The next day, Harry and I headed home. We hadn't said much to each other since last night. It wasn't even that I didn't want to talk to him, it was the fact that we were arguing and then things just led into...that. It felt awkward.
"What was last night?" I finally ask. Harry turns to look at me, confusion written on his face. "I mean, first we had sex and then you started to say something then just...stopped. Are we just friends? Or are we like...more than that? Because the last thing I want to be is friends with benefits...or anyone's toy because I'be already been through that and don't want to do it again."
He lets out a sigh, turning his whole body so he could both face and look at me. I had a feeling whatever he was about to say must have been really serious, considering this is the first time he's done this anytime we've ever been in a car together.
"You know, Lili, I'm gonna be honest with you," he begins. My heart pounded in my chest, anticipating his upcoming answer. "The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable o-or freak you out, but I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't hold back my feelings for anyone ever again. Like I said yesterday, I want to live without regrets. Life's too short."
"But we didn't really say anything we just..."
"I know," he says before sighing, frustrated about something. "I just feel something that...I-I've never felt before."
I stare blankly at the road before us, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I hate that I did, but I couldn't help but wonder how many other girls he's said that too. I didn't just want to be another fling to him. The feelings I had for him that started out as a seed have now grown roots and are beginning to sprout.
"So to answer my question..." I push him for a straight response.
"I like you," he says hesitantly, quickly drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. "And I began to say that last night cause I-I'm just scared that...I'm going to...miss out on something amazing. But I backed down."
"But we haven't known each other for very long," I say rationally.
"I know." He sighs again. "But the first time I met you I felt something. And I know that's so cliché to say, but that's why I gave you my number. I would never ever in a million years just give a random fan with VIP tickets my personal cell number. But I really, truly felt like I could trust you."
My heart felt warmed by his words.
But still, I felt like he was getting a little bit ahead of himself.
"I appreciate that," was all I could think to say.
What was I supposed to even say to that?
"Lili, I need to ask you," he says seriously, still looking at me intently, "Do you have any feelings for me?"
I thought hard for a moment. I wasn't sure what to say to him. I've known Harry on a personal level for only around a week. Being a fan of someone and having true feelings are two completely different things, and I felt like I was beginning to learn the difference.
But I'm not ready to fully admit it. I don't want things to blow up in my face.
"I do," I tell him wholeheartedly. "But I don't want to move too fast. I mean, I barely know you and you still have so much to learn about me."
"But you see that's why I'm here," he says optimistically. "I want to learn everything there is to know about you. I want you to show me the places you go when you want to be alone. Or where you work and what exactly you do. I want to know your favorite spots around town, and not just in Steamboat Springs. I want to know Liliana."
"There isn't really much to know about me," I tell him shyly. "I'm not trying to sound like I'm having a pity party or anything of the sort, but I'm not all that special."
Harry looks down at his hands in thought, before perking his head up just as he thought of something to say.
"You paint, don't you?"
"How do you know that?"
"I saw the easel in the corner of your room," he explains, shrugging, "Plus there are paintings all over your house."
"Well, yeah. Now that you bring it up, I do paint," I say sheepishly. "But I haven't picked up a brush in a long, long time. And besides that, lots of people paint."
"But not everyone's as good as you are," he compliments, smiling sweetly. "Because you're so good at painting, are you good at nail art too?"
He rested his elbow against the central console, then put his head on the palm of his hand. He looked like he was listening intently and seemed sincerely interested.
"I mean, yeah, I'd like to think so," I say humbly.
"Do you think you could maybe do mine sometime?" He asks, smiling cheekily. "My nails I mean."
My eyebrows raise. "You really want me to do your nails?"
"Yeah," he says, looking down at the blue and pink polish that was chipping, "I usually do it myself, but it can get a bit messy at times when I use my left hand. Plus you're a professional nail tech, so I'd like to see what you can do."
Harry asking me to do his nails for him was both a big compliment and a huge task. I'm nervous to mess up my clients' nails as is, and some of them have been going to me for years. I'd be so scared to do one little thing wrong, my hand would look like it was having its own little seizure.
"I mean, I will if you'd like," I agree, glancing over at him for a split second, still driving. "But all my supplies are at my salon. So we'd have to do them there."
"I wouldn't mind meeting your work friends," he says simply, shrugging. He lifted his head off his hand and placed both his hands in his lap.
"The only thing that would make me nervous is someone spotting us there then have people bombarding my salon every day, hoping to see you," I explain anxiously, "My boss would not like that very much."
"Is there a way we could get in with a low chance of being seen?"
"We could always go in through the back," I suggest, "but I'll have to make sure Linda is okay with it."
"I hope Linda doesn't mind," Harry says, chuckling.
"Yeah, me too."
"But I totally get what you're saying," he nods knowingly, "about the whole 'fans coming into the salon' thing. The ladies that own the bakery I worked in when I was younger get bombarded by fans almost every day."
I giggled. "I remember wanting to go visit the bakery when I was younger."
"Who says you can't?" he asks, smirking. "I could show you all around Holmes Chapel. Or even back to London. My mum has a field in her backyard that I think you would love in the summertime."
"That sounds fun," I say, "Maybe I'll have to visit sometime."
"Maybe I'll be the one to take you."
He turns his head away from me to look straight out the windshield at the winding road before us. I bit my lip, holding back a smile as I thought about his offer.