Personal Assistant ➵ H.S.

14

It was your last night back home before your flight the next morning. The week had been perfect; you spent some time catching up with your family, checked in on the grandparents and even squeezed in some time to go to brunch with your best friend who you'd known since you were four years old, Felicity.

While reliving and laughing over your countless memories, cocktails in hand, you filled her in on what had been happening with Harry.

"Frills," you still called her by the childhood nickname you had given her because of the frilly socks she used to wear every day when you had first met, "I just don't know what to do, I don't know why I froze and just...ran, he's given me every reason to believe that he is interested in me and I just left him standing there...he probably hates me,"

She scoffed lightly, "Yeah, I'm not buying that Celia," this was her nickname for you, as when you had first told her your name she misheard you and called you Celia, instead of Cecelia, for at least a year until she realised that wasn't your name, but she had carried it on as you grew up, "The man is obviously besotted with you, and if you really believe in him and what you two have together, you can't let that slip away."

You nodded in response, "I'm scared of being rejected though, imagine how awkward that'll make things!"

"There's nothing wrong with you laying your cards on the table, because, and I'm not gonna lie to you," and you knew she was about to hit you with some brutal best friend honesty, "but you did just reject the poor man yourself in front of a bar full of your friends."

You grimaced and put your head in your hands, your speech muffled, "Argh, I know and I feel terrible for it!"

"Exactly, so put yourself out there like he did for you, and show him that his intentions were not wrong!"

You left the restaurant late in the afternoon, feeling tipsy and content; seeing Felicity and getting her advice had really helped your jumbled thoughts start to make sense. She was right - there was no shame in showing Harry that you returned his feelings and didn't want to let your own insecurities ruin what could be something wonderful.

Sitting on the train back to your house after parting ways with your best friend, you got your phone out of your bag and began to type a text message to Harry.

Harry, I'm so sorry about everything, I never wanted to hurt you. Can we talk when I get back to New York? C x

Your thumb hovered over the send button for what felt like an eternity, the little blinking text bar impatiently mocking you, waiting for your decision. Chewing your bottom lip between your teeth, your cowardliness overtook you and you deleted the message, you still had a few days left at home - the text could wait.

But now here you sat in the garden with your Mum, leaving in around 12 hours, with a text still not sent.

"Hunny, why do you look so concerned? Are you nervous about going back?" Your Mum could read you like an open book.

Placing your wine glass on the table in front of you, you considered what to say, "I'm a little nervous, yes, I know that Frilly's right - I need to tell Harry how I feel before it's too late, but I just feel like I need some sort of sign from him that I'm doing the right thing."

She stroked your face softly, "You've always been one to wait until you're 100% certain of something, and that's helped you countless times in your life, but I think for this you need to just do it - even if you're not 100% sure."

Sighing, you agreed, you knew she was right even though a bundled knot of worry was present in your stomach. For some reason it felt like this would be a make or break; he'd either feel the same or he wouldn't, and you just had to be willing to take that risk.