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Usually, the tinkling of her keys in the lock and the promising crackle of her grocery bags is enough to summon Harley to help her carry them inside. Today, though, Ivy doesn't even get a wave hello.
Instead, Harley's dancing around a gramophone in the middle of the room as though conjuring – or exorcizing – it. The grainy quality of the record certainly sounds spooky enough, and the song vibrating from the flaring horn makes Ivy wonder whether Harley's the one in need of an exorcism.
Harley's shrill voice may not have been made for singing, but her excessive energy is just adorable. Despite the unexpected choice of lyrics.
Ivy clears her throat.
"Red!" Harley beams and pirouettes towards her, heel lifting and dipping, never quite touching the ground. Already anticipating the impact, goods arcing high and spilling on the floor, Ivy tries to sidestep her path. But Harley snatches the bags from their perch on Ivy's hips, flicks them over her shoulder and grabs Ivy by her arms.
Ivy has no chance to complain or even grow dizzy. Harley pulls her in flush against her chest, hand burning on the small of her back, and sways them in time to the music.
"Heaven," she intones again, quieter this time, more private. "I'm in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speeeeaaaak."
With a sigh more fond than annoyed, Ivy resigns herself to falling in step and letting Harley twirl them both around the groceries littering the floor.