Do you want to kiss me, or should I kiss you?" Harry asked nervously.

You placed your hands on his hips and said, "Just kiss me, please."

So he did. He ducked his head down to mold his lips onto yours, feeling them immediately find the shape of his and move beautifully against his bottom lip. He tasted strawberry residue, weakening his knees with each soft pull. His hands gently held the sides of your neck, and he used his thumbs to tilt your jaw. He wanted to open his eyes and savor how you looked, but he was so caught up with how fast his heart beat and how euphoric he felt touching the woman of his dreams.

When you finally ran out of breath and pulled away, Harry rested his forehead against yours and made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

"Was that okay?"

He shook his head in disbelief but quickly turned it into a nod so that you didn't think he was saying no. "Yes. That was the best thing to ever happen to me."

You laughed and kissed the corner of his gobsmacked mouth. "I'm honored."

Harry stared at you, mesmerized by every square inch of your face. "I feel like we were always supposed to meet," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

"Me too," you said sincerely.

He really hoped he didn't mess things up.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #third time’s the charm

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