See you at 7. Wear something warm. Casual. x

In mere seconds I go from feeling gloomy and tired collapsed on my bed after a stressful day at the book store to nervous with a certain kind of giddiness I haven’t experienced before, shooting off my bed in a wild rush.

From one text message. One measly text message from one weird, persistent guy can make me forget about the exhausting day I spent with a still cranky Alexander. Gone are my worries of bills (paid just in time through Lou’s first payment for her designs), of whatever the hell’s crawled up Alex’s ass these past couple of weeks, of my heart which has been stuttering more and more as of late.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous. No, I’m nervous as all hell. Guilty, too, and the feeling overshadows any semblance of happiness that soared through my chest at the thought of seeing Harry. I’m guilty because I want to go out with him, and if I do, I know I’ll only ending up hurting us both in the end.

While the week had dragged on and on from when I last saw Harry at the store on Monday, it’s as if I only now fully come to realize that it’s Friday. Our date. Dammit, our date.

Throughout the week with only flirtatious text messages and a light lingering phone call from Harry one night, I had been thinking maybe he’d forget about me—the weird book store girl who threw all her problems in his face.

I try to wait a few anxious moments before I reply, and I figure out that I have no idea what to say, confused by our lack of physical contact over the past few days. He’s a busy man—I get that. The only times I managed to see him before this week were during things business related and on the weekend. I was busy, too. My body still hasn’t forgotten how his touch invigorates me and brings senses I hadn’t even known I possessed to life.

Are you sure? I text back, all my insecurities bubbling over into the one short sentence.

Immediately, I receive a reply back. Yes. Quit worrying. Seven sharp.

A deep, steadying breath is inhaled through my nose and I don’t release it until I type out a response and hit send. Okay. See you then.

I know this isn’t the right thing to do… but with Harry, it seems I can’t help myself. Or at least helping myself seems like the right thing to do in the moment, and I suppose that makes me a terrible person.

When I receive his last reply, a kissy-faced emoticon with hearts for eyes, I groan and collapse back onto my bed, body tense.

For maybe all of thirty seconds I lay there, on edge and bursting to move, and finally I can’t keep it in any longer. I rush to the bathroom, eager to change out of my pajama shorts and tank top I threw on as soon as I got home from work and start getting ready for the night, even though this ritual is new and foreign to me. I have another brief moment of uncontrolled panic while I shower, but then I tell myself this is no different than going out for a night with friends.

It’s not. Except for the small fact that most friends don’t kiss each other senseless, it’s not.

When it comes time to choose an outfit, I recall straight away Harry’s text. The words are practically burned into my retinas, along with ‘Yes. Quit worrying.’

Casual. He said warm and casual—I think that’s doable, but it only leads me to wonder what Harry has planned for tonight. Warm and casual. Before now, I would have guessed for Harry to be the type to wine and dine his dates. It would go along well with the swaggering, well off businessman thing he has going on.

But when I recall him at the café the other week, with his leather jacket, disheveled hair and rumbling motorcycle, I realize I have no idea what to expect from Harry. Not a single clue.

That both scares and intrigues me, and like the foreign attraction I feel to the man himself, it lends itself to a dangerous mixture.

“Casual and warm,” I mutter, almost dejectedly, while I stare into my small bedroom closet. He could have been a little more forthcoming with information, too, but when I asked him the other day over text (I’m way too cowardly to bring it up while in a verbal conversation with him), he’d told me it is a surprise.

By the time seven o’clock rolls around, I have already called Vivian twice to freak out and wonder if going on a date with Harry is a good idea or as bad as I think it is. It’s just a date, she advised, and when I hear a car pull up outside I repeat the sentence in my head as if it’s my personal mantra.

Not once do I think of how this car sounds much quieter than the exotic purr of Harry’s sedan. No, all I think is just a date, just a date, just a date. Even so, I can’t ease up my rapid intake of air or how my heart seems to thunder in my chest harder than I’ve ever felt, yet my vision doesn’t blur and my ears don’t ring.

So this is a different reaction. This is my body’s reaction to Harry, not to my heart’s own off-timed beats.

Knuckles rap on the front door, right on time—just a minute or so after seven.

“Hi,” my timid greeting sticks in my throat when I see that it isn’t Harry on the other side of the door after I finally built up the courage to open it, but Alex. In one hand he holds a thumb drive, grinning—a total one eighty degree turnaround from his mood at work.

“Matt canceled,” he says, voice hoarse. I suppose from the odorous smell that’s he’s just smoked a cigarette. “So I figured we could get our nerd on and start on the coding.”

Like always, Alex assumed I don’t have anything to do or go to tonight. I can’t even be mad at him for it, since he used to drop by unannounced all the time and I had no problem with it. But that was before Caleb. Lately more than ever, it feels as if my life is defined by befores and afters more than the present.

Before Dad. After Caleb. Before my heart condition. After everything that was good in my life somehow made itself bad.

“Oh—crap,” I swear, keeping a tight hold on the door handle so Alex doesn’t get any ideas and invite himself in. “I was just heading out.”

My lame response is soft and hesitant. I watch unsurely as I see the eagerness dull within his darkened hazel eyes and he looks down, then back up to me in a fidgety movement that I only ever see him do when he gets anxious or paranoid. I tense, now, suspecting that he’s either high or wanting to get high.

The light smile is replaced with a thin lipped, tight frown. I notice that his beard looks unkempt and his hair slightly stringy. He has that look in his eyes again, the one I can’t place but rattles me in a very bad way. I fight the urge to take a hesitant step back from the doorway and venture back to safety, telling myself that it’s Alex. He might have been into some bad crap before, but he’d never hurt me.

At least—that’s what I’ll tell myself, because the constant flutter in my chest is totally unlike the one the thought of Harry instills. This one hurts.

“Oh yeah? What are you up to tonight?” He sticks the thumb drive back in the pocket of his jeans and looks back to his Honda Civic, parked at the curb in front of the house and blocking the pathway.

Oh, please leave before Harry gets here. I have no idea how I’d explain that to Alex, or how it would look to Harry to see me on my doorstep with another man before I go out on a date with him. Alex seemed on edge enough the other day when Harry came into the book store, and it didn’t look like Harry was all too thrilled about Alex’s presence either.

“Just going out with someone.” The way I say it, I make it sound like a question.

“With Vivian?” He guesses, and I’m still mentally pleading that he’ll just leave already.

Then, right at the worst possible moment, Harry’s familiar dark grey sedan pulls onto the street. I can tell it’s him from the just from the sound of the powerful yet understated engine, and Alex turns around to follow my line of sight when I don’t answer him and instead, stare dumbly at Harry’s car while it parks behind Alex’s Civic.

“That’s him there, actually,” I manage, pointing even though it’s totally unneeded, and he watches Harry get out of his car and shut the door.

Alex whips his head back to me, his shoulders tensing and his chest puffing outward. I take a slight jump back, shocked by his reaction. His eyes are dark with what looks to be fury, and I’m officially scared and confused. My mouth hangs open, but no words are produced.

“Are you serious?” He demands bitingly, but he doesn’t allow me to ask what’s wrong. Instead, he stalks away and back to his car, his shoulder bumping Harry’s when he barrels past him. I gasp when I see such an aggressive move from Alex, and Harry halts, turning his head over his shoulder momentarily to watch Alex’s retreating form. I stay on the porch, shocked out of my wits.

Harry hadn’t even budged during what would have knocked me to the ground, remaining solid through Alex’s childish behaviour; though when he approaches, I can see he doesn’t look at all pleased. Especially when the Civic’s tires squeal as Alex pulls away from the curb at a maddening speed.

“Hello, Miss Townsend,” he sounds distracted and I sense the anger lurking underneath the surface of his words. I consider myself fortunate to not be on the receiving end of Harry’s wrath because though harmless to me thus far, I’d never want to cross him. Alex must be well and totally out of his mind to try such a thing.

It seems as if every single thing is set on going wrong. Such a thought is disheartening, since I’m actually pushing myself out of my comfort zone and trusting Harry to go on a date with him. To believe that he actually might care for me, and that he’s not simply pulling some elaborate prank to make me dislike my life even more.

“I’m sorry about him,” I say half-heartedly, abruptly sad. I don’t know what’s wrong with Alex, but he needs to get himself together.

“You two are friends?” Harry asks, distant and quiet when he turns to me, Alex’s car long out of sight.

“Yeah,” I agree, though I want to tack on a ‘sort of.’ Alex and I are friendly because of work—but I can’t even say that much is true as of late—and sometimes he still likes to think we’re as close as we used to be, but we aren’t the true definition of ‘friends.’

Not by a long shot. Not after Caleb.

“We’re friendly,” I try again, hoping this makes sense. Harry stands close to me, still with the door open and letting the cold night air into the house, though I pay no mind to that.

Harry stops me from thinking any further about all the things that make me sad when his long fingers tangle with my own. I freeze and slowly turn to him, and it’s as if I only now realize that he’s here, Alex having taken up too much of my mind. Swallowing hard, I look up at him. Through he still looks distracted, glancing down the street before turning to me, he smiles when he sees me staring. My face burns, but I try not to think too much about that.

“You ready?” He asks.

Is it too late to cancel? I want to counter. Of course I’m only kidding around with myself, but I smartly don’t let the remark slip. Harry probably wouldn’t find it so amusing, and I don’t even believe he’d let me away with it—bailing on him.

None of my sarcastic remarks make it out, either.

“Sure,” I squeak out, so caught up in his hand. It’s so much larger than mine, engulfing my smaller one with his warmth. “Just let me grab my bag.”

He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s holding onto my hand a little tighter than usual, and he doesn’t let go when I venture back into the house to grab my bag from the living room coffee table, opting to follow behind me. Though I can’t say for sure, I’m willing to bet that Harry’s angrier about Alex than he lets on. To his credit, thought, he’s hiding it well.

“You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?” I try one more time, shaky though sure.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you,” he says lazily, smirking. His eyes dance with excitement and what I’m almost sure is nervousness, though I don’t press myself to wonder why. It does, in turn, make me even more uneasy.

“You worry me,” I mutter in agitation, slinging my purse over my shoulder before turning to him.

He stops and levels me with a steady, intense look, and I automatically freeze too. His abrupt changes in mood—barely concealed anger with Alex, to playful the next moment and now serious. Concerned, even. My heart quickens, yet another part of my body victim to his smoldering gaze.

“You have nothing to worry about, that I can promise you,” he murmurs, voice low, and gently tugs me closer. “Just a date, Jules. It’s not going to end your life.”

Yeah, right. It might. If Harry has any say in it or continues pulling me closer and invading every single one of my senses with him, it very well could. Suddenly faced with another onslaught of guilt, I clam up and give him a mute nod.

“Don’t forget to lock up,” he says on the way out, and it’s as if there’s a hidden meaning beneath his words. He lets go of my hand to watch me lock the front door, eyes following the movements carefully and probably noting the way my hands shake. I don’t want to wonder why he told me this—maybe he’s just careful. Or paranoid. Or maybe there’s a totally different reason. My mind, for some reason, immediately goes to Alex.

I might be an open book to Harry, but everything he does and says is a mystery to me. I only really have one goal for tonight—to create some space between us and get ready to break this off with him… whatever weird little arrangement this is. I don’t deserve Harry. He has too much going for him, and I know I’ll only hurt him. Hell, I already am by lying to him.

Well, not lying exactly. I just haven’t told him yet. About my heart. As if it knows I’m thinking about it, it flutters precariously in my chest. It feels more like a muscle spasm than a flutter, if I want to be truthful.

After he leads the way across the street to his car, Harry opens the passenger door and continues to hold tightly onto my hand while I get situated in the crisp black leather seat, as if afraid I’ll hurt myself.

I watch him put the car into gear and peel away from the curb as carefully as he watched me lock my front door, and I note how natural and at ease he looks driving. No longer are his shoulders tense, and his hand rests lightly on the gearshift while the other holds onto the steering wheel. I realize now that every time I’ve seen Harry, I’ve never witnessed him at rest. Even back at the café with Lou he’d been intent on flustering me out of my mind. It seems to me that Harry has to be in motion to be happy, where as I seem to be stuck in place.

Once again, I wonder what he sees in me.

“You should tell me where we’re going,” I try my best to sound persuasive, but I bet it only comes out whiny. We wouldn’t have to wear warm clothing to a restaurant or a club or anywhere else I can think of for a regular date. My fleece sweater, jeans and cute brown ankle boots with faux fur around the tops surely aren’t typical clubbing attire.

But it’s not as if I have a whole lot of experience in this area. All of these are just my own naïve guesses.

Instead of answering me, Harry turns the radio down—it had been playing some indie tune I didn’t recognize, and glances to me from the corner of his eye. “Do you like Chinese food?”

Pursing my lips, I stare ahead and try to keep myself from giggling like I would have if he didn’t make me so nervous. What a response… I suppose he’s chosen to simply ignore my nagging questions. I’m half tempted to do the same to him, but I think better of it. “I do, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Good,” he says, distracted while he focusses on making a left hand turn. “It’s mine, too.”

“Why?” I question again dumbly, unable to help myself. Harry only chuckles as an explanation, the deep reverberation filling the car’s quiet atmosphere. He takes his hand from the gearshift and presses several buttons on the dashboard console, and then a dial tone takes over the car’s sound system.

I raise my eyebrows but don’t comment on it. This car is much nicer than my Camry, I’ll give him that. I’m envious, even, because all the lights make the dash resemble that of a spaceship rather than a regular car. Whoever’s he’s calling is a mystery to me.

“Special delivery, Styles?” A chipper male voice answers after a couple of rings.

“Yes, please, Chad,” Harry says, pleasant. I smile despite wondering what the heck ‘special delivery’ means. To my own paranoid mind, the phrase is almost ominous. Harry lists off his order of food, at which I realize belatedly that he’s ordering take out, and then asks me what I would like.

“Um—sweet and sour chicken,” I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“You hear the lady?” Harry asks, grinning while he glances at me again before focussing on the road. We’re on a main highway now, with lots of traffic. Typical of a Friday night; Harry seems intent on weaving through the busy streets safely.

“Loud and clear,” Chad answers back. My face burns yet again, and I wish other people didn’t have such an adverse effect on me. Especially men—I just seem to stutter and lose every single brain cell I have around them.

Especially Harry.

“Forty eight sixteen North Broadway. Go around back.”

Well, that doesn’t sound creep at all. I wonder what the heck Harry plans to do up on Broadway, and realize we’ve got another fifteen minute drive to get there. I like this, however, in the car with him. It’s easy—for the first time in a long time, I begin to relax.

And it’s all Harry’s doing. As soon as the phone call is over, Harry’s hand doesn’t retreat to the gearshift again, but ventures over onto my seat and takes my hand, holding it casually while he drives.

“So you’re really not going to tell me what we’re doing? Are we just going to hang out and eat food? Because I’m totally fine with that,” I hope whatever he has planned doesn’t involve a lot of socialization with other people, or in a situation I could embarrass myself. Which is basically everything.

“Have you really never gone on a date before?” He counters. My entire body heats instantly to a scary degree, and I’m sure my face is as red as a tomato. Why did he have to see my list? I’m certain that if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t even be here right now. He would have left, and then he’d forget about me.

But it’s bad enough that he did in fact see it. Now he wants to talk about it, too? I can’t. My heart lurches and my pulse races so quickly I feel light headed. I clutch onto the side panel of my door and look down, concentrating on my jeans.

“Take me home, Harry,” I try to sound strong, though in reality I have to bite back tears. Not once can I be normal, not even with one of the only boys who have ever taken an acute interest in me.

Because he’s a nosy, cheeky, forward bastard, and asking questions like this doesn’t even faze him. If I had to ask him something like that, I’d trip over my own words before I could even get the whole sentence out of my mouth.

For a single second the car slows down as Harry lets his foot off the gas, probably from surprise at my unexpected demand. But only for a second, then Harry’s hand squeezes mine and he looks straight ahead onto the road, determined. “Okay. Duly noted—I won’t ask about it then.”

“Harry,” I say, desperate with a warning intoned.

“Julia,” he has the nerve to mock me at a moment like this, when I’m mad and scared and sad. I try to pull my hand from his, upset, but his grip remains steadfast. He shakes his head. “Look, I’m surprised you even got in the car without a fight. I’m not letting you go that easy.”

Had he really expected me to fight him over a date, even after I agreed the day of? Well, to be fair… I did consider cancelling. Harry really does expect the worst from me when it comes to prying me from this little bubble I’ve created for myself throughout the years, and the fact is both sad and comforting. So I try to steady my nerves and unstable heart, and I can’t believe I’m about to agree to this—whatever tonight is supposed to be.

“No more questions?” I ask quietly.

Actually, I can believe it. For some reason I really don’t want to over-analyze like I normally would, I have a weakness for Harry. However, it’s the sort of weakness that, when I give in to it, makes me feel stronger. Confident. Both in myself and others around me. I sigh. Of all the men I could have become attracted to, it has to be him. It makes total sense yet no sense at all.

“None,” he confirms after a hesitant beat, as if he really doesn’t want to, but will only to appease me. He lets go of my hand and lifts his large one upward and into the air, his thick pinky finger extended and wiggling. “I promise.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, his action having forced out a strained giggle from my dry mouth. He doesn’t answer, just wags his finger in joking impatience. In a moment that can be construed as either courage or stupidity, I loop my littlest finger around his. Before I can pull away quickly from my volunteered contact, Harry laces his fingers through mine and stretches my arm over to press a light, feathery kiss to the back of my hand, eyes remaining focussed on the road. I watch the romantic gesture through parted lips while his own linger on my skin. When he lowers our joined hands to rest on the car’s center console between us, I’m so hot I think I’m about to combust.

If I was sane—if I was smart and not a selfish bitch—I would have wrenched my hand away from his and break off this weird relationship we’re developing. If it can even be called a relationship.

No, my hand stays in his, thoroughly warmed and tingling where his mouth touched it. I can’t deny how nice it feels to hold his hand, and so I can’t bring myself to pull away. I’m sorry, Harry.

Notes

A few notes today! First of all, I would like to thank you sincerely for the three comments I received on the last chapter. I appreciate them so much, and they are the ultimate motivation for me when it comes to writing. I love to hear what you think.

Moving on, I figure I should mention that I finished NaNoWriMo! I wrote 50,000 words in 22 days, and that's the most I've ever written in such a short span of time. I'm super proud of myself :) It helps too that I've fallen in love with this story and the characters. I don't know if this story is any good, but I'm glad those who have commented/rated/subbed enjoy it. Thank you very, very much.

Now, I just want to say that I have huge, huge plans for this story. It's going to be very long, and I feel as if I should warn you now haha. Chapter nine ended up being so long I think I'll have to break it up into two or three parts. I love Harry and Julia's date. I had so much material that I didn't want to cut, a lot of it fluff, so I kept it for you guys! I can't wait for you to read it!

Comment? :)





Hope you like part two of their date! Please comment! I have lots more for you guys! Your comments always motivate me to write and edit what I've written so far so I can get it up for you faster :)

At some point soon I'm going to go back and add a chapter of Harry's POV in between chapter eight and nine. I think at least. I'm writing it now, though I'm not sure where I'll put it. I'll make sure to point it out when I do!

ALSO I'VE GOTTEN OVER 1,000 VIEWS SO FAR AND I'M PRETTY SURE THAT'S AWESOME

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