The Love Club

I haven’t been asleep for quite a while when a knocking sounds at my door. Rolled up in covers, hair all over the place, I’ve been missing Gatsby’s cuddles and going through a mental checklist of things I need to remember to pack in my bag before we head to Cheshire this afternoon. Thoughtlessly, I mutter a come in, which only strikes me as possibly a bad idea when it’s Harry who pokes his head in, hair pulled up in a bun and clad in a form-fitting tee shirt and running shorts. I sort of want to die.

I pull the blankets over my head and mumble something incoherently at the sight of him. He chuckles good naturedly and crosses the room to sit at the foot of my bed and tug at the duvet. I hold steadfast.

“Minaaaaa,” he whines, and I wonder how someone with such a fantastic voice can have such an annoying tone when he really wants it. “Come on a run with me.”

I snort, which should be answer enough. He finally gets impatient with my hiding and gives the comforter a hearty jerk, unveiling my face and hair in all its un-make-up-ed, static-y glory. I think the noise I make sounds akin to a dying bear as I scramble for a pillow to throw over myself.

“Minaaaaa,” he drawls, his voice rich as he moves further up on the bed, leaning on one arm as he uses the other to try to wrestle the pillow from my grasp.

“Go away,” I reply.

“Come with me,” he retorts.

“You literally could not pay me.”

I’m not sure if he hears me at all because my words are muffled by the pillowcase. Eventually his strenth wins out and he chucks the pillow across the room before casually resting his head on his hand, peering down at me like a GQ model. Now that the pillow is gone, I’m at a loss as to what I can use to suffocate myself with now.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask earnestly.

His brows draw together in confusion. “Doing what?”

“I look like a skinned cat. I’m not ready for viewing yet.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs that crinkle-eyed laugh I love so much. When he’s done cackling, he looks down at me with that wicked grin of his, all dimple-y and bright. I wonder what sharp objects I have laying around.

“Sweetie,” he says softly in a gesture that has my heart fluttering until I realize he’s actually being an ass on purpose. “Darling, sugarplum,” he continues to list off. I scowl and he tries to supress his laughter. “Babycakes, I never wear make-up around you,” he reasons.

“Get out,” I tell him, reaching out to give him a firm shove on the shoulder. He doesn’t move an inch. “Get the fuck out.”

He’s still so pleased with himself as he settles into the bed beside me, laughing and wiping at his eyes. It’s early even for him, but he’s still here trying to pull me up with him. There’s no way in hell I’m allowing myself to be persuaded into a run. I’m probably the least athletic human on this planet, and furthermore one of the clumsiest. I don’t know where he’s got the notion that he can just talk me into whatever he wants me to do.

Oh, wait. It’s probably because he’s so good at talking me into doing whatever it is he wants me to do.

I should maybe work on that. Starting now.

“You can show me your town,” he reasons, looking over at me with those sleepy green eyes.

“I already did,” I respond.

“Not all of it,” he frowns.

“The important bits.”

“It’s not even that warm out today. It’s really breezy and there are clouds.”

“Thanks for the weather update. Still not doing it.”

“You’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“I’ll feel so much better after Felicity makes me breakfast,” I argue.

He snarls at me before he gathers the strength to push himself up on his forearms and hover above me. I unwittingly let out a gasp. We’ve been this close before, but for some reason this feels different. We’re not casually making out or pecking each other on the cheek; he’s close just because he wants to be. I don’t know why, but it makes all the difference.

“What can I do to convince you to run with me?” he asks softly, gaze settled firmly on me. I have the urge to reach up and pull the elastic from around his bun, run my hands through his curls. The pull isn’t foreign to me, but I have yet to find the courage to actually do so.

“Nothing,” I try to say firmly, but it comes out less certain that I’d like. He smirks, a glint in his eyes that I know means mischief.

“You sure?” he asks, lowering his nose to nudge against mine. My head turns away from him, eyes falling shut so I keep my resolve.

“Positive.”

He presses his lips softly to my pulse point, grins when he feels my responding erratic heartbeat. I’m underprepared for this so early in the morning.

“Please get off me,” I request calmly. He chuckles, breath tickling my cheek as he pulls away to look at me.

“I will if you come running with me.”

I hum thoughtfully as I lift a hand to brush my thumb along his cheekbone. He thinks he’s winning and pushes up on his arm to swing his legs from over me. His feet find the floor and he stands beside the bed, waiting.

“Have fun on your run, nugget,” I tell him sweetly. He frowns, which spruns me to continue. “Angelface, buttercup...”

He picks my pillow from the floor and throws it at me. I catch it and laugh, watching as he crosses the room toward the door and glares at me. I’m still laughing when he disappears down the hall and I hear his heavy footsteps as he makes his way down the stairs and to the front door.

Finally free, I roll back over in bed and try to wipe the dopey grin from my face. I can still smell him in the sheets, and it’s enough to encourage me to fall back asleep in this cozy coccoon I’ve made for myself. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, I’m prepared to fall back into unconsciousness as soon as possible when I feel sudden weight beside me and am forced to open one eye.

“So he’s really cute,” Felicity says, her face inches from mine. “Like really adorable.”

“Shut up,” I groan, turning away from her. She only scoots closer.

“I like him,” she declares. “He’s not at all how I expected.”

“How did you expect him to be?” I ask, because I can’t help myself.

“I dunno. Less well-mannered, more pop-star. He seems normal, though. Aside from the fawning girls and the world tour and paparazzi, you know.”

“I’ve noticed once or twice,” I mumble into the sheets. Why is everyone out to ruin my day to sleep in? It’s only 7 in the morning for God’s sake.

“How do you feel about all of that?” she inquires.

“Right now I feel like going back to bed,” I answer.

“It’s something you’ll have to consider eventually,” she says almost chidingly.

I’ve done little else but consider it, honestly. It’s at the top of my worry list because it’s not something I’ve directly encountered. I’m not sure how it will make me feel or how I will react, but I’ve decided I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. Things between Harry and I right now are going too smoothly for me to ruin it again over something that hasn’t even happened. I learned my lesson the first time.

“Are you making breakfast?” I ask instead, desperate to change the subject. She narrows her eyes at me because she knows what I’m doing, but doesn’t push anything further.

“Eggy bread?”

“Eggy bread, please,” I request with a grin.

Felicity offers me a kindhearted smile and gives my arm a squeeze before rolling out of my bed. I breathe a frustrated sigh and run a hand through my hair in an attempt to tame it. It’s time I fully accept that I’m up for the day now.

With a groan, I force myself up and stretch. Swinging my legs around, my feet find purchase on the warm floorboards and I make my way over to the adjacent bathroom to get dressed and ready for the day. I’m unsure of what to wear, since we’ll be passing the afternoon in the car and I’m not sure what Harry has planned to do once we reach Holmes Chapel. I settle for a navy maxi skirt with a bohemian print on it and a lightweight sweater. Satisfied, I put on some mascara and call it good.

When I reach the kitchen downstairs, Felicity is pulling out the maple syrup. I grin at her as I sit down at the kitchen table, tapping my fingers impatiently for the plate of french toast to be set in front of me. Rolling her eyes, she does so and takes a step back as if I’m about to bite her hand, which with my enthusiasm I might do on accident.

“Save some for your dad, yeah?” she requests.

“You snooze you lose,” I shrug as I begin to saw at the battered bread.

“I’m sorry, what was that you were doing five minutes ago?”

“The important thing is that I’m not doing it now,” I point out around mouthfuls of maple syrup and powdered sugar.

She presses her mouth together to form a line, but doesn’t argue with me. Instead, she pulls out the chair across from me and takes a seat. I think she wants to snoop more on this Harry thing, so I make sure to stuff my face with as much eggy bread as possible to make it clear that she’ll be getting nothing from me. As if on que, my saving grace makes his grand entrance and stops when he takes in the view at the kitchen table.

“You’re...” my dad trails off, eyes wide. “You’re eating all of the eggy bread. All of it.”

Since my mouth is too full to respond, I only shrug and hold out a dripping forkful in his direction. With skeptical brow, my father takes the fork and shoves it in his mouth before I can think better of it and rip it from his grip. Syrup dribbles down his beard onto the floor and Felicity glares as if it’s my fault my father has no table manners.

“Where’s the beau?” dad asks, and I groan.

“Not you, too,” I say thickly as I try to swallow some of the dough in my mouth.

“You’ve made me wait nearly twenty-one years for this, Mina. I’m not passing up an opportunity,” he points out, taking the seat Felicity has just vacated to wipe up the mess on the floor. He scratches at her head affectionately, and he glowers at him. He pretends not to notice.

“Harry’s on a run,” I answer.

“You two are leaving for Holmes Chapel today?”

“Why do you pose it as a question if you know the answer?” I shoot back, exhausted with the teasing already though it’s only just begun.

“Why are you so defensive about it?” Felicity chimes in. Dad grins over at her as if to say, “Good one.”

I run my fingers through the short strands of my hair, pushing it up out of my face. Dad realizes he’s stumbled onto a Serious Topic and eyes me warily, as if this is a trap. It’s him who is supposed to be having Serious Discussions about this with me, and I think I might have encroached on his territory before he’s had an opportunity to bring it up himself.

“We’re just... It’s not as serious as it looks right now. I know how that sounds coming from me, knowing what I know, but our situation is just really really unusual. And we’re just trying to find our footing.”

Dad eyes me like he knows something I don’t. Felicity leans one hand against the back of his chair, looking at me in a similar manner.

“What?” I demand, feeling like the odd one out. Dad takes this momentary lapse in defense as an invitation to steal my plate of french toast, which I haven’t touched since I started slightly choking on a piece before this whole discussion began.

“How long do you think Harry has been attracted to you, Mina?” dad asks thoughtfully.

I frown. Even now the idea of Harry being attracted to me sounds ridiculous. It’s still so new and foreign and my immediate response is to deny it before I remember we’re spending weekends at each other’s parents houses.

“I dunno...”

“Venture a guess.”

“Maybe when we went mini-golfing during that break between South America and Europe?” I roughly estimate.

“Harry says it was probably the first time you two had dinner, after you caught their show for the first time.”

My fork, which has been reaching for a piece of french toast on the plate my dad has stolen, clatters to the table. Felicity reaches forward and plucks it from the surface before wiping it down with a sigh before the syrup can stick to it. Dad’s eyes stay focused on me as he lifts a cut piece of toast to his mouth.

“You asked him?”

My tone reads horrified, which I am, but mostly I’m mystified. Harry was attracted to me that early on? That was the same night he asked me to be his matchmaker, a mistake he claims to have made in an attempt to get closer to me. Now that my dad mentions it, the story does fit, but that’s so much earlier than I ever would have guessed. We’d only known each other for what? Two and a half weeks? Three and a half at the most?

“And if I were to ask you the same, what would your answer be?”

I pause, having never really taken the time to think about it. When wasn’t I attracted to Harry? Niall had given me silent crap about it during our entire first encounter, when I’d acted like an eleven-year-old school girl our entire flight. But when I really stop to contemplate it, when had that chemistry between us really begun?

I recall a flustered run to the restroom during that first dinner. I think maybe Harry might be on to something.

“I guess maybe around the same time,” I admit after a few moments of silent contemplation.

“So that gives the two of you a time frame of around three months, leading up until now. You’ve seen each other nearly every day, developed a friendship, and danced around this for just about that long. So the way I see it, the two of you aren’t really jumping into anything. You’re still kids, for god’s sake. Don’t worry about timing and what you think is and isn’t appropriate at this point in a new relationship. Because there’s nothing normal at all about these circumstances for either one of you,” he says.

There’s no possible way for me to fathom a response so that, so I stay silent instead. My dad, feeling accomplished, happily gets to work forking the rest of his breakfast into his mouth. Felicity, having stayed quiet the entire discussion, decides this is a perfect moment to helpfully add, “And use protection.”

This is so out of left field that I choke on the air I’m breathing. I hear the squeak of tennis shoes on linoleum and realize Harry has chosen this precise moment to return from his run. He’d been making his way past the doorframe toward the stairs when this bit of advice had been divulged.

“I know you heard that, Harry!” Felicity calls and he appears red-faced in the doorway a moment later. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, his shirt sticking to his chest and his breathing heavy, but something tells me the color in his face has nothing to do with the physical activity he’s just partaken in. My eyes flit away from him just as quickly as they’d landed on him as I sink lower in my seat from sheer mortification at the situation my stepmum has created.

“That’s not a... We’re not... I mean, we haven’t...” he’s clearly too incoherent to form a proper sentence, fumbling for how he should react to this. For the second time this morning, I wonder what objects I could use to knock myself unconscious while in his presence.

“Just say ‘Yes, Felicity’ and walk away,” she advises and Harry swallows thickly.

“Yes, Felicity,” he repeats, then disappears quickly through the doorway, obviously more than happy to escape the tension. I glare through my fingers at my smug-looking stepmum. My dad continues eating as if nothing at all has transpired.

–

After we say our goodbyes to my parents, I find myself once again in the passenger seat of Harry’s Range Rover, which isn’t all together an unpleasant experience. For one, it smells a lot like him, mixed with that fantastic new car scent I adore so much. Harry opts to drive with the windows down today since the weather is so fantastic, and I don’t object because I find the sound calming. On top of that, the seat reclines way back and the leather is soft and inviting. All of these things contribute to how quickly I fall asleep.

I feel a soft squeeze on my wrist, which stirs me slightly. The warmth spreads to my hand, which is then pried from where it has been curled near my chest as I napped during the two and a half hour drive. When my eyes open, Harry is leaning over the center console, soft green eyes wide and innocent as he repeats my name. When he sees me coming around, he offers a slow smile.

I could get used to this I think as I study him hovering above me. I could get used to opening my eyes to this face, open and inviting, eyes searching me to clue in as to how I’m feeling. I want to press my lips to his, reach up and tangle my fingers in that long mane of hair, but my mouth feels dry and I’m all together too lethargic to pull off such a feat. So instead, I croak out a hello and watch the dimples appear in his cheeks.

“Hey,” he answers quietly. “We’re here.”

He moves away to allow me room to stretch and twist the kinks out of my back. I watch him as he runs a hand through his chaos hair before reaching for the handle and hopping out from behind the drivers side. I unbuckle my seatbelt and do the same, my flats hitting the brick of his driveway.

I study the house for a moment, an inconspicuous piece of real estate on an otherwise slow residential road. I find myself wishing I’d been awake to see more of his home town as we entered it, to watch the look on his face as he navigated familiar roads. Looking over at him now with both of our bags in his hands, he looks so happy to be here. He seems so relaxed and elated and it suits him well. He catches my stare and bumps me playfully as he passes me, leading the way up a few front stairs to the front door. Just as he reaches for the handle, it pulls open and Harry lets out a, “Oof,” as his mother engulfs him.

“How was your drive?” she asks immediately. “Did you hit traffic? Did you go the speed limit?”

“Hi, mum,” he mumbles pleasantly into her cheek and she laughs, pulling back only to bring her hands to his face. She studies him for a moment, as if mesmorized by the fact that he’s once again on her front doorstep before she gives him a peck on the lips and moves past him, eyes zeroed in on me.

“Mina!” she calls happily and I’m already opening my arms to accept her hug and make the entire encounter less painful. She wraps me up easily, hugging my body tightly to hers. Harry watches with a grin from beside Robin, who is rolling his eyes at Anne’s theatrics.

“We’re so happy to have you here,” she tells me when she pulls away. “You’re always welcome. Even if this knob is out of the country.”

Harry frowns at being called a knob, but chooses not to argue. It’s the first time he’s seen them in person in nearly a month and I find his self-restraint admirable.

“Thank you, Anne,” I tell her earnestly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“It’s great to see you again, Mina,” Robin calls from the doorframe. I stand on my tip toes to see over Anne’s shoulder and offer him an enthusiastic smile and wave.

“A pleasure to see you again as well, Robin.”

“Can we move this inside, please?” Harry begs, eyes flitting about the street as if fans or paparazzi are about to sprout from the asphalt. I realize suddenly that they very well might in the near future, and find myself anxious to get inside the Styles home.

Anne guides me in with her hand on my lower back, asking me about how our visit with my family went, if Harry was polite, and what I’d like for dinner. She seems ecstatic to have me here and it’s hard not to match her enthusiasm.

The house is nice, decorated perfectly and undeniably homely. It reminds me of one of those magazine spreads on interior decorating that Felicity loves so much. Anne takes notice of my interest and launches into a story of how she came across one of the antique paintings hanging in the hallway. Harry glances back over his shoulder at me, grimacing apologetically for whatever his mum is putting me through, but I shoo him away and tune back into the conversation.

At the end of the hallway is a kitchen, which has a large sliding glass door leading out to a patio. Harry has abandoned our bags in the corner where it’s out of the way and busies himself now with helping Robin transport uncooked hamburgers and hotdogs outside to the grill.

“Do they need any help?” I ask, glancing around the room at the spread of various ingredients laying about.

“Flipping burgers? I think they can handle that one,” she rolls her eyes. “But if you want to help with slicing tomatoes and onions or pulling apart lettuce, have at it.”

I crack my knuckles and pretend to stretch. Anne laughs as she gets a few pots ready at the stove. “I see the obvious attraction,” she comments with a nod out toward the patio where Harry is tossing a spatula around. He promptly drops it and looks around to see if anyone has noticed. When he finds Anne and my eyes already on him, he offers us a cheeky grin.

I shake my head to myself as Anne hands me a knife. I busy myself with cutting the tomato into slices before moving onto the onion. When that’s finished, I wash the head of lettuce and peel off leaves. Anne is making cheesy potatoes in one pot and corn on the cob in the other. A radio plays softly and Anne hums along to it, filling the comfortable lack of conversation. When a Carly Simon song comes on we both recognize, we waste no time in jumping into some impromptu karaoke.

I’m mid-belt when I realize Harry is standing in the threshold between the patio and the kitchen, a phone held in his hand and a hand over his mouth to stifle laughter. I launch myself at him and he promptly turns off his phone and shoves it in his pocket.

“Fork it over,” I demand, and Harry only laughs, catching my hands as I reach for him.

“Even if I did you don’t know the passcode,” he reasons.

“Fifty quid says it’s your birthday,” I shoot back, and he frowns immediately. I take his momentary distraction as an opportunity to reach into his back pocket and slide the gold iPhone from it.

“Hey! No!” he calls as I push him away, typing 0201 into the number pad. When it works, I stick my tongue out at him over my shoulder, failing to realize just how close he is. He’s practically on top of me, his height giving him an advantage as he reaches down and plucks his mobile from my hand.

I whine as I turn to reach for it, where he holds it above his head and out of my reach. I try jumping, but it’s to no avail. Harry only laughs watching me. I finally give up and cross my arms over my chest, huffing.

“You don’t fight fair.”

“Never claimed to, love,” he smirks, lowering his arm to move around my waist and pull me to him. I try to push him away, but he’s too strong, so I settle for glaring at the wall while he presses a kiss to my cheek. I realize we have an audience, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. His mum is leaning against the counter watching us with a smile and Robin glances over while he steals a piece of tomato and pops it into his mouth.

When Harry decides he’s finished torturing me in front of his family, his grip on me loosens and he pulls away, tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. Now that I’m looking at it, I wonder how I managed to wrangle it out of them in the first place with as tight as they are. Then I decide I probably shouldn’t be staring at Harry’s ass in front of his parents and turn away.

“Burgers are ready,” Robin says. “Harry, help get the table ready.”

Harry nods and pushes his hair out of his eyes before following his stepdad out onto the patio where I assume we’ll be eating. Anne has taken the time during which I was otherwise occupied to get serving dishes ready. When I reach for them she shoos me away, so I instead grab some condiments and a pitcher of lemonade sitting on the island, glad to feel helpful.

It’s a few moments of chaos before everyone settles into a seat, Robin and Anne across from each other with Harry and I seated the same way. We pass plates back and forth and work on building our burgers. Mine’s just cheese, ketchup, and mustard. Harry, on the other hand, piles every item within arms reach on it. I wonder for a moment if he plans on drizzling some lemonade on it, too, or maybe piling a plate in there somewhere. He looks so genuinely proud of the burger he’s constructed, and frowns when he sees mine, giving me a pitying look. I shake my head as if to convey he doesn’t want to go there, which only makes him smile good-naturedly.

“Is Gemma still in London?” he asks his mom after we’ve begun to eat.

“She’s coming in tomorrow morning. One of her friends has a birthday party tonight, but she wanted to come by for a day or two while you’re here,” Anne answers easily.

“Wanted to do something with Mina, didn’t she?” Robin asks.

“She talked about you two going for tea or something, I think,” Anne replies, glancing over in my direction. “If that’s okay, of course.”

“That’s perfect, actually,” Harry offers. “A few friends wanted me to stop by tomorrow and I told them I’d try. I didn’t want to leave you to your own devices, though. Who knows what you’d get up to.”

I narrow my eyes at him, scrunching up my nose distastefully. He does the same, pulling an equally silly face. After a few moments I can’t hold back the laughter anymore and give up. He smirks in victory before chomping down into his giant burger.

“Sorted, then,” Anne says.

“When are you going to show Mina the town?” Robin inquires.

“Oh, I’ll take her on a run tomorrow,” Harry responds with a wink in my direction.

“That’s literally never happening,” I tell him.

“You’ll really like it. Town square and all that. Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you take a break and we can stop by my old bakery.”

“I’m not running,” I repeat sternly. Harry doesn’t even glance in my direction.

“Wonder what Barbara’s up to these days...”

Anne surpresses a smile as her eyes flicker back and forth between the two of us. She seems at ease, genuinely happy to watch the two of us bicker. I wonder how many girls he’s taken home before, how many he’s really opened up to enough to show them this part of him. From the way his family acts, I guess it probably isn’t many.

We chat amicably throughout the rest of dinner. When the sun finally sets, we’ve long since finished eating. Robin and Anne clear the plates and pack up any leftovers while Harry messes with a fire pit and tries to figure out how to start it.

“Might want to use some lighter fluid,” I suggest.

Harry mutters incoherently, grumbling at my input. He nonetheless reaches for the lighter fluid and squirts it onto the logs. This time when he lights the match, it catches and I nudge him playfully with my hip. He responds by throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side.

“I’m really happy you’re here,” he tells me earnestly. I turn into him, stifling my smile into the fabric of his tee shirt.

“I am, too,” I agree.

“I think my family likes you more than they do me.”

I roll my eyes as he guides us toward a patio bench. We sit down side by side, him shifting into a comfortable position before guiding me into the space beside him. I’m settled leaning against his chest, his arm still securely around my shoulder.

“I hardly doubt I outshine golden boy over here,” I answer teasingly.

“Yeah, Dusty is pretty difficult to overshadow,” Harry agrees glumly, reaching down. I watch with interest, wondering what he’s doing before he resumes his previous position, this time with a black and white cat scooped into his arms. It mews bashfully.

“Oh my god,” I almost whisper, reaching out for him. Harry glares at me, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

“I haven’t seen him in nearly a year, you don’t get to steal this from me.”

It turns out he has no say in the matter, however. Dusty eagerly finds his way to my lap and snuggles into the crevice between my two legs. He eyes me curiously while licking at a paw and Harry scoffs.

“Now you know how it feels when Gatsby rushes toward the door whenever you walk through it,” I tell him.

“So this is karma, is it?”

“Karma,” I agree, running my hand along the cat’s body.

With my hands occupied, one petting Dusty and the other entwined with Harry’s, I glance over my shoulder in the direction of the house where Anne and Robin are putting away dishes and laughing at each other. I admire the way they are together, how they’ve settled in and made a home here, warm and inviting and not unlike the one I’ve just left in Oxford. They seem so happy together, so in love, and it makes my heart soar.

When I turn to look at Harry, his eyes are settled on the fire. He must catch my stare because he turns his head in my direction and offers me a smile. I smile back, full of warmth. With his cat on my lap and his arm around me, I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him, mixed with burning firewood, and try to hold onto it. When I start to forget, I want to be able to recall this moment, this smell, this feeling. It feels like happiness.