Something Great

Chapter 5

Pulling into the driveway, I turn off the car and enjoy the silence for a bit. I think back to the past couple hours of my life, and I can't help but grin foolishly. The excitement bubbles to the surface and I finally let my inner fangirl loose, covering my mouth with my hands and squealing loudly. I know that he genuinely meant what he said about wanting to see me again, but in reality, the chances of me seeing him again are pretty slim. He's at the mercy of so many people, that despite the best of intentions, I'm sure his experience with me will be forgotten quickly. I'm not even sure if I'll actually text him. But, rather than worry about things I can't control, I choose to enjoy the present. What an epic encounter. Now I have to wrestle with whether or not I should tell any of my fellow 1D fan friends. I know Ally would probably kill me if I kept this a secret, but come to think of it, I like the idea of keeping this to myself, to cherish. I shared some moments with an internationally-renowned pop star. He's in such demand, there's a waiting list to shake his hand. Is there anything wrong with this staying between us? No witnesses, no photographers, nobody to impress. Just two strangers sharing a small space. My smile is wistful as I mentally tuck these memories away into my back pocket, to hopefully enjoy on some future rainy day.

I finally haul myself out from behind the steering wheel and open the trunk to start gathering my purchases. Right as I'm grabbing the first bag, the front door to the house bursts open and Patrick comes jogging toward me. He's always so laid back, that the somber, almost frightened expression on his face throws me for a loop.

I stop what I'm doing and look at him quizzically. "What's wrong?"

He pauses, staring at me open-mouthed. "Oh, I don't know, you were supposed to be home ages ago? Emily had expected you to be back in time for stories, so I had to distract her. Now that I know you're alive and not hacked to bits in a ditch somewhere...I'm assuming this comes with a story?" I purse my lips in amusement at his disgruntled expression. He just scowls and turns towards the trunk of my car. Satisfied that he's sufficiently scolded me, he starts helping me with my bags. Patting him on the cheek as I head toward the house, I call over my shoulder, "yes, there's a story and I will tell all. But first, I'm in desperate need of an adult beverage, and second, you need to not worry so much. It's gonna give you premature wrinkles."

"Oi! None of your sass!" he calls back, good naturedly, his momentary ill temper all but forgotten. I follow behind him with the rest, and set all the bags on the dining table. "Emily is asleep, right?" I ask him, to which he nods affirmatively. "Wanna help me wrap everything?"

He arches one brow. "Can we have beer while we do? 'Cuz I wanna hear this story, and judging by your rather obvious blush, this is going to require some Dutch courage I think," he smiles at me knowingly. Throwing an errant Christmas bow at him, I roll my eyes and head toward my guest house to retrieve the rest of the gifts I picked up for Emily. Returning a few moments later, I stumble through the door with my arms full, loaded down with gifts, wrapping paper, bows, and tape. Before getting started, I tiptoe upstairs to Patrick's spare room. Quietly opening the door, I peer in to see Emily's angelic sleeping face, her dark hair falling across her forehead. Smiling wistfully, I whisper, "sweet dreams baby girl." Padding softly back down the hallway, and then the stairs, Patrick meets me at the bottom step with an ice-cold bottle of Leinenkugel's. "If you think for one minute that you're going to get out of telling me everything, such as the reason you're two hours late, and the reason you look like the cat that got the cream, you're completely mental." Realizing Patrick will not be dissuaded, I walk back to the table, pick out a roll of wrapping paper, and settle in for a bout of story-telling.

Patrick is one of my closest friends. He's been like a brother, protector, and confidante, all rolled into one. He saw me at my darkest. He literally helped me survive losing Jacob. I would trust him with my life, and often seek his advice. It's for this reason, that I do tell him absolutely everything. For the next hour, as we throw back beers and wrap presents, I recount every detail. The shock of seeing Harry at the mall (I take at least a few moments to fangirl). My shitty attitude in the elevator. The elevator getting stuck. I have a tough time meeting his eyes when I recall the panic attack, for the humiliation is still a bit too raw. I tell him how kind Harry was, that he didn't try to embarass me or treat me like a freak, and that he went out of his way to comfort a complete stranger. When I start telling him about all the flirty banter, I can't help but giggle like a teenager. Chagrined, I realize the obvious - I'm infatuated.