Chapter One
One could adjust an airplane seat a thousand different ways and it wouldn't make any difference to the general comfort level. Harry shifted in his chair like there were ants in his pants, trying to find a semi comfortable position for the long flight home. After what felt like forever, he achieved a semi tolerable one and although it wasn't pleasant, it would have to do.
A full year had passed since he saw Jessica but he thought of her often; more than often, if he were being honest with himself. Did she look different this year? Was her hair still long? Had she colored it? Was she still trying to lose the last five pounds Harry could never convince her she desperately needed to hang on to? Would she smile when she saw him?
Gazing out the window, he allowed his heavy eyes to close and his thoughts to drift to the first time they'd met.
***
Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, England - 2008
"Harry Styles! You've got until the count of three."
Her tone was unmistakable. Mum was done messing around, she'd called him five or so times but up until now, he'd been busy ignoring her. He tugged his t-shirt over his head and peered around the corner cautiously. "Yeah?"
She stood in the kitchen, pies in hand. "Here," she thrust the pastries toward him. "Take these next door so I can finish getting ready."
He didn't want to go to the next door-he didn't really know them but he did know better than to argue with his mother, so, resigned, he held his hands out in expectation. She tightened her grip on the pies and narrowed her gaze on him. "You aren't wearing that are you? You look a mess."
What? His t-shirt and denim was a perfectly acceptable option. "I guess not," he said.
"Good boy. Wear something proper."
He was wearing something proper! He rolled his eyes and headed back to his bedroom. To meet her demands, he selected a crisp white button up and a pair of trousers. By the time he returned seeking her stamp of approval, she'd tidied up and was slipping her apron over her head.
He motioned to his new choice of wardrobe. "Better?"
"Much." She nodded to her pies. "Now take them. They need to go into the cellar and stay cold or they'll spoil. Carroll said the door would be unlocked. Careful not to startle anyone."
"It's Christmas," Harry muttered, scooping a pie in each hand, "not Halloween."
Twisting a doorknob and hanging on to two warm pies was a challenge in itself and he swore by the time he stumbled through the door that there was going to be a casualty and he'd have blood-the cherry pie filling kind-- on his hands.
"Ever heard of knocking?" a quiet voice asked. As he stepped further inside, his gaze settled on a slight girl with flaxen hair. She stood with one hand on her hip and her head tilted to the left. She clearly hadn't been expecting anyone because her blue eyes were bloodshot and she swiped at them frantically with a sleeve covered fist.
"I've heard of knocking. I just usually reserve it for entering through a front door. Not a basement. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," Harry said holding the pies up. "My Mum made pies for the party. Following orders to put them in the cellar."
