Damn This Wild Young Heart.

The bakery was five blocks in the opposite direction we’d just come from, nestled between a corner bodega and a State Farm office. The curtains were drawn across the window, but the lights were on inside. Harry tried the door and frowned when it didn’t budge. I stood beside him, my body partially leaning into his. I was trying to muster up a last-resort energy stash, some type of excitement for the end of our night to get me through it, but even the promise of chocolate croissants couldn’t get me buzzing.

“Their hours are from six am to four pm.” I read off the sign posted in their window. “We’re an hour too early.”

Harry tried the door once again, before he started knocking on the glass.

“Harry,” I groaned. “They’re not going to open up for you.”

“Shh.” He shushed, knocking on the door once more. “I owe you a chocolate croissant.”

“You don’t have to--,” I started, but was silenced by the flicker of movement in front of the curtains and the face that suddenly peeked through the glass.

The little girl was maybe eleven years old, at the most, and her entire face lit up when she saw Harry. She shouted something, but her words were muffled through the glass, and suddenly there was another face beside her, a middle-aged woman with cropped brown hair, who was pursing her lips at us. The little girl continued to shout, stabbing at us through the glass, until suddenly the locks were turning on the door.

The woman opened the door a crack, sticking her head out. “Can I help you?”

“Good morning,” Harry greeted. “We’re sorry to bother you, but I was--,”

“It’s Harry Styles, mom!” The girl shouted excitedly, cutting off whatever Harry was saying and making her way around her mother, shoving past her and directly in front of us. “It’s Harry Styles!”

“Sweetie,” her mother chastened lightly. “I’m sure that’s lovely, but I don’t exactly know who that is and I have prep to do--,”

“He’s in One Direction!” She was like a jumping bean, bouncing excitedly around her mom, before glancing at Harry with wide, excited eyes. “We’re going to see them tonight, remember? My birthday present?”

Her mother looked a little less confused, but still slightly muddled. “The boy band?” She repeated to her daughter. “Are you sure?”

Now her daughter only looked offended. “I know what Harry Styles looks like!” She informed her. “And he’s standing right in front of us!”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure.” The woman was looking at us, an eyebrow raised. “Now is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m Harry Styles.” Harry introduced himself, sticking his hand out. They shook hands politely, before a scream of delight and the bakery door opened for us.

“I’m Evelyn,” the woman replied. “And the screaming child is my daughter, Amanda. Please, come in.”

The bakery was warm, soft creams and gentle browns with highlights of a pastel green. A long counter cut the bakery in half, stacks of empty cupcake trays encased behind a glass counter. Vintage baking memorabilia hung off the walls, a collage of different cupcake prints taking over an exposed brick wall. Perhaps the most unique thing about the entire bakery were the umbrellas – twelve of them hung upside down in clusters along the ceiling, the lights reflecting off their vibrant colors. I craned my neck to look at them, focusing on the different patterns and shapes.

When I zoned back into the conversation, Harry was heading behind the counter, an apron suddenly in his hand.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

“We’re making croissants,” He replied coolly, before sliding into the kitchen.

“We’re what?” I cannot bake. I can cook – fry and sauté and every year during Christmas I make neighborhood famous tamales, but baking is a thing I cannot do. Cooking isn’t an exact science; it’s a pinch of this and maybe some of that and then some Siracha added to make it taste good, but baking is like, chemistry. You need exact measurements and precise timing and it gives me a headache.

“We’re making croissants,” Harry repeated when I entered the kitchen, the apron now firmly knotted behind his back. He was smiling and reaching towards a pile of dough.

“Can you bake?” I asked him skeptically. “Is that a thing you can do?”

“I used to work in a bakery, thank you very much.” Harry sniffed, before he started scattering flour all over the counter. The kitchen was small, but intimidating, with large, industrial appliances in every corner and a huge island in the middle. There were racks of cupcakes cooling on one end and Evelyn was instructing Amanda to put a certain number of food coloring drops in a large bowl of cream cheese.

“You were a baker?” I leaned against the island, standing directly in front of Harry and watching his hands as they began to separate and knead dough. The muscles of his forearm were distracting, tensing in a delicious way as he dug his fingers into the dough.

“Well, no,” He admitted with a sheepish grin. “Mainly I swept and worked the register, but I observed enough to know how to make a croissant. Now get over here and help.”

“You don’t want me to do that,” I told him, keeping my feet firmly planted on the opposite side of the counter. “I can’t bake to save my life.”

“Nonsense!” Harry cried. “Everyone can bake! You just mix some stuff in a bowl and put it in the oven!”

I only shook my head. “If you want the croissant to be edible, I should stay over here and just admire your work.”

“You just don’t want to do anything.” Harry said with a narrowing of his eyes.

I couldn’t exactly argue that (how many times had I mentioned I was tired in the past thirty minutes? Like six?) so instead I batted my eyelashes and gave him my most charming smile.

Harry only laughed and resumed his croissant assembling. I wish I knew enough about what he was doing to understand the process, but it kind of just looked like he was jumbling things up and then flattening them out again. He was telling me a story about an unfortunate cupcake disaster at the bakery when Amanda came bouncing over, smiling much too widely for an eleven-year-old to be smiling at five in the morning. Even in the presence of Harry Styles.

“I finished helping mom so she said I could help you!” Amanda announced with a blinding smile, sliding right up to Harry.

“Fantastic!” Harry exclaimed, peering down at her with a grin. “Lola over here is useless, so I’ll need your apprentice skills.”

Amanda looked a little dazed for a second, before she nodded cheerily and dusted her hands with flour. As they worked, Harry asked her a constant stream of questions – how old was she? (“Eleven!” She answered and I wanted to grin in triumph at my excellent age estimation skills, but it required too many muscles to get the facial movement working.) What were her friends like? (Very cool.) What school did she go to? (Sacred Heart.) What was her favorite One Direction song? (Kiss You.) Was she attending the concert tonight? (Yes, she was, and she had asked for tickets every single day for the three months leading up to her birthday.)

She giggled every time Harry asked her a question and I couldn’t figure out who was more endearing – Amanda, in her young, infatuated innocence, or Harry, who hung off her every word.

They were layering chocolate into dough when Evelyn came over, a stool in hand.

“You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up.” She observed as she set down the stool.

I gave her a grateful smile as I sat down, my body letting out a sigh of relief as my feet lifted off the ground. “It’s been a really long day.”

“It’s just begun.” She commented, staring at Amanda and Harry with a smile. “She’s obsessed with that boy.” She said with a smile.

“Most of America is.” I replied, resting my chin on my upturned hand.

“Is he as wonderful as every teenage girl seems to think he is?” She asked.

“Eh, he’s not too bad.” I said with a smirk. Harry looked up from Amanda and over to me, locking eyes for a moment. He screwed up his face, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. I laughed back at him, shaking my head as another flush ran across my cheeks.

“How long have you two been together?” Evelyn asked, finally breaking her concentration and looking over at me. She reminded me a bit of my mother, the warmth that exuded from her smile and the playfulness behind her eyes.

I opened my mouth, ready to combat any and all claims of Harry and I’s togetherness, but then I promptly shut my mouth. There were plenty of relatively painless responses I could’ve gone with – we’re just friends, he kidnapped me and forced me to show him around the city, etc., but instead, the only words that slipped out of my mouth were, “Not nearly long enough.”

It didn’t make much sense, but Evelyn obliged with a polite smile, turning back and observing her daughter once again.

It was the truth, in a way. We hadn’t been together long – less than a day, and yet I already felt different around him, comfortable and at ease, like I’d known him for months rather than minutes. I finally felt like I understood what people meant when they explained the chemistry between people. Whatever was going on between Harry and I felt almost tangible, like if someone measured the electricity level between our skin when we touched they could power enough electricity to light Westfield Centre.

I was deep into my own thoughts, eyes focused on the countertop when Harry waved a hand in front of my face.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked with a laugh as I jerked out of my revere.

I only shook my head. He was standing next to me now, but he was leaned against the island, facing me, with a wide grin across his face. “Fifteen minutes and we’ll have freshly baked chocolate croissants.”

“Call the Food Network, you’re ready for your own cooking show,” I teased.

He gave me a little nudge with his foot. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He cupped a hand over his ear. “’Thank you, Harry, for making me croissants. I am forever in your debt?’ Is that what you said?”

I only rolled my eyes at him, before sticking my foot out and nudging him back. “Technically, you owed me the croissants. I beat you out of the MoMA, so you’re just repaying what you owe.”

“Psh.” Harry scoffed. “Technicalities.”

I just continued to stare up at him. “You must have like, superpowers or something.” I told him, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Lola, I know I’m good looking, but I wouldn’t necessarily call that a superpower,” Harry joked, giving me that stupid smile again that raised one side of his mouth higher than the other, making his dimples even that much more pronounced.

“Oh, shut it.” I muttered dryly. “I meant with your persuasion skills. This is the second place you’ve gotten us into afterhours.”

“Oh. That.” He just gave a small shrug. “I’m polite. It gets me far in life.”

“I’m polite too,” I pointed out. “And I’m pretty sure if I asked the security guard at the MoMA to let me in, he would’ve laughed in my face. Loudly.”

“You’re plenty persuasive.” Harry argued, resting his elbows on the counter. “You got me to come on this adventure with you.”

“I’m still wondering why you said yes in the first place to that,” I admitted with a laugh. “I only really asked because I thought you were going to say no.”

“Seriously?” Harry wondered. “Why would I say no?”

“Um,” I began, fixing him with a look. “Random girl asks famous stranger to accompany her around the city in the middle of the night. It kind of sounds like the plot to an episode of CSI.”

“Or,” Harry countered, leaning down even more. I could feel his breath across my face, his eyes only inches from mine. “Incredibly attractive girl asks random stranger to accompany her on a midnight jaunt around San Francisco. That sounds more like the plot to a movie that I would pay good money to see.”

“You obviously have awful movie taste.” I observed. “Because that sounds like the plot to a really cheesy romcom.”

“I do not have awful movie taste!” Harry cried, clearly offended. “There is nothing wrong with the occasional romantic comedy!”

I blinked owlishly up at him, refusing to comment. We stared at each other for a second, Harry’s face pulled into a faux-serious mask. I was caught in an intense game of eye contact before I could stop myself, the intensity of his gaze knocking back a bit of my breath. We stayed that way for a few seconds, before his face suddenly split into a huge grin.

“Tonight has been fun.” Harry murmured. My attention was focused on one of his hands, which moved up and was slowly moving towards my face. His fingers brushed a piece of hair out of my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. My breathing stopped, the inhale hitched in my throat. I wanted to look away from him, move my attention to the cupcakes on the counter or the croissants rising in the oven, but I couldn’t.

“Thanks for showing me around.” He said as he moved his hand away from my face.

“I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.” I let out a small hiccup, before trying to resume my normal breathing patterns. “The top two events of the night were orchestrated by you.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “The drag show was the best, hands down, and that was all you.”

“Oh God,” I giggled. “I completely forgot about the drag! Okay, now I accept your compliment.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re entirely too sassy for your own good?”

“Yes,” I said with a curt nod. “I have a poster proclaiming my sassiness in my dorm room.”

Harry opened his mouth, presumably to curse my sassiness to hell, but Amanda came bounding up to us, a CD case in hand.

“Harry!” She exclaimed excitedly. After another moment of shared glances between us, he turned to her.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you sign my CD?” She stuck out the CD and a Sharpie in offering.

“Of course.” Harry agreed with a smile, uncapping the Sharpie with his mouth and scribbling something across the CD front. I peeked over to see ‘To Amanda, thanks for lending me your baking skills. Chocolate croissants 4ever, Harry.” Just in time for him to hand it back to her.

Amanda beamed up at him, taking the CD back and then promptly launching herself into his stomach. She wrapped her arms around his middle and Harry reciprocated, his large arms dwarfing around her small shoulders.

“You’re officially my favorite.” She muttered into his abdomen.

Harry let out a booming laugh. “I’ll be sure to brag about that to the lads.”

When Amanda pulled away, she turned to me, handing over her phone. “Lola, will you take a picture of us?”

“You got it, boss,” I complied, hopping off my stool and stepping a few feet away. Harry wrapped his arm around Amanda and smiled at the camera, the same dimpled flash of teeth that was making my heart hurt all night. I took a quick succession of pictures, watching as they went from smiling to ridiculous faces.

“You have to tweet me one of those.” Harry made Amanda promise when she got her phone back. “I’ll be looking for it.”

“Of course,” she squeaked, just as Evelyn walked back into the room.

“How’re you all?” She asked, before picking up a plastic bag of frosting and piping it onto some cupcakes. It took her maybe a minute to finish half a dozen cupcakes, something that probably would’ve taken me an hour, if I didn’t just get frustrated half way through and give up.

“Harry signed my CD!” Amanda answered jovially, waving the CD case around.

The timer on the industrial oven beeped. The buttery chocolate smell had already begun to permeate the room, mixing with the scent of every other type of baked good in the building, but as Harry opened the oven door, my mouth started to water. He pulled out two sheets of golden brown croissants, chocolate oozing from the sides, and set them on the counter.

“They smell good.” I took a deep inhale of the scent, my eyes closing briefly. Actually, they smelled delicious, like little nuggets of chocolate gold, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Harry.

Evelyn shooed Harry away, telling him that they had to cool before disappearing to the front. Harry took his apron off, hanging it up on a hook on the wall, before walking over to the large sink and washing his hands.

I looked longingly over at the croissants, ready to snatch one off the cooling rack and eating it right then and there, but moving all the way across the kitchen took too much energy.

When Evelyn returned minutes later, she had two to-go cups in her hand.

“Hot chocolate.” She sat the two cups in front of me, before moving to the cabinet and pulling out a white paper bag. She wrapped two croissants in parchment paper and placed them gingerly in the bag, folding down the top and then crossing back over to me.

“Breakfast.” She said, placing the bag in my hands.

I smiled at her gratefully. “Thank you so much for this, really. I know we were probably a huge inconvenience, but I really appreciate it.”

“Inconvenience?” She shook her head. “That boy is Amanda’s idol and he made her dream come true. I should thank you for doing me a favor.”

“I really didn’t do anything.” I replied. “That was all him. But thank you again for the croissants.”

A few pleasantries and hugs later, Evelyn was pushing us out the door. Amanda kept trying to convince us to stay, but Harry reassured her that he would see her later that night.

The city was just beginning to wake up outside, the faint sound of cars and bridges passing through the streets. It was lightening up outside, the fog thinning out. The bag of croissants in my hand was warm and too inviting and I was tempted to eat one right there on the sidewalk.

“Where to now?” I asked Harry as we made our way out of the shop.

“Lola.” He said my name seriously, the slow drawl of the syllables forcing me to look at him.

“Yes?”

“After the night we’ve had, there’s really only one place to end it, isn’t there?”

After a second of staring in response (I was assuming it was a rhetorical question), Harry rolled his eyes and snatched the bag of croissants from me.

“The Golden Gate Bridge.” He supplied, before he hooked his hand with mine and started down the street.