The Love Club

I wake to bickering outside my door. One voice, distinctly female, is calling the other a tosser. The other voice, one I’d recognize anywhere by his slow drawl and deep tone, is defending his honor.

Rolling over tiredly, I examine the alarm clock warily. It’s 7, which means Harry is about to go on his run and has probably been planning to barge in here until Gemma saved me.

What a sweetheart.

Still, with all the bickering and noise it’s hard to fall back asleep. I wish Gatsby were here to cuddle with; I find it’s much easier when she’s around. The door slowly begins to open, but it’s pulled closed again a moment later. Harry snaps at his sister, who fights back, and I groan into my pillow before pushing back the comforter and sitting up. Rubbing at my eyes, I force myself to stand and cross the room, pulling the door open for myself.

“Oh, good. You’re up,” Harry greets me, sending his sister a Told-You-So look. She snarls at him.

“Yeah, with the two of you screaming out here, I am now,” I tell him frankly. He frowns and Gemma is the one smirking now, with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Our apologies, Mina,” Gemma says, but her voice indicates that despite the fact that she’s speaking to me, she’s also proving a point to her brother. “Harry was very insistent on waking you in an attempt to get you to do physical activity. Like the sympathetic lady I am, I intervened and told him it was rude to wake you in the hopes of charming you into doing something you otherwise wouldn’t do. Harry loves to argue, so really you can blame him. For all of it. Seriously.”

Harry scowls at his sister, who smiles sweetly back. It’s too early for these shenanigans, and I find myself glad I’m an only child. When Harry’s eyes leave his sister, they only widen as his lips form a pout.

“I will reward you handsomely if you go on a run with me,” he tells me.

I’m not quite sure what this reward entails, but I can feel a blush creeping up neck, toward my cheeks. Harry catches sight of this and smirks. Gemma rolls her eyes and punches him hard on the arm, tearing his eyes from me again.

“Oi!”

“Stop being such a wanker and leave us alone. We have plans today, don’t we, Mina?” she asks.

I nod, because her mother had in fact asked me last evening if I’d go out for tea with her. Gemma looks victorious when her gaze lands on her brother again.

“Yes, but I’m much more fun,” he argues.

“You have plans today, too,” she reminds him. “I suggest you get a move on.”

“I’m meeting everyone at noon, I have time,” Harry shrugs.

“Harry,” his sister implores.

“Gemma,” he repeats.

“I’m getting changed!” I declare, and shut the door in their faces.

“Great, now look what you’ve done,” I can hear Harry say.

“She’s not going on a run with you, Harry! No one wants to go on a run with you! Physical activity is awful and you smell bad and get all sweaty.”

“Maybe she likes it!” he counters.

I do. I do like it, but I’m not about to jump in and defend him. As much as I love Harry running and getting all fit, there’s no way in hell he can convince me to do it with him. Harry’s fantastic in talking me into other things, but this isn’t one he’s likely to win. I wonder how he’ll take it.

I check the weather app on my phone, where it tells me it will be hot out again today. I pull on a pair of denim shorts and a white peasant top before I start putting on makeup. When that’s done, I run a brush through my hair quickly and call it good.

The hallway is empty now, which I can only assume means Harry has conceded to his lonely run and Gemma is waiting for me somewhere else. I slowly make my way down the steps, peeking over the railing to find Gemma sitting at one of the barstools at the island, on her phone. I hit a creaky stair and she glances up, offering me a smile.

“All set?”

“Mhmm,” I nod my head, re-adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. Gemma hops to her feet and crosses the foyer to meet me. My sandals are sitting near the door and I slide into them easily before following her out onto the front porch.

It’s raining today. The sky is dark and rumbles thickly with the presence of thunder. I don’t see lightning, and the rain isn’t too heavy, but I still worry for Harry. I don’t want him to trip and fall or otherwise injure himself due to incliment weather. I wonder for a moment if he has his phone on him, if I can call and convince him to come back home.

“He does it all the time, he’ll be fine,” Gemma says, as if reading my thoughts. She winks at me before unlocking her car and sliding into the driver seat. I follow suit, shutting the door behind me, eager to get out of the rain.

A Yeah Yeah Yeah’s song suddenly fills the space between us, and she reaches forward to turn it down before throwing the car in reverse. I settle into the warm leather while we wait for the air conditioner to cool enough to turn it on.

Gemma looks on at the streets much in the same way Harry did when we first arrived. I know she has the opportunity to visit home more often, but even she has made a life of her own in London. I think of how I feel when I come back to Oxford and understand where she’s coming from. Even if you’re close, you don’t always get to take the time to explore the streets you grew up on, and it feels like a weight lifted off your chest, like a breath of fresh air.

We’re headed away from the town proper, near the outskirts. There’s a McDonalds and a Tesco, and she pulls into the lot. A few other businesses are located beside the Tesco, and I can see an outdoor patio for dining at one of them. I assume this is our destination.

“This place makes a mean breakfast sandwich,” Gemma tells me. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I am starting to gain an appetite the longer I’m awake. It usually takes me a while to develop in the morning, but once it’s there, it’s full force. I expect by the time we order and the food arrives, I’ll be famished.

Gemma pulls easily into a parking spot near the front and hops out. I round the back of the vehicle where she waits for me, and we make our way in together. Since it’s still fairly early in the morning, there’s no long wait for a table and we’re immediately seated, inside near the patio but in a space that allows us privacy. Our waitress brings us coffee and menus. I’d become a bit of a coffee snob during our stint in Italy, but this brew isn’t half bad and I inhale the scent before taking a sip.

“I suggest the paneeéd chicken andouille sandwich. It sounds weird, but it’s delicious, trust me,” Gemma says.

“Is that what you’re getting?” I ask.

“I’m more in a waffle mood myself, but if worse comes to worst, we can switch plates.”

I smile over at her and close my menu. Seems it’s settled, then. She grins back at me and adds her menu to mine to create a stack.

“So how has tour been going?” she asks.

“It’s been going well,” I shrug. “You’ve been before. It’s just interesting to see how it all gets put together, and to watch the guys perform.”

“And you’re settled in better? Harry was worried about that for a while, but it seems you’ve made some friends.”

“You two talk about me?” I inquire.

Gemma snorts, making a face. “You’re pretty much all he talks about. He’s really shit with girls, actually, and I’m a great advice giver.”

To my raised brow, Gemma starts to laugh again.

“Harry’s shit at being with girls. He’s a pro at reeling them in, but he’s lost once he’s got one. You’re freaking him out a little bit. You’re different than the others.”

“How so?”

Gemma bites down on her lip and shifts her weight. She seems lost in an internal battle of whether or not it’s her place to comment on it, especially to me. Our waitress returns and takes our menus, asking if we’re ready to order. Gemma seems happy to have a distraction and launches into our orders. When the waitress disappears again and my eyes are still fixed steadily on her, she sighs.

“Harry’s developed a bit of a pattern when it comes to women,” she finally says. “He doesn’t like to be alone, but he doesn’t want to hurt anyone when he has to leave and his life gets too hectic to keep in touch anymore. So he goes for these models and these actresses because he knows they’ve got so much on their plates that when it inevitably fails, he’s not the only one to blame. And it worked for him...”

Gemma pauses here to take a long sip of her orange juice before launching back into it again.

“I mean, he has a great month or two with these women and he feels happy, and then he leaves for tour and things fall apart but it doesn’t matter so much because he loves being out there performing, so it takes the edge off. And on some level, when he begins those relationships, he knows it’s going to end up like that. It’s safe for him to do. But you don’t fit into that formula. You’re a wild card. He didn't see you coming.”

I mull this over quietly. It’s certainly true that I’m not on any comparable level with a model or actress for obvious reasons. I’m also confused because it was Harry who had been the one to persue this with me in the first place. I suddenly feel as if I’m in over my head, and Gemma must sense this on my face because she suddenly rushes to correct her mistake.

“No, Mina. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’m only saying you’re different, and that’s a good thing. You’re forcing him to do something he’s not used to doing. You broke the pattern, so that means whatever is happening here is authentic. He hasn’t wanted this from anyone else.”

These things all sound so simple coming from Gemma. They’re fact, steadfast and out in the open. She’s so sure of them, and she must be; Harry’s told her these things or they’ve been otherwise observed by someone who knows him best. A peculiar expression crosses Gemma’s face and she smiles sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I suppose it would probably be better for Harry to tell you these things himself,” she tells me quietly. “So I’ll just shut up now and we’ll talk about something else.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just not something that has come up in conversation yet.”

“Maybe it should,” Gemma offers, returning her eyes to me.

“Maybe,” I agree.

She folds her hands together, elbows resting on the table as she studies me. Her smile never falters, and she doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Above anything else, I feel as if I can trust her. It’s only our second meeting, but she holds a quality much like her brother; an openness and understanding that’s easy to connect with.

“How did your parents take to him?” she finally asks after a few moments.

“Felicity really likes him. I think my father does, too, though he hasn’t really outrightly said it. They went golfing.”

“The pinnacle of bonding in any male relationship,” she says with a roll of her eyes. I can only chuckle in amused agreement.

“My dad used to force me out on the green with him. It was awful. I was always so impatient and I was too small to figure out where I needed to hit the ball or how much momentum to go into it. I’d just blindly swing and hope for the best.”

“I think that’s all golfers do, anyway, honestly,” Gemma responds while lifting the steaming mug of coffee to her lips.

“Harry practically had to drag me mini golfing. It was like having war flashbacks.”

Gemma shakes her head slightly and grins. Our waitress appears suddenly with our food and we each thank her before digging out our silverware and setting the napkins out on our laps.

The breakfast sandwich certainly smells amazing. A flaky bun cut in half with a knife, between the slice is the chicken, andouille sausage, a zesty sauce, avacado, and a peppered egg. The combination is a little more than intimidating, but I’ve been adventurous as far as eating goes lately, and have no problem lifting the creation to my mouth to take a bite. I let out a satisfied moan and Gemma throws her head back and laughs.

“Told you,” she jokes.

That, she did.

We settle into silence as we each dig into our respective meals. Every bite of the sandwich is more delicious than the last, and I’m mid-foodgasm when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I keep one hand on my sandwich and the other firmly on my phone as I lift it and see what’s going on.

I have a few texts from Duncan, a missed Facetime with Mitchie, and a text from Niall. At the top of my alerts is Harry’s name, and I slide my finger across the screen before typing in my password to unlock the phone. I scoff at the photo that’s revealed.

He’s drenched, his white tee shirt sticking to his chest while he grins cheekily at the camera and runs a hand through his wet locks. Beneath the photo he’s sent the message, ”See what you’re missing?”

“What did he do?” Gemma asks around a forkful of waffle, her voice resigned. I’m sure she can tell by the look on my face that he’s gone and done something ridiculous.

“He’s being a vain arse,” I answer, my eyes narrowed at the image on my phone. I’m pretending to be unamused for his sister’s sake, but I’m secretly saving the photo for later. Never know when a girl might need that.

“So nothing new, then,” Gemma comments.

“Nothing new,” I agree.

Another photo suddenly appears, a selfie taken to the side as he throws his head back, hair everywhere. I actually let out a bark of laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He looks like a cross between a wet dog and a Burberry model. I save the photo and raise him one of his unamused looking sister sitting across from me. Almost immediately, I get a reply of him snarling his nose. ”Way to ruin the mood.”

I roll my eyes and sit my phone back down on the table. Gemma is biting back a smile as she observes me and I wonder how long she’s been watching as I type back messages.

“You two are really cute,” she finally says. “It’s just the honeymoon phase, but I like you. When things start getting difficult, I want you to remember these things. Because I hate to say it, but it’s the calm before the storm. But he’s worth it.”

I nod my head, breaking eye contact to look at my near empty plate. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard this warning, and now I feel as if I’m bracing for impact.

The words ”He’s worth it” echo in my mind.

–

Later in the day, Gemma drives us back to the house. She easily falls on the couch beside her mum, who invites me to watch a movie, but I decline in favor of catching up on some social interaction. It’s slightly startling to realize that all of my friends have been centered around this tour, aside from Duncan. With this break, I haven’t seen any of them and it’s easy to get lost in this fragile bubble of a world Harry and I are slowly building together.

I open my laptop and click on the Facetime app, hoping to catch Mitchie. I’m not sure what time it is in Puerto Rico or if she’s even awake, but I figure it’s worth a shot. I smile when she picks up, the staticky sound arriving first, then a pixelated view of her face.

“Mina!” she squeals. I chuckle, mostly because Mitchie is the last person I’d ever describe as being a squealing type. The sound is foreign rolling from her tongue, but I chalk it up to excitement.

“Hey!” I enthusiastically respond.

“How are you? Where are you? Are you home? Are you with Harry? How is Harry? How are your parents? Have you seen your parents?”

I can do nothing but laugh louder. She’s giggling, too, like she knows she’s being ridiculous but can’t help herself.

“Sorry,” she sheepishly apologizes. “I’ve been stuck in this tiny house with twenty-six Puerto Ricans celebrating my second cousin’s birthday and I’m a little drunk, but mostly I remember why I left in the first place.”

“Oh,” I sigh. “I’ve missed you.”

“Answer the questions, Mina. I’m forgetting what the English language sounds like and I need information.”

I grin and roll my eyes at her theatrics, but relent.

“I’m in Cheshire with Harry. We’ve been by to visit my parents, too.”

“Is that so?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, shut up. This is normal. Everything is normal. We’re being normal,” I defend.

“Oh, yes,” she sarcastically responds. “Taking weekend trips with your popstar boyfriend to meet the parents before jetting off to another country? Totally normal.”

“I never said conventional,” I point out. “But for us, it’s as normal as it’s ever going to get. In regular relationships, that’s a thing, right? You meet parents fairly early on?”

Mitchie shrugs and takes a sip from a lime green straw. I can’t tell what she’s sipping from because the drink itself isn’t in frame, but I have no doubts as to what’s in it. There’s a pink tint to her light brown skin and she’s acting six times more animated than usual. She’s not flat out drunk quite yet, but she’s well on her way.

“I guess under the circumstances, it’s normal,” she says, accenting this with air quotes. I want to send her a pointed look, but know I should pick my battles. I let it slide.

“And what about you, Mitchie? How has your break been?”

“Fucking hell,” she groans. “My family is great and I love them, but please just let me sleep in and don’t complain when my room is messy. I’ve spent the last few months picking up my own staff’s mess, I’m allowed to have one of my own!”

I smile fondly at her. She sighs and takes another drawn out sip of her drink.

“Have you been to the beach?” I ask.

“Hell yeah. I go every day if only to get out of here.”

“You haven’t sent me any pictures,” I frown.

“You want some bikini shots of me on a beach?” she challenges.

“Absolutely,” I answer, not backing down.

“What would your boyfriend think?”

I subconsciously flinch at the word. Mitchie nearly drops her drink.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she says, deadpanning through the camera. “You’re doing that weird thing where you don’t define anything despite the fact that you’re literally staying at his house in both England and L.A.?”

“It hasn’t come up yet!” I nearly shout. I realize this is the second time in a day this has come up as an issue with my various female allies. I hate serious discussions, but it seems one might be in order. Still, I’m not particularly excited to initiate it. I don’t want to be that whiny girl begging a guy to date her, but I know we can’t continue living in this awkward limbo where we’re in a relationship, but don’t actually call it a relationship.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a call from Harry. I frown at it as it rings and Mitchie leans closer to the camera, as if this will allow her to see what’s happening on my phone.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she questions. “Better answer it.”

“Piss off,” I shoot at her, but lift the phone to my face regardless.

“Hello?” I ask into the reciever.

“Mina!”

Wherever Harry is, it’s loud. I can barely make out his voice over the loud roar of the crowd surrounding him. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was calling me from the stage or something.

“What’s up?” I ask, brows furrowed as I try to work out this puzzle.

“My friends want to meet you,” he answers. Then, lower, “And I want to see you, too.”

It occurs to me suddenly he’s been drinking. His voice is lower than usual, slower and slightly slurred. His accent is thicker since coming home, and I’d be really into it under normal circumstances, but I’m too busy working in the logistics of whether or not he’s supposed to be the designated driver at whatever club I assume he’s at.

“Where are you?” I ask tentatively.

“Canvas Lounge!” he answers happily.

“Did you drive?”

“Yes!”

“And are you in a state to do that now?” I ask.

There’s a long pause, and then, “Maybe not. We can take a cab back, though. Just come here. Please?”

He draws out the please like a toddler, and I roll my eyes. Mitchie’s forehead is practically the only thing I can see on my computer screen when I glance back at it, she’s leaning in so far. I snort and she must see me looking at her on her own computer screen because she pulls away and only gives me a nod of acknowledgment. Why is everyone I know plastered right now?

“Yeah, alright,” I sigh.

“Really?” he asks. “It was that easy?”

“Don’t let it go to our ego,” I mumble. “I just want to make sure you’re still in working order and don’t hurt yourself.”

“Which parts do you want to check?”

I pause in whatever it was I was about to say. Probably something clever and cheeky, but that’s all out the window. Why has he been so suggestive to me lately? I swallow thickly and I can hear his low chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Joking, Mina,” he assures me. I only sigh and run a hand through my hair. Then he takes the liberty of adding, “You know. Unless you’re into it.”

“This conversation is over,” I tell him, and he laughs again. I can’t see him, but it isn’t hard to imagine the crinkles at his eyes, the way he throws his head back when he finds something especially amusing.

“I’ll call a taxi and see you in a bit,” I tell him.

“See you soon,” he replies before the line goes dead.

“So,” Mitchie declares, and I nearly jump. I’ve forgotten she was there. “Word on the street is you’re ditching me.”

“Harry’s drunk,” I answer her.

“That makes two of us,” she says, holding her cup up high and cheersing it to the camera. I roll my eyes, but can’t help the giggle that escapes me. “Go define your relationship while he’s still drunk enough to forget it all in the morning.”

“Goodbye, Michelle.”

“Toodles.”

I shut my laptop and scoot it aside before forcing myself into a standing position. I wonder if the same attire I’ve been wearing all day is “lounge” appropriate. Whatever the hell a “lounge” is. I decide to shrug it off rather than change. I’m too comfortable now, and with the sun setting, I don’t want to dirty up another outfit. After calling a taxi, I’m all set.

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I make my way out of the guest room and down the stairs. Anne and Robin sit side by side on the couch, Robin immersed in whatever show is on the TV while Anne scrolls through an article on her iPad. Gemma is nowhere to be seen, probably engaging in similar activities with her own friends elsewhere. When they notice my presence, they politely look over to me and I smile sheepishly.

“Harry asked me to join him at some lounge thing, so I’m going to take a cab down there,” I tell them.

“Harry isn’t picking you up?” Anne asks, brows furrowed.

“He’s been with his friends, I don’t think he’s in a state to be driving,” I answer truthfully. “I’ll drive his car back, though.”

“No, have fun. You guys can take a cab back, Harry doesn’t care about the car. It’ll be fine.”

I know I’ll still drive the car back, if only for my own peace of mind, but I only offer each of Harry’s parents a smile in turn before pulling open the door and stepping out into the cool summer evening. The cab is idling at the end of the driveway and I slide in, repeating the name of the venu to the driver. He seems familiar with it and pulls out onto the road.

The drive is short, only ten minutes, and he pulls to a stop in front of a brick building with outdoor seating. I eye it warily as I pay the driver and step out. It’s exactly up Harry’s alley; the bottom floor is an art gallery and upstairs I can hear a jazz band playing. The people at the patio seating all have drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces and seem to be in their mid- to late-forties.

I roll my eyes but pull open the door. A blonde hostess greets me with a smile, which I return before plunging into the sea of people. Most people down here are milling about and taking sips of wine while they study the art. There’s a spiral staircase leading upstairs and I take it, sure that’s where I’ll find Harry.

It’s darker upstairs, with blue mood lighting. The bar is at the far end of the room, the stage on the opposite side. The staircase deposits me in the center of the dining area, with tables surrounding me. In the lack of proper lighting, I squint to try to find Harry. It doesn’t take me long; his table is surrounded by people pulling up chairs and he’s boisterously laughing. I’m intimidated by the amount of people he’s surrounded by, and he seems so comfortable I don’t want to interrupt, but I’m here and he’s asked me to come so I suck up my courage and begin in his direction.

At first he’s distracted by a boy to his right, just beyond a blonde girl who is happily sipping at a drink and chuckling at whatever the boys are talking about. There are various other conversations happening with other people at the table. His attention turns suddenly from whatever his friend is saying as he catches my movement from the corner of his eye, and his face lights up, if it’s at all possible with how comfortable and content he seemed before already.

“Mina!” he shouts, holding his hand out for me. There are a few chairs blocking my way to him, but the people sitting in them offer me a polite smile and scoot out of the way. It’s then that I realize there’s really nowhere for me to sit, and I’m mentally preparing to awkwardly stand when his hand grips mine firmly and pulls me into his lap.

So this is what we’re doing. Cool.

“Everyone, this is Mina,” he introduces proudly, his arms wrapping around my midsection. His arms cross and land easily on my lap. He then begins listing names as he points to each person in turn at our table, but there’s really too many to keep up with all at once. I offer a shy hello and they all return it before immersing themselves back in whatever conversations they were having beforehand.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember all those,” Harry tells me quietly in my ear. “Some are aquaintences from school and others just sort of came over here to chat. I came with Rory, Alice and Jonny. You should remember those.”

I nod to affirm that I’ve heard him, but don’t try to respond over the drumbeat of the jazz band. Harry doesn’t seem to mind as he presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Mina, what are you drinking?” the girl identified as Alice directs at me.

“I don’t think I am,” I respond. “Have to get this one home safe and sound.”

Harry wrinkles his nose at me and I stick my tongue out at him.

“You can afford one drink,” Jonny butts in. “I’ll buy. What do you want?”

“Really, that’s okay,” I object, but Harry cuts me off.

“Red wine,” he answers for me. His eyes shift to me a moment later and says, “You don’t like white.”

He says it like a fact and I can’t help but smile. He’s been paying attention. I wonder what other little quirks of mine he’s picked up and stored for later.

“Right,” I affirm, and he pumps his fist in the air in victory. The boy Harry has indicated as Rory laughs. Jonny stands to head to the bar, taking a few empty glasses with him.

“How was your day with Gemma?” Harry asks, craning his neck over my shoulder to meet my eyes. They’re glassed over, just barely, but enough to be noticable. I’m definitely driving us back tonight.

“Productive,” I answer with a shrug, intentionally vague. Harry pouts and rests his chin on my shoulder.

“That sounds scary.”

“How was your day?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Great. We went to lunch and ended up back at Jonny’s house, which is where we used to hang out when we were kids. It was nice,” he answers.

“I’m glad you got to see everyone. It sounds like you had a nice day.”

“I did,” he agrees, his hold on me tightening. Jonny arrives a moment later with a glass of wine and I thank him over the din of the bar as he passes it to me.

“Least I can do. Especially if you’ve been spending all your time with this idiot. What a handful,” Jonny shakes his head sadly.

“Heyyyyyy,” Harry drawls in offense. Alice only laughs and leans toward me.

“In year seven, Harry was out to impress this girl from our maths class,” she begins. Rory is already cracking up and Harry is reaching out to cover her mouth, but she swats at his hand. I’m already intrigued and aid in keeping Harry’s arm away from his friend. He shoots me a glare, but I only smile sweetly at him before returning my attention to Alice.

“Oh, god,” she giggles before continuing. “So he’s trying to be cool, totally pulling the singing thing. He sits down beside her at lunch, and she’s three years older than him and sort of eyeing him like, ‘The hell does this kid think he’s doing?’”

“Please, for the love of God, stop,” Harry groans, his forehead hitting my shoulder as he grimaces in embarrassment.

“So he’s singing some song by the Temptations, and he’s mid belt when the girl’s boyfriend shows up and punches him straight in the face.”

I can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes my mouth. The rest of the table is equally amused by the telling of this story, but Harry sinks lower in his seat, not an easy feat with me on his lap.

“Had a black eye for a week and a half, cried like a baby,” Jonny recalls fondly.

“And he still somehow managed to snog her behind the bleachers at a footie game three weeks later,” Rory adds helpfully.

“Oh, Elaina Mansfield,” Harry sighs. “ Wonder what she’s up to these days.”

I elbow him in the gut and he cackles, leaning in to press a kiss to my nose. I intervene and put my hand on his forehead, pushing him back.

“Get away from me, you tosser,” I grumble, which only makes him laugh harder.

“Sounds like he was much smoother with you, though,” Alice teases. “Hiring you to be his matchmaker? What a clear, concise and not at all confusing way to let a girl know you’re interested in her. Rory, are you taking notes?”

“Mina’s scary!” Harry defends.

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

I don’t care to argue this further with him, especially in the presence of his friends. They’re all watching this exchange with more than mild interest, and I wonder what’s running through their minds. I wonder how many other girls they’ve seen in my position, if they’re mentally placing bets on if I’ll last. I quickly push that thought away and focus instead on Harry’s hand sliding into mine as I distractedly take a sip of my wine. For someone who has an aversion to public displays of affection, he’s not holding back much. It’s probably because he’s home, in a place that feels so safe and surrounded by people he loves. It strikes me abruptly that I might be on that list as his thumb traces patterns on the back of my hand.

“Harry, we have to head out. We’re only home for the weekend and then it’s back to uni,” Alice says softly, touching Harry on the arm.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice tinged with something like sadness. I wonder if when he looks to his friends, he sees a future that could have been his if things had been different. I wonder if he longs for the simplicity of a life like that. I can imagine so.

I push up off Harry’s lap to allow him to stand and embrace each of his friends in turn. “It was so good to see you, mate,” Jonny says as they hug.

“You, too,” Harry answers. “I’ll see you soon.”

Jonny nods in agreement before moving past him and embracing me as well, much to my surprise. “Keep him in check,” he warns jokingly and I only giggle in response.

“It was fantastic to meet you,” I tell him earnestly, and he grins at me.

“Likewise.”

Alice and Rory embrace me as well before they make their leave. There’s still a table full of people wanting Harry’s attention, but his eyes are focused on me.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks.

“Are you finished here?” I respond, eyes turning toward the table of people still chatting and laughing happily.

“Yeah,” he admits, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “I don’t really know these people anymore.”

I frown at the tone of his voice, but don’t argue. It must be difficult to come back to this; people he’d once seen daily at school now strangers. He’s been gone long enough for everyone’s lives to change, to develop into something they’ll set the foundations for the rest of their lives on. As much as this feels like home to him still, he also doesn’t quite belong anymore. It must be difficult.

“Okay,” I agree.

Harry nods and I take his hand, leading the way to the staircase. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, but not too drunk to stumble as he walks. I keep a tight grip on him just in case.

When we enter the gallery, I pause. Harry stops beside me and lets my hand fall from his as I walk toward one of the pieces. It’s a series of canvases, splashed over with color and thick with texture. The colors contrast, dark with neon, but they mix together on the canvas. The sign on the wall beside them lists prices, but I’m focused on the title.

“What I See When I Think About You,” Harry reads aloud, leaning in and squinting a bit to read the small print. He straightens beside me and eyes the canvas, roaming the expanse of it.

“It’s messy,” he comments.

“Complicated,” I say.

“Beautiful.”

Harry slides his arm around me and presses his mouth to my cheek. When I turn to look at him, he takes advantage of this new angle and meets my lips with his, briefly but with fervor.

Neither of us are talking about the painting.