We'll Be a Dream

I forgot to unplug my alarm clock before I fell asleep. Halfway across my room it started to blare a static filled version of a Miley Cyrus song at nine in the morning. I would have done anything to stay curled up in bed for a few more hours, but the amount of thought it took to untangle myself from my lilac sheets chased away the sleepy fog in my brain. So I turned off the alarm and took a right instead of a left, deciding to shower and start my day instead of collapsing into my bed.

And because sitting around my apartment has never held any appeal to me, I left for Nonna's Pizzeria at my usual time, despite my shift not "technically" starting until five.

Riding my bike around the city is exhilarating and relaxing. My mind is so focused on listening and seeing that there isn't time to think and obsess. And I really need to keep my mind from obsessing. So I take the long way to Nonna's Pizzeria. I stop at Starbucks on the way and ride one-handed at a leisurely place until I turn into the narrow side-street where the front of Nonna's parlour is.

I pass a person leaning against the chain fence across from Nonna's. They look sketchy in a dark, baggy hooded sweater with the hood pulled over a baseball cap. When I glance back I see that he is following me at a slow walk. I'm so focused on him that I'm late to turn into the back alley, nearly falling over. I rotate the pedals three times to put on a burst of speed and try to lock up the company bike quickly. Even though this guy was standing in clear view of Nonna's front window and we are in close proximity to other people, he could still be a threat. If he's high on something he could still try to do something stupid.

And I did not want to take my chances.

"Bixby," I relax at the sound of his voice, exhaling loudly as all the tension rushes out of me. I could collapse onto the ground, if it weren't so filthy, and praise a God that people only seem to believe in during times of tragedy or immense relief.

"Damn it, Irish," there is a hard edge to my voice. "You scared me half to death. I mean, what the hell do you think you're doing following a girl down a dark alley dressed like a meth head?" Niall looks around at our surroundings, his face in clear view now that he's not looking down, and tilts his head to the side.

"Doesn't look all that dark to me." I roll my eyes, but the moment of anger has passed. I smile affectionately at him. He looks like a little boy, toeing the ground with his shoe, hands in his pockets and a bashful smile on his face.

"Make yourself useful, Irish, hold this." I hand him my white mocha frap and make quick work of storing and locking up the company bike. When I turn around with the red pizza carrier in my hand I catch Niall in the act of taking a sip of my drink. He swallows and gives me a sheepish grin, holding out my drink to me.

"Dick," I mumble, walking through the back entrance of Nonna's Pizzeria.

"Of course you show up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks. Can you be any more of a white girl stereotype?" Giovanna is perched on a stool behind the front counter, her hands placed on her hips. One of her feet is wrapped in white gauze.

"What do you mean I'm fifteen minutes late? I don't even start work until five!" I pull one of the chairs away from the closest table and place it against the wall slightly behind Giovanna's stool. She shifts around so that she is facing me, her face pinched with exasperation.

"Bixby, when your best friend gets three stitches in her foot so you can sneak off to meet an international pop sensation, you are supposed to arrive promptly at opening to divulge every detail. And I will tell you now, that the only excuse for not arriving at opening to tell your best friend every minute detail is that said British pop sensation shagged your brains out last night."

Giovanna, with her one track mind, only notices Niall by his uproarious laughter. He sags against the wall, eyes squeezed shut in mirth. My own lips twitch into an amused smile, while Giovanna's quirks down in a perplexed frown.

"Who's you're friend, Bixby?" I bite down on the end of my straw trying to keep a straight face. I wilt under Giovanna's expectant stare.

"That would be an Irish pop sensation." She sneers at me for my blithe reply, but I'm used to her dirty looks in response to any sassy behaviour on my part.

"An' I haven' shagged 'er brains ou' I swear." Niall puts heavy emphasis on his already prominent accent. He's just teasing, but despite that I am still irritated by it.

"Can I help you with something, Niall?" My tone is sharper than I meant it to be, but he reminds me of everything that didn't happen last night and all the sleep I lost out on and I just feel irrationally angry towards him. And he drank my frap without asking, the little shit.

"I'm here for a pizza. What would you recommend, Bix?" I hate when people call me Bix. It reminds me of the cough syrup or a brand of pens. It also sounds too much like dicks, as many juvenile males have pointed out. Immature little pricks (and I mean little in the way that a toy with small parts needs to have a choking hazard warning label).

"Something off of the children's menu."

In the end I do end up ordering something off of the kid's menu for Niall. We sit across from each other in the booth furthest from Giovanna, who crosses her arms in irritation at being excluded. Between us is a large Peanut Butter and Jelly pizza. Parents hate this pizza, because the melted peanut butter and jelly can be messy, but kids love it. Even the banana slices that serve as toppings.

Niall reminds me of a child as melted peanut butter and jelly smears down his chin and coats his fingers. I'm a little more diligent with my use of a napkin. It takes all the self-restraint I have not to reach across the table and forcibly wipe his fingers and face with a napkin dampened with the condensation from my frap. He finally wipes his fingers off on his own napkin and reaches for his glass of water to help wash down the three consecutive pieces of pizza he'd inhaled while I nibbled at my first.

"So, your friend got stitches so you could hang out with Harry?"

"Apparently," I reply, and it's something Giovanna would do. She's been covering for me for a long time now, and even though I didn't ask her to this time, she still pulled through for me. That makes the emptiness of last night so much worse.

"He thinks you're fit, you know." I lean away from the table, resting against the back of the booth. I shrug my shoulders, not sure what he expects me to say to this. I shake my head a little and shrug again. Niall had been smiling, but now his face becomes serious. "Don't you care that Harry thinks you're fit?"

"No, I don't care if he thinks I'm fit. It's kind of meaningless. There are a lot of guys who feel inclined to tell me how hot they think I am when they drive by. Guys whistle when I'm walking down the street, tell me that I've got a nice rack or a great ass. So what if Harry thinks I'm attractive? How does that make him different from any other guy who gives me flirty eyes? Hell, I find a lot of guys attractive. It doesn't mean a goddamn thing, Niall." I can tell that I've made him feel uncomfortable, but I'm too tired to care. We sit in silence. I keep my mind off of my tirade by looking at the pictures on the wall. Some of them are regulars, some are pictures of family, some are of landmarks in Italy that mean something to Nonna or Nonno.

"Do you find me attractive?" Niall has lowered his voice, trying to sound seductive. I lose the battle against my smile and lean forward on the table, bringing my face closer to his and staring into his eyes.

"Well that accent of yours is seriously sexy. Is it true what they say about Irish men? Are they really that good at talking dirty in bed?" Niall mimics my actions, leaning his face close and giving me a lazy smile.

"Would yah like ta find out fer yerself?" And then we are both cracking up, using the booth to support our shaking bodies. Niall then goes on to rave about the PB&J pizza. He vows that before he goes back to London that he will have tried every "strange" pizza that Nonna has created. Not too long after that declaration Niall informs me that he has to go back to work.

To her credit, Giovanna waits a full five minutes after he leaves before she starts interrogating me about my night with the boys of One Direction. I tell her everything as matter-of-factly as I can, leaving out how empty I felt when I left. But somehow she knows.

"What an idiot. I can't believe he didn't ask for your number or your Twitter. I got stitches so that asshole could not hook up with you? But hey, I think Niall likes you." I smile down at my shoes and shake my head. Giovanna knows perfectly well that I don't have Twitter.

"That boy likes anyone who feeds him." Giovanna playfully shoves my shoulder as she laughs at the truth in my statement. For the rest of the afternoon, Giovanna worries aloud about her date with Zack and how the stitches in her foot may cause their potential relationship to kick the bucket before it starts. I listen patiently, only adding that if Sean Astin can get a piece of glass through the foot and be on set the next day to film LOTR, then she can probably have a good time with Zack.

Around four Leo arrives, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before piggybacking Giovanna upstairs so she can get ready for her date and so that he can say hello to his parents. Rosa's boyfriend drops her off not too long after that. She smiles at me as she passes by and I can hear her talking to Nonna in rapid Italian.

I wonder why we're so dead for a Friday night. There's been zero foot traffic, no couples or families dining in, but we've had plenty of calls for deliveries. Leo has been in and out of Nonna's all night with deliveries. We're getting so many requests that Papa Franceschi is making deliveries, even though the van uses more gas.

It's not until the Bolger family comes in and shakes out their large umbrella that I realize it's raining outside. I grab three menus, a few pieces of paper and a to-go cup filled with pencil crayons.

Craig is helping his wife out of her jacket when I approach. I've always admired Mrs. Bolger for the way she holds herself. When I see her, she is always standing at her full 5"9' height, chin up and a small smirk twisted on her lips. She does not shy away from wearing bright turquoise heels. Her very presence exudes confidence and power. Being a woman of colour she has faced more challenges than I could imagine. She was a model before she met Craig. Now she teaches first grade at a private school.

Their daughter Cleo might be my favourite customer. She just had her fourth birthday. She likes to draw cats. She is beautiful with her dark curly hair done up in pigtails with pink ribbons. Her dark eyes are wide and observant, her teeth small and white. I smile brightly at her and she returns the gesture with enthusiasm, standing up on the booth seat to wrap her pudgy arms around my neck. I still have to bend slightly so she can reach.

"Good evening Miss Cleo, how are you?" I ask her, my voice full of bounce and cheer.

"Great! My new best friend is coming to dinner!" I over exaggerate an expression of shock.

"You mean you've replaced me? Cleo! I'm crushed."

"We can all be best friends." The simple solution of a child. I smile affectionately and place the cup full of pencil crayons down in front of her. I hand out the menus and leave the paper on the table, already knowing what they'll have to drink. Milk for Cleo with her dinner, water for Mrs. Bolger and a diet Coke for Craig.

"So are we waiting for Miss Cleo's new best friend before you order?" I direct the question to Mrs. Bolger, who usually makes all the decision, but it's Craig who answers.

"Oh, darn. He's probably waiting out back to be let in. Bixby, could you let him in?" I knew as soon as Craig said "he's probably waiting out back" that it was probably somebody from One Direction. I don't know if I am disappointed or relieved when I open the door and it's Liam standing out in the rain.

"Left my umbrella in the cab," he says by way of explanation, shaking out his dampened hair before stepping inside. He immediately begins to pull off his jacket, but it's clear by the way his sleeves stick to his arms that the water has soaked through to his shirt. He pulls the fabric away from his body, but I've already seen the shapes hidden underneath. I force myself to look up at his face, though the image of his abs will likely stay with me forever.

"I could probably get you something dry to wear, or a towel at least." Liam gives me a grateful smile.

"That'd be brilliant, Bixby." I point him in the direction of the dining area and head upstairs to the office. On top of the filing cabinet is a box full of Nonna's Pizzeria t-shirts I sort through them, wondering if he needs a medium or a large. I decide that bigger would be better and then encountered a locked bathroom door.

"Oh my god, it's occupied Isabella, use the one downstairs if you gotta pee so badly."

"G, it's me. Can you toss me a towel?"

"Bixby?" The door opens a crack and I try not to smile at Giovanna's eye only having been half lined in kohl. "Why do you need a towel? Is the sink overflowing again, because I swear Hal said he fixed that."

"No, no, nothing like that. Liam got caught out in the rain. Can't let a pop star catch a cold. Nobody sings well with a stuffed up nose."

"God, don't let Isabella hear that Liam Payne is downstairs. She'd go down there and take stalker photos for Nonna's Instagram." Giovanna hands me a dark green towel with loose threads through the crack in the door.

"I'm hoping if she ever finds out that she'll be appeased by the fact that I'm giving him his own Nonna's t-shirt." Giovanna gives me a thumbs up and shuts the door, locking it with a distinct click. I'm lucky she gave me a towel. She can be a bit of a diva when it comes to doing makeup. I jog downstairs and see that Liam is standing by the Bolger's table chatting with a grin on his face. He looks up to see me and his smile widens. I toss him the towel and he lets out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Bixby." I hold up the red Nonna's Pizzeria t-shirt and shake it in front of me.

"Hope this fits." Liam laughs appreciatively and holds the shirt out in front of himself.

"I'm sure this'll do." And right there in the middle of Nonna's Pizzeria Liam Payne takes off his shirt. I pray to whatever deity is listening that I have enough self control not to stare. Or drool. Or mewl. He runs the towel over his hair, down his neck, across his chest and oh dear lord his abs.

"What do you want to drink?" I blurt, looking up at the ceiling. I can hear Cleo giggling and her mother chastising her for being impolite.

"Do you have tea?" I somehow manage to nod without looking away from the chipped tile in the ceiling. "I'll have that, then." I nod and practically sprint into the kitchen, taking the liberty of making his tea myself. Nonna, through Rosa translating, asks me why I'm so flustered. I shake my head, telling her that I'm fine. Just nervous for Giovanna's date. Nonna cackles. I don't think anything amuses Nonna more than Firefighter Zack.

I've calmed down by the time Liam's tea is ready. When I walk back into the dining area, I am cool and composed. I interrupt a conversation between Craig and Liam when I set Liam's mug and metal teapot down in front of him. I take a deep breath and recite the lines that I've said a hundred thousand times before.

"Are you ready to order?" They order two large pizzas for the table (Greek Salad on a pizza, which Liam is enthusiastic about and a Spicy Italian) and Cleo orders herself a kid sized portion of spaghetti and meatballs, complete with garlic bread. I smile and compliment their choices before returning to the front counter. I relay the order to Rosa and when I turn around again I nearly scream from surprise.

Liam is leaning against the front counter on crossed arms. He smiles sheepishly at me and stands up straight. I smile tentatively, am about to ask if he needs anything, and he begins to talk like we've known each other our entire lives.

"Niall told me what happened this afternoon. I love him--he's like a little brother to me, but he doesn't think before he speaks. Yes, Harry thinks you've got an amazing bum, and I happen to agree with him--it's quite nice, but he likes you, Bixby. He thinks you're something special. He's just a little... hesitant." I lick my lips and lean across the counter, speaking much lower than Liam had.

"Why are you telling me this?" Liam looks adorably confused for a moment.

"Because Harry's also like a brother to me and I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about him." I want to tell Liam to fuck off. That I don't have any ideas about Harry. That nothing even happened. That none of it matters, but instead we are interrupted by Giovanna making her debut downstairs.

"What do you think, Bixby?" She does a full turn so I can see her outfit from every angle. She is wearing purple ballet flats, leggings that look like they have the galaxy on them and a long black shirt with three quarter sleeves. Her hair is in one long braid, her eye-shadow a gradient of pinks, purples and blues, and her eyes lined to perfection.

"You look really cute, but you are aware that it's raining out, right?" Giovanna rolls her eyes at me.

"No shit, that's why I didn't bother straightening my hair." I smirk as Nonna begins to shout in Italian at Giovanna's unladylike language.

"So when's Zack getting here?" From my peripheral vision, I see Liam walking back to his booth and am relieved that he understood my silent dismissal. Giovanna smiles shyly and looks at something over my shoulder. I turn my head and see Firefighter Zack closing a Dora the Explorer umbrella. Despite the childish umbrella, he looks good in a dark blue button up shirt with short sleeves and khakis. His dirty blonde hair could use a cut, but its endearing the way he has to shake it out of his pale blue eyes. He nods to me and grins at Giovanna.

"Ready my G-lady?" As soon as the words leave his mouth I know that they're going to be a permanent thing, and that it will annoy everyone in a five foot radius of them. I am not sad to see them go. Rosa places Cleo's spaghetti and meatballs on the counter and then a cold glass of milk. After I've brought those to the table, the Greek Salad on a Pizza and Spicy Italian are ready to be brought out.

I watch the table diligently, refilling drinks, approaching when Mrs. Bolger makes eye contact with me, providing a wet washcloth to clean Miss Cleo's face and hands. Liam and I don't talk again, except for when he is about to leave.

"You should come over again sometime. Bring a pizza. We can all watch a film."

"For real this time or is this another set up?" Liam's eyes widen and I smirk. "Yeah, you guys weren't smooth at all." He grins sheepishly.

"We'll actually watch a film with you. Harry's not the only one who likes you, you know. I like you and Niall likes you."

"But Zayn and Louis are plotting my death?" I ask and part of me is joking, but another larger part of me really wants to know. Liam chuckles and starts to walk backwards.

"They're undecided at the moment." He waves one final time and disappears outside. It is only after I have cleaned up the booth that I remember that I still have Liam's change from the cab fare he gave me last night. I kick myself for my forgetfulness until Fabian and his soccer team show up muddy and wet at nine for pizza. Immediately Papa Franceschi puts Fabian to work.

I'm glad for Fabian's soccer team. Fifteen hungry mouths to keep my hands, feet and mind busy. I am in my zone, taking orders, refilling drinks, serving pizza, providing appetizers. Mrs. Franceschi joins her mother and daughter in the kitchen to help with all the orders. I don't have a moment of rest until a little after eleven. Nonna went upstairs to bed at ten, leaving Rosa in charge of the kitchen. Papa and Mrs. Franceschi are both upstairs relaxing and Leo has returned from his last delivery.

The night begins to drag. Leo is reading a battered copy of 1984 that used to belong to his father. I can hear Rosa's fingers clicking away at her cell phone, likely texting her boyfriend about how boring this stormy Friday night is. I am left with hardly anything to occupy my mind. I consider cleaning the bathroom, but decide that I'll never be that desperate.

Leo watches the front of the store while Rosa and I make a regular pepperoni pizza for all three of us to share. We eat out of boredom rather than hunger. Rosa informs us that she and her boyfriend are getting a new apartment with just them, because their roommate's younger brother is coming to New York for school in the fall.

"The apartment was getting crowded with three people, it'll be nice to have a bit more space, even if we do have to shell out the cash for some new furniture."

"Why don't you ask mom and dad if there's any more furniture in the storage unit?" Nonno and Nonna have always lived in the apartment over the Pizzeria. Papa and Mrs. Franceschi did have their own apartment for many years, until Nonno had a heart attack. That's when they moved into the apartment and Papa Franceschi quiet his job as an accountant to take over the business aspect of Nonna's Pizzeria for Nonno. This all happened before I even moved to New York and since his daughter moved back home, Nonno hasn't had any other health problems. Every day he takes a walk around Central Park with other men his age who are trying to stay healthy.

"Mama says she's saving the other furniture for when Fabian, Isabella and Giovanna move out."

Leo was the first of the Franceschi kids to move out. He moved out right after college to stay with a friend who had lost his mother to cancer a few months prior and couldn't afford rent by himself. When he left Papa and Mrs. Franceschi gave him his old beanbag chair that they'd had in storage. Later, when Leo moved out on his own, they gave him a loveseat, his old bed, a bookshelf and a coffee table. When Rosa moved out with her boyfriend, she was given her rocking chair that Nonno had made with his own bare hands and an overstuffed armchair that matched the loveseat given to Leo.

All the Franceschi kids are desperate to move away from the apartment over Nonna's. Even though Leo and Rosa have moved out, the apartment still feels overcrowded. I suspect it has to do with all the stuff rather than the amount of bodies. Giovanna has thrown out the idea of us living together, but I already feel like I live alone. And I think that if we lived together we'd go from friends to enemies very quickly.

Thankfully this conversation about moving makes time go by faster and we all set out to lockup for the night. Rosa is closing down the kitchen, Leo is parking the Vespas in storage and I am closing down the front. I've wiped down every table and started placing the chairs up so that I can wash the floors when I notice something move out of the corner of my eye. The rain makes everything appear darker, so I move towards the front of the pizzeria to get a better look. Just like an idiot in a horror movie.

I turn over the sign to closed and peer out into the darkness. A face appears in the glass and I feel as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. After a moment I begin to recognize the features, that I've seen these eyes before and the curve of that mouth. I take a deep breath and push the door open.

"I probably shouldn't be surprised to see you, but I am. What on earth are you doing out here in the rain, Harry?" Harry ruffles his damp curls, droplets of water flying through the air. His hair is lying flat against his head, water droplets rolling down his face. In the distance there is the rumble of thunder, an ominous sound. He licks his lips slowly, eyes focused on the sky. I cross my arms and lean against the window to Nonna's, tilting my head to the right. He sighs and looks down at me, opens his mouth, thinks better of it and licks his lips again.

"Liam told me that he and Niall saw you today. I wish they hadn't said anything, because I can speak for myself. I don't want you to think that I don't respect you or that I'm pressuring you. I do think you're beautiful, but more than that I think you're insightful and brilliant. And I am hesitant, because things are complicated with me and that's why I didn't ask you for your number or try to kiss you--but god do I regret not kissing you last night." Harry's eyes are dark, the pupil dilated with lust, but his overall facial expression is sincere, maybe a touch sad and desperate.

I push off from the window and walk out into the rain. I reach up to the collar of his shirt and curl my fingers into the fabric, pulling him gently toward me. My lips brush against his before I apply pressure. His mouth is hot and soft against mine, lips pressing and massaging against mine. His arms encircle me, his hands flat on my lower back, pushing me closer. My hands slide along his collar and I push up onto my toes, leaning back against Harry's hands, so that my arms can wrap around his neck. My fingers curl into his damp hair and I involuntarily press my hips into his. He parts his lips in surprise and the kiss intensifies. I roll my hips, causing friction and there is a change in the atmosphere. His mouth is eager, moving with more desperation. My groan is muffled against his lips, my hands sliding down his chest, venturing around to his back, pressing into his shoulder blades.

Each of my heartbeats sounds like a plea closer, closer, closer.

We part with a gasp and his mouth is hot against the curve of my neck. My moan is drowned out in the storm, my toes curling and back arching. I run my hands down his back and my fingers force their way under the hem of his shirt, nails gently scraping down. Harry moans into my neck.

"Okay, okay, we need to stop, or I'm going to shag you right here." He pulls himself away from me with difficulty, and his eyes are practically glowing with animalistic instinct.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" I ask, the sentence comes out high and light as I struggle to regulate my breathing.

"Yeah," he breathes out.

"Give me five minutes," I tell him. I lunge forward and press a hard kiss to his mouth, pulling away just as he begins to return it.

"Five minutes," he repeats, looking dazed.