Nora Dodson is a "fast-talking, F-bomb-dropping, born-and-bred New Yorker". Harry Styles is no longer a member of One Direction. He's lovely, kind and a very odd young man, though he's entirely unhappy in his relationship. But then he meets Nora an...
"Please know...that wherever you are from, whoever you are, whoever you'd like to be, I love each and every single one of you. Thank you so much." - the beautiful boy himself
...
Monday, December 7th 2026
1:25 P.M — Harry
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What do you bloody expect me to get her, if not a trip to Paris?" I ask my friend of almost fifteen years, as he pesters me in my kitchen.
"A puppy! Women love puppies."
"M'not getting her a puppy, Nicholas." Actually, we had already discussed possibly adding a new addition to our family, a gift to the kids, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. "Nora and I haven't been on holiday together since our trip to France, six years ago—almost seven now."
"Right, so why would you take her back to Paris, if the two of you've already gone before?" He pours himself a glass of wine, despite the clock reading one-thirty. I've got a sneaking suspicion that he's a high-functioning alcoholic...very high-functioning. He had three mimosas for breakfast. I bite my cheek, my mind trailing back to my wife's undecided Christmas gift. I didn't know of anything else that I hadn't done for her before. What could I do different? Bring her cats back? Nope, couldn't do that. Bring her mom back? Also no. A romantic getaway in Paris? Apparently not.
"I don't know!" I whine, like a baby.
"Where'd you go for your honeymoon again?"
"Lac de St. Cassien...a small village in the South of France."
"What's with you and France, lad?"
"It's romantic!"
"It's boring and cliché! And here I had you pegged for a sappy, lil' cornball—shame on you, Harold!"
