This is dedicated to Denvermaniac (aka my friend Aimee) for helping me get the confidence to do an imagine book! You should check her out because she is awesome! :)

Aimee's P. O. V.

June 11th, 1965

After a stressful day at my job as a secretary, I have had it up to my ears with people and criticism, and I really need a break from the working life right now.

In the city where I live, there are walking trails in a large nature park. I didn't used to go much, but I visit it often now, as being newly employed and putting myself through college dishes out much more stress than I had bargained for. In my haste to get away, I only think to grab my purse before I storm out of my office and head towards the park.

I walk briskly along the sidewalk till I get to the park, and when I arrive I set out on my usual trail. I walk along, letting the cheery June sun warm my shoulders and hair.

Since I know the path well, I let my mind wander to the harsh criticisms of my boss and co-workers, brooding over it, turning over every mistake I've made today in my mind. I had had a really stressful day: waking up late, consequently getting to work late, running into my boss, spilling coffee on his new suit...I was a nervous wreck the rest of the day, which caused me to make dozens of mistakes on my typewriter and my fellow secretaries to get mad at me.

After a spell, I realize that in letting my mind wander, my feet have wandered as well, and I am no longer on my usual path, but in a part of the park I'd never seen before. It was shadier here, and the trees grow closer together, making the sun work harder to reach my face, and giving the path a much less peaceful vibe.

Stupid, I told myself. Bad Aimee, you've gotten yourself lost because you were hosting a pity-party!

Feeling a tiny bit frightened, and more than a bit irked at myself for making yet another mistake, I begin to walk faster, planning to sit down on the first bench I saw so as not to get myself even more lost.

Finally, after searching along the strange path another fifteen minutes, I find it: in a tiny clearing where the sun shines freely, a lovely little iron-wrought bench sits, waiting for me to come and rest. I hurry towards it and plop myself down heavily in relief, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

My shoulders shake and I realize I'm actually doing a bit of both, which makes me giggle at the silliness of my whole situation.

A voice speaks up from the other side of the bench: "Are you alright, love?" The voice is young but manly, with a lovely, strange accent.

I jump up off the bench in surprise; in my haste to find temporary sanctuary, I had failed to see that the bench I'd chosen already had an occupant. The occupant was a young man, probably about my age, with an adorable mop top and fab cheekbones. In his hands he held an open newspaper and on his lap lay a wrapped deli sandwich.

"Oh, no, love, please sit, there's plenty enough room for both of us," he said, smiling genuinely. The lad folds his paper neatly and sets it down, laying the sandwich on top of it.

Like the good, polite conversationalist I am, I just stand and stare at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Seeing my flustered, embarrassed look, he smiles again and pats the bench space beside him, motioning for me to sit down next to him.

"C'mon, love, I promise I don't bite," he says jokingly.

I sink back down reluctantly, sitting much more gracefullyly, since this time, I'm aware that I have an audience (and a very cute audience he is, I think to myself).

"I'm terribly sorry to have intruded like that," I start out, meaning at first only to apologize, but somehow, everything comes tumbling out: "I've had a terrible day, my boss was in an awful temper, and then I spilled coffe on him, making him even angier, so after work I came here for a walk and to think, but then I got lost, so I went looking for a bench to sort my thoughts out on, then I saw this one, and came over and sat down without noticing you were here, and I just...just needed to get away," I stop, my cheeks bright red.

Mistake number eight million, I think, mentally face-palming myself. Great idea Aimee, why don't you just spill your guts to a total stranger?

Mop Top just smiles and nods his head, though.

"I know what you mean, I come here when I'm stressed, too. Something about nature in the middle of a city just soothes the soul, I suppose." He said philosophically, gazing at the trees. Looking back at me, he says, "I'm George, by the way, George Harrison." He holds out his hand to shake.

Something in my mind flickers, a vague recollection of that name. Where had I heard that before? Was he an actor? A singer maybe? Yeah, that sounded close...

Looking up with a small start, I realized I had spaced again and needed to introduce myself.

"I'm Aimee, nice to meet you, George," I said, meeting his handshake with a firm grip to match his.

"Nice grip, Aimee," he says admiringly. I blush slightly through my smile.

"Thanks, yours isn't too bad, either. So, since I've pretty much told you my life story, mind if I ask what brings you here?"

George smiles back at me.

"Not at all. You see, I'm in this band..."

He goes on to tell me about this band he's in, called the Beatles (so that's where I'd heard his name before, he was a singer). He tells me how he loves being in a band, and he loves his bamdmates, too, but that he comes here to relax after particularly long rehearsals, to laze around in the sunshine and get rid of stress.

An hour or two goes by, and George and I get to know each other, talking so comfortably it's as if we were just old friends meeting up for a chat.

As it nears dark, George splits his sandwich with me, and we eat together and continue to talk until the stars come out. George points out the few constellations we can see in the city, and we and up talking about our dreams for life.

I confess to him that I want to be a teacher, and how I need the secretarial job to put myself through teaching college. George says wants his band to become famous.

As it nears eleven, George and I get up from our bench, reluctant to part ways.

George, suddenly seeming a bit nervous, invites me to come and listen to the band practicing the next day.

I say yes, because tomorrow is a Saturday and I'll have the day off both work and school (plus I really want to hear George and his band now).

"Oh, Geo, that would be lovely!" I exclaim excitedly. I bet his singing voice is amazing, I think to myself. "I can't wait to hear you!"

He blushes and smiles happily, and escorts me put of the park (on his usual path), all the way to the apartment building I live in, going with me as far as up the lift and walking me to my door.

I give him one last smile, and then on a sudden whim, dig a pen from my purse.

Reaching for his hand, I grab it and scrawl my number across his palm.

"Call me an hour before you want me to come and give me the address, alright?"

He nods, and on a whim of his own, leans forward and wraps me in a quick hug. I lean into it, hugging him tight, and then gently let go when he does.

We both smile and say goodbye, and I unlock my door and step inside. He turns to leave and I watch him walk about five feet, and then stick my head back out the door and whisper-yell,

"You've been a good friend to me, Geo, and I really appreciate it."

He grins and says, "You're not a bad friend yourself," and walks back to the lift.