Summertime & Butterflies

“Oh, my God,” Olivia breathed out, clutching her stomach as she examined herself in the full length mirror. “I am so freakin’ nervous! This is going to be okay, right? This isn’t a bad idea?” She looked at her sister hopefully, searching for reassurance.

“Oh my God!” Stephanie moaned, throwing her head back with frustration and glaring at her sister. They’d been going through the same song and dance since the barbecue two days earlier. As soon as Harry and Louis had left Stephanie’s house, Olivia’s nerves were rattled, and over the next couple of days, she changed her mind about going more times than she would care to admit. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go. She was more scared about what would happen if she did go. What if she liked him too much and had to go home in just a couple of days? Or worse, what if he realised he didn’t like her at all and couldn’t wait for her to go home? Neither were desirable outcomes.

“Do I look okay? I look fat, don’t I?” Olivia groaned, covering her face with her hands and flopping onto the bed. “What if he thinks this is the stupidest idea ever? Do you think he’ll change his mind and won’t want to see me? This could be so bad,” she added melodramatically.

Stephanie pressed her fingers against her temples and closed her eyes, her look akin to the same look she would give her children when they were stressing her out. “So, let me get this straight,” she began, and Olivia sighed. Any sentence that began with those words generally didn’t bode well for the person on the receiving end.

“He asked you out… twice… because he didn’t want to see you,” Stephanie began, counting her points off on her fingers. “He came to my home… after being rejected by you… just to see you… because he didn’t want to see you. He asked for your number and he called you – not a text – to make plans with you. And even though you had a total 90s teen, coming-of-age movie, preciously adorable, insanely sweet little kiss, you still think he doesn’t want to see you? Come. On.”

“Ugh…,” Olivia sighed, though she found herself smiling at the reminder of the kiss she shared with Harry. It was exactly how Stephanie had described it – it was sweet and pure, reminding Olivia of the innocence of being young. She hadn’t experienced a kiss that gentle and kind in a very long time.

“You know I’m right,” Stephanie informed her triumphantly, tossing her a jacket from the pile of clothes strewn about. “Here, put this on.”

Olivia stood up and pulled on the jacket, kicking aside discarded clothes and tripping towards the mirror. She exhaled loudly as she examined her reflection. Truthfully, she was quite pleased with the way she looked. Stephanie had treated her to an early morning shopping trip and a stop off at a salon. She agreed to a cut and style, but drew the line at extensions, disappointing both Stephanie and the stylist. She looked good, she knew. But she still wondered if she looked good enough for a date with Harry Styles.

“I like him,” she confessed to Stephanie, meeting her sister’s eyes through the mirror as she twisted and turned, surveying herself. “That’s the scary part.”

Stephanie sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her slender legs and watching Olivia pick herself apart. “Do you remember my first date with Jeff?” she asked Olivia, smiling wistfully at the memory, almost twenty years earlier.

Olivia snickered. “Yeah,” she answered, flicking a hair elastic at her sister. “He was supposed to come and help coach one of our games, but he ditched us so he could take you bowling. Dad was so mad,” she added with a laugh, remembering her strict father’s reaction to the eighteen year old WHL player taking his fifteen year old daughter on a date without asking his permission first.

“He got over it,” Stephanie chuckled, flicking the elastic back at Olivia. “But, my point is… I was so nervous, I puked like three times. And now… I kinda dig that boy a bit,” she said with a giggle. “I’d say it turned out pretty extraordinary…”

“I thought you puked because you ate that weird fish at Aunt Bonnie’s house,” Olivia cut in, bending at the waist and fluffing her hair.

“Ugh, do you have to remember everything?” Stephanie sighed. “I just mean that I was so, so nervous about that silly little bowling date! And look how things turned out for us. Like, you never know. Just go and have fun, and see what happens. Stop overthinking everything, just chill out and have fun. Fun!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Olivia promised her sister. “You’re right. I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

*~*~*~*

Olivia couldn’t remember the last time a date had volunteered to pick her up at home. Harry had insisted upon picking Olivia up, and scoffed in disbelief when she suggested she could meet him somewhere. He told her he would pick her up at 5 o’clock sharp, though he kept the plans close to his chest. He only advised her to bring a sweater and wear flat shoes, which pleased Olivia, as she hated heels.

Punctual to a fault, Olivia was sitting at the bottom of the stairs at quarter to five, nervously tapping feet against the hardwood and hoping Harry was a punctual person – tardiness was such a turn off, though she was certain he could be an hour or more late and she wouldn’t be turned off by him. Stephanie had the mindset to usher her boisterous family to the park, so as to not intimidate Olivia more than she already felt.

The doorbell rang at precisely 4:51. Olivia’s stomach flip-flopped, but she was pleasantly surprised by Harry’s punctuality. Standing up, she ran her hands down her thighs, smoothing down her new jeans before checking her hair in the mirror. She might not admit it to Stephanie, but she was in love with her new hairstyle.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling quickly, she placed her hand on the doorknob and held it there for a moment before opening the door. Harry stood on the front porch, dressed casually in tight jeans and a white t-shirt, and yet managing to look like he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. He grinned bashfully at her, his dimples seeming to get more prominent each time she saw him. His smile had a way of comforting her, and with seeing it, all of her doubts and bad nerves flew out the window. A boy didn’t smile like that if he wasn’t excited to see the girl standing in front of him.

“Wow,” he stated by way of greeting, his gaze going from her head to her toes, though not perversely. “You… look really pretty,” he told her, the bashful grin not leaving his face. “Oh! And hi, of course,” he added hurriedly, stepping closer to her and enveloping her into a hug. She reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his waist. At 5’4”, she couldn’t quite get her head to his shoulder, but she fit perfectly under his chin. And that smell… He was divine, If she could bottle it and sell it, she would be made in the shade.

“Hi,” Olivia answered, her voice muffled against his jacket. She pulled away after a moment and smiled, her smile as bashful as Harry’s. She wondered if he wanted to kiss her again like she wanted to kiss him. However, torturous as it was, she kept her hormones in check – one kiss did not a hello kiss make. “And thank you,” she added, her voice a few octaves higher with appreciation. “You look… boy-pretty?” she suggested with a teasing smirk. While there were plenty of other adjectives to describe Harry, boy-pretty somehow seemed the most fitting.

He laughed the same adorable higher-pitched laugh she’d heard the other night. “That’s perfect, I’ll take it,” he commented.

Olivia laughed, pleased he found her compliment funny and not derogatory . “Thank you for coming to get me,” she told him, genuinely appreciative of the gesture. She reached behind the door, grabbing her purse and the required sweater from the coatrack before facing him again, smile still across her face.

“It’s my pleasure, of course,” he replied, his tone still slightly dumbfounded at her appreciation, as though it was unheard of to him for a man to act any other way. “Shall we?”

Olivia nodded. “We shall,” she answered, stepping out of the house and closing the door behind her. A sleek black Audi was parked in the driveway – not unusual for this neighbourhood, but still a sight to see for Olivia. She briefly wondered if he would let her drive it.

“Pretty nice ride you’ve got,” Olivia commented as they walked side-by-side down the walkway. He smiled sheepishly and Olivia got the sense he wasn’t one who liked to flaunt his wealth – though, the fifty-thousand dollar car in the driveway said otherwise.

“The seats are comfortable, anyway,” he told her, opening the passenger side door for her – another impressive move on his part. She slid into the luxurious car, pleased to see it was a manual transmission. She knew her dad would have a hard time accepting a skinny British rocker, but his ability to drive stick would at least get him a point in his books. Then she wondered why she was thinking about what her dad would think about Harry.

Harry hopped into the car a moment later, grinning at Olivia and gesturing at the console between them. “I got you a coffee,” he told her. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so there’s a bag of sugars and creams and stuff like that there.”

Olivia didn’t care what was in the cup; his gesture was thoughtful enough. She’d drink lukewarm gas station coffee just because he’d thought enough to get it for her. “Thank you,” she told him, picking up one of the cups and carefully fiddling with the tab. She warned herself not to spill all over his fancy car, or her new jeans. “Black’s perfect.”

“That’s how I like mine, too,” he told her, holding his hand up to high five at the shared trait. Her hand connected with his, but once they were joined, they easily found the comfortable, interlocked position. As he started the car and moved his hand towards the gearshift, she was recanting her initial satisfaction of his car being a manual. She suddenly remembered one of her first dates with a boy who drove stick, way back in high school, and Stephanie had advised her to angle her knees towards the centre of the car so each time he reached for the gearshift, he’d brush his hands against her knees. Feeling nostalgic and flirty, she did just that.

“Don’t move that too far away from me,” he warned her cheekily, managing to bump her hand playfully as he shifted into reverse and threw his arm across the back of Olivia’s seat before backing down the short driveway.

“Yes, sir,” answered Olivia, a similar saucy tone to her voice. She kept her left hand close to the console, waiting for him to maneuver his car through the slow-speed neighbourhood streets. She took a sip of coffee before nudging his hand.

“So, I’ve got my sweater,” she informed him, reaching into her purse and pulling out her sunglasses. “And my flat shoes. So where are you taking me?”

He offered her a sideways grin. “You’re good at following instructions,” he commented, letting the statement hang in the air. His tone was lighthearted as he ignored her question, clearly not planning on answering it.

Olivia laughed. “You’re not!” she pointed out teasingly. She wasn’t a fan of surprises; more due to the fact that she was nosy. But she wasn’t going to tell Harry that. If he planned on their date being a surprise to her, she wasn’t going to ruin that for him.

“It’s my one flaw,” he admitted with a shrug, the look on his face suggesting he was trying to remain serious, but a grin broke through. He directed it towards Olivia before taking her hand again and squeezing it. She wondered what he was made of, if every touch he gave her was electrifying to her.

“You’re a bit too modest, too,” Olivia said good-naturedly, squeezing his hand back. “But other than that, yeah… You’re pretty much flawless.” She said the words tongue in cheek, but she found herself thinking this boy really could be flawless.

Harry chuckled, keeping his grip on Olivia’s hand while nudging the stick into gear. The motion impressed Olivia – the mechanisms were as smooth as butter, not like the rusted out farm trucks she was used to. “You’re a bit of a sassy one, aren’t you?” he asked, grinning with endearment. “I like it,” he told her.

“It’s gotten me in a bit of trouble in the past, but… as long as you like it,” Olivia told him, surprised at how easily it was to be flirtatious with Harry. Maybe she was lucky enough to get over the bumbling idiot stage early on.

Harry grinned, looking as though he was about to say more but his eye caught the screen in the centre of the dashboard, broadcasting the next song to play. “Sorry, but… if you don’t know this song, I may have to kick you out right here. I mean, I won’t,” he quickly corrected, shaking his head shamefacedly. “But it’s only because I’m incredibly nice.”

“Ahh… we might have a problem,” Olivia confessed, looking at her hands and pretending to be ashamed.

“I was only kidding!” Harry assured her, letting go of her hand and moving his hand towards the stereo dials, intent on finding a song Olivia would know. “It’s okay!”

His apology was so adorable that if he wasn’t driving, she’d have pounced on him and smothered him with kisses. Granted, she wanted to do that anyway. Reaching up, Olivia took his hand, moving it away from the dials. “The problem is… it’s too quiet,” she teased him. “Of course I know this song! If I didn’t, you should kick me out.”

“Good,” he affirmed, giving her a relieved grin. “But… are you gonna sing with me?”

Olivia balked. She knew she didn’t have a good voice. Sure, she could rock out to karaoke – getting down on one knee and caressing an audience member’s cheek during I Want It That Way, or performing dance moved straight from MuchMusic’s Electric Circus during Wannabe. And if she was with anyone else, she would have busted out her best air guitar moves and belted out the words as loud as she could. But she was sitting next to an actual professional singer. She couldn’t go toe-to-toe with Jon Bon Jovi while in the same car as Harry Styles.

But his smile looked so earnest, she found herself agreeing with him. “Okay,” she said, sighing loudly. “Let’s just do this,” she advised, pressing the volume button until she was sure she’d be inaudible. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

He wasn’t listening; already deep into the first verse. “… working for her man, she brings home her pay for love, for love…” Harry looked over at Olivia as he sang those words and tickled her hand. “You’re too quiet, Miss I Know This Song!” he called over the music.

She shook her head at him, feeling her face get hot. She knew exactly why she was insecure with singing – her best friend in grade eight had mocked her and told her she couldn’t sing. But that bitch was now over three hundred pounds and living in a shack on welfare, and Olivia was holding hands with Harry Styles in an Audi. So, fuck her.

“We’ll give it a shot!”

“Oh, we’re halfway there! Whoa, oh! Living on a prayer! Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear! Whoa, oh! Living on a prayer!”

As they sang the chorus together – loudly and incredibly off-key, even him - Harry lifted their joined hands as Bon Jovi sang about holding hands. Olivia hadn’t ever thought an 80s hairband song could be romantic – and if she had to pick one, it would have easily been Every Rose Has It’s Thorn, naturally – but in just a matter of moments, Living On A Prayer suddenly became the most romantic song she’d ever heard.

“What does he say there?” Harry shouted over the music. “Baby, it’s okay!” he added, continuing with his singing.

Olivia laughed. “Hock!” she shouted back. “Like a pawn shop!”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, as though she’d just solved a complex quantum physics formula. “I never knew that!”

“You live for the fight when it's all that you've got!”

Their voices cracked simultaneously as they attempted to hit the high notes – Olivia supposed no one sounded good while singing obnoxiously loud in a car. As the song came to an end, she realised she hadn’t even been embarrassed to rock out with an actual rock star.

It was actually kind of fun, she thought to herself, hoping they could have an encore with the next song.

“You might have a future ahead of you there,” Harry told her, his voice teasing but not malicious as he turned down the volume to mute the commercial playing next.

“Yeah, watch out,” she warned him playfully, surprised that she wasn’t embarrassed by his ribbing. It was bewildering to her that she felt so comfortable with Harry. She hardly knew him, and yet, felt as though she could be entirely herself with him.

“Ehh… yeah, you’re right. Never mind,” he told her, rubbing his thumb along her hand. “Just keep singing with only me, okay, Small Town Girl?” he asked, his comment a play on words as the next song title flashed along the screen.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit,” she sang in response, deciding against telling Harry that she abhorred this song, and just sang along instead. They both laughed suddenly, watching each other air guitar between the verses.

“You can’t not!” she called to him. Despite her hatred for the shitty song, it was one of the best she knew for air guitar. “Oh, the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on and giggidy, giggidy, giggidy goo!”

Every time Olivia heard the wretched song at a bar, she amended the lyrics to the Family Guy version, with Quagmire’s trademark statement in the song. She did so, almost subconsciously, during this car ride with Harry. What she didn’t count on was him changing the lyrics exactly how she had. They both looked at each other in awe before cracking up in amazement that they were both seated beside someone who did the exact same stupid thing they just did.

“Get out of my head!” Harry shouted to her.

“You get out of mine!” Olivia countered back, watching him drum against the steering wheel and decided that there was no question; he was the most adorable man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Notes