I wake up to most irritating alarm ever: Drake's Hotline Bling with its video game-sounding chimes. Ugh, my little brother got to my phone again. He's always changing the settings and it's really starting to exasperate me.

I find my phone and turn off the annoying alarm. As I sit up, I remember my fantastic time with Harry last night. I realize that I don't have his number, but then I remember that I do know where he lives.

Wow, I've turned into a stalker.  I think to myself with a chuckle.

When I stumble into the kitchen and grab a coffee mug, my mom asks if I have a class this morning.

"Mom, it's Thanksgiving weekend." I remind her. "I'm working the trolley tour today and tomorrow."

"Oh, right!" She gasps. "I'm a little off with the extra shifts I've been working at the hospital."

My mom got her nursing degree when I was in high school, and she's been working the junk shifts at the hospital ever since. She's the low woman on the totem pole, I guess. But she doesn't complain at all; it seems like she loves her job.

"Wow, Mom," I joke. "I hope you don't get confused like that when you're taking care of your patients!"

She gives me a mock offended look, and then says, "No, I save my best thinking for being a nurse. I let my brain relax a little when I'm not on the clock. But it was a hectic shift yesterday, so I'm a little more tired than usual." She comes over and plants a kiss on my forehead and then sits down across the table from me, her fresh mug of coffee steaming in her hands.

"So, who's Harry?"

I look at her with a mischievous smile, like a little girl trying not to giggle while keeping a secret from her mommy. I watch her blue eyes widen with impatience while she waits for me to spill the details. Her hair is still naturally blond, although it is starting to show some silver highlights. Even with a few more laugh lines each year, my mom still looks eternally young.

Finally, the dam breaks and I flood her with details all about the wavy-haired, green-eyed guy who made my first trolley shift of the year so memorable. I can't stop the stupid grin that keeps taking control of my face. "He's really nice. And, well, he's kind of...."I search for the right word, "...disabled. I think."

My mom's face shows a little confusion, and I try my best to answer the questions she hasn't spoken.

"He walks with these arm crutches, and I can tell he uses them all the time. I mean, like he's not just using them for a broken foot or something. He gets around on them pretty fast. He even made his way to the top of Lover's Lookout."

My mom grins and asks, "Lover's Lookout? Really? Your date went that well?" I know she's just teasing, but I also know that she would like to know every single detail of my outing with the Harry.

"Mom!" I blush. "I just wanted to show him around. It was not a date. For heaven's sake, I just met the guy! And I didn't think to ask about the crutches. I mean, I thought about it, but I figured it wasn't really any of my business to ask about them on a first date." I smacked my forehead. "No! It wasn't a date! I mean, I didn't want to ask the first time I met the guy!"

My mom snickers at the fact that I'm getting flustered and stumbling over my words. But she can't possibly understand when she hasn't actually seen Harry. He's beyond description. Just...those eyes and that hair and that smile! It's enough to get anyone flustered.

"Besides," I move on, after regaining my composure, "he's not from around here. He's staying at his family's cabin on Brickstone Road. He's originally from England but his family lives in Madison now. He's going back to the University of Wisconsin after the holidays. I don't even know his phone number."

"Well, that's probably good. You're not ready for anything serious yet. You still have to finish college."

I'm tempted to roll my eyes at that last comment, but I resist. First of all, I never said anything about getting serious with the guy. But also, it's a little challenging to feel like a "real" grown up when I'm still living with my parents. Don't get me wrong; my parents have been great about helping me make decisions for my first few years of college. But sometimes, I think they forget that I'm an adult and that college is not just an extension of high school. It's one of the drawbacks of living at home instead of renting an apartment.

We sit and enjoy the sunlight coming through the kitchen window. No one is fooled by the late November sunshine in Eagle Canyon. It's deceptively cold outside, and without a layer of clouds, the temperature will continue to drop. I make a mental note to find my insulated gloves before I head to work this afternoon.

Just before work, I text my best friend, Dani: Met a super cute guy at work last night.

I know Dani will get the message immediately, and respond almost as quickly. She lives for social connections.

From Dani: Dish!

To Dani: His name is Harry. Spent 3 hours with him last night.

From Dani: OMG. Cute?

To Dani: OFC! He's going to med school too.

From Dani: Marry him!

To Dani: LOL. Not quite yet.

From Dani: Send pics

To Dani: Soon. I have to work now. xoxo

Danielle Kyle. What on earth would I do without my best friend? I was almost heartbroken when she moved to Chicago after high school, but she is incredibly faithful and, as I mentioned, very good at keeping in touch via social networks. She was here for Thanksgiving but she had to return to Chicago yesterday. I don't think I could go a day without texting her or talking to her.

~*~*~

"Hello! Welcome to Eagle Canyon's Christmas Lights Tour."

As I predicted, it is colder than last night. The sun is just setting and the mercury will continue to drop. I'm glad I remembered wool socks today.

In all these years, the trolley tour has only been canceled once, due to a blizzard on Thanksgiving weekend, but never due to subzero temperatures. Sam Calkins has braved the snow and cold to give the tour every single year, every single weekend from the day after Thanksgiving to the last day of December. I've been lucky to have this job for four years running. It pays well, and it's my only source of income besides my summer job. My sister wants the job after me, but I'm not quite ready to let it go, yet. However, she will be a shoe-in since Sam adores me. My parents have never wanted me to work during the school year – in high school or college – but I think that will have to change next year once I transfer to a university. Maybe the University of Wisconsin? I'd never really considered it before, but I spent some time researching UW last night after the "Harry tour."

I look up to see how many children are on the trolley. I grab a handful of glow sticks and pass them around to the kids. As I near the back of the trolley, I hear a familiar voice, "Excuse me, miss? How long is this tour?" I turn to find myself looking directly into Harry's handsome face. I can't believe I hadn't noticed him, or that I hadn't noticed the tiny flecks of gold in his mossy green eyes the night before.

"You didn't get enough of the cold last night?" I laugh. My heart is racing with excitement to see his face again. "There are four tours tonight, each lasting around 35 minutes," my official sales pitch begins. "If you ride all four tours in one night, you will receive this souvenir shot glass free!" The glass has some goofy slogan on it about Eagle Canyon. It only costs $2.50 in Sam's little gift shop, but it is a fun perk for riding the trolley, I guess.

"That's a tempting offer," says the sweet face in front of me. His attention turns to my hands, "I'm glad to see you have warmer gloves tonight."

Suddenly, I hear Sam's voice on the speaker saying, "Folks, we're ready to start the tour as soon as our guide, Katherine, makes her way to the front of the trolley."

I turn in embarrassment and head quickly up the aisle, amidst a few giggles and grins from passengers who had taken notice of my extended conversation with Harry. Endless cups of hot cocoa emit curls of steam from almost every location on the trolley. Another of Sam's specialties: hot cocoa for 50¢, offered at the front of the trolley ticket line. He could make a killing on hot cocoa sales alone. I'm not sure what's in his secret recipe, but people can't seem to resist.

The four back-to-back tours fly by, since I have a pleasant focal point of my own. I look back at Harry every chance I get. Every single time, he's staring back at me. He even manages to embarrass me again with a question about the bluff above the Christmas display, "Is there a name for the highest cliff up there, past the light display?" He gives me a knowing smirk.

"Lover's Lookout," I say. My face turns bright red, and I hear people saying, "Aww!" as they look back and forth from Harry to me.

"Thanks a lot for making me lose my cool up there," I laugh as I greet Harry after the last trolley tour.

"How could anything make you lose your cool? It's downright frigid here!" Harry grabs one of my glove-covered hands and asks, "Can I get a lift back to my cabin again?"

I laugh and ask, "Did you get stranded here on purpose?"

"You got me!" He grins. "But in all honesty, I was hoping that maybe we could get a cup of coffee first."

I blush and agree, "That sounds very nice...and warm."

Harry brushes little flakes of snow out of his hair as we enter the small diner on Fort Road. The wetness leaves his hair looking slick and more amazing than before, if that's even possible, the waves and curls working together in a magical display. I marvel at the color of his hair and notice that he even has a few caramel highlights.

The diner is a bit gaudy and dated. It's decorated with kind of a classic-diner-meets-hunting-cabin theme. The walls are covered with diagonal wood paneling, circa 1970's. The floor is a black and white checkerboard pattern. The bar stools at the counter look like they were once red vinyl, but now, they are a variety of materials and colors, some with the original red vinyl patch-worked into the design. The booths are comprised of black tables and red seats. Suspended from the ceiling are old vinyl records with faded labels. A smattering of pictures featuring Elvis or Chuck Berry are hung haphazardly on the walls. The décor is oddly broken up by a few moose heads, a bear head, and about ten kinds of mounted fish.

Regardless, the place is very popular with locals and tourists alike. I'm surprised that we're led to a seat so quickly on a Saturday night.

"Do you want some dessert?" I'm astounded by the smile that accompanies Harry's voice. I feel instantly warmed by his closeness.

"No, I drank so much hot cocoa on the trolley tour that I can't think about more sugar for the rest of the weekend. But, thank you. Coffee will be perfect."

Once we're seated, I ask, "So, what really possessed you to ride the trolley four times tonight? It's so cold, I can't believe that anyone would stay out there willingly. I mean, clearly I  had to stay because it's my job."

"I really needed this shot glass." Harry pulls the tiny glass out of his coat pocket and laughs. "But, seriously, I wanted to see you again."

My face flushes, and I look down at the steaming cup of coffee that has just been placed in front of me. Did he really just say that? Did he mean it the way it sounded? He wanted to see me?

Or maybe I'm the only person in his age range and he had to get out of the cabin and away from his family again.

"Oh," is the only response that I can come up with. I'm trying to wait for the blush to wear off before I look up again.

I hear the jingle of the diner's front door and automatically look over, just in time to see my parents walking in with my sister and my little brother. I wave and Harry turns to look over his shoulder. "My family just walked in," I inform him.

Fiona and Marcus waste no time in rushing over to the table. I suddenly realize that Fiona doesn't know a single thing about Harry. I feel like I've known him a lot longer than a day. Fiona was out shopping with her friends all of yesterday, and then she had gone out to see a movie and didn't return home until well after I was asleep. She's a junior in high school. We're  normally pretty close but she had slept in quite late this morning, and we haven't had one spare moment to connect until now. I don't want her to feel like I've been keeping something from her, so I make a point of introducing her first.

"Fiona, this is Harry. Harry, this is my sister Fiona. I met him on the trolley tour last night." I try to emphasize to Fiona that I haven't known him any longer than that. "And this is my brother, Marcus, my mom, June and my dad, Ed." I motion toward my parents who have just reached the table in time to shake Harry's hand.

He reaches out to my mom and dad, saying, "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs...uh, I guess I don't know your last name."

"Galliver," my dad smiles. "But you can call us Ed and June."

"Do you want to join us?" Harry asks and I'm impressed by the move. My parents always wants to be involved in my life when guys are concerned.

My mom is about to accept when my dad quickly interjects, "No, thanks. We'll sit over there." He motions to the large booth at the back of the diner.

While the rest of my family sits down, my mom takes another moment to invite Harry to brunch the next morning. Our family has this tradition of making a huge brunch almost every Sunday after church. We usually invite friends or new people from church. My parents are what I call "chronically hospitable." It's no surprise to me that she has invited Harry, but I silently hope that he doesn't think that my parents are reading too much into our friendship.

"Tomorrow actually doesn't work," he answers, and my heart drops a little.

He's trying to bow out gracefully, I think.

He checks his phone quickly. "How about next weekend? I'm free on December 2," he politely suggests to my mom.

She smiles and says, "Sounds good," and then she turns to make her way to the booth where my dad and my siblings have already found a seat.

Once she is out of earshot, I give Harry an uneasy smile, "Don't feel obligated, okay?"

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes, of course. I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable. You've known me for a day and you just met my parents."

"I'll be there," he smiles.

He takes a long sip of his coffee and then closes his eyes for a moment. I noticed his long fingers, adorned with a few chunky rings, wrapped around the warm cup. And a tattoo. I hadn't seen it the night before, a small tattoo of a cross between his thumb and forefinger. When he opens his eyes again, he says, "Tell me more about Kate Galliver."

I hesitate before telling him about my favorite hobby. What if he thinks I'm a total nerd?  But somehow he puts me at ease, so my anxiety dissipates. "I'm an amateur astronomer."

To my surprise, he responds, "That's cool."

I divulge more. "Like, I'm really an Amateur Astronomer, like, an official member of the Amateur Astronomer's Society. I have an ID card that gets me into any planetarium in the state. I subscribe to an astronomy magazine. I can tell you every constellation that is visible in the Northern Hemisphere in a given month, and I can name almost every star in those constellations. I even saved money to buy myself a $1200 telescope when I was thirteen."

I can see that he's absorbing the information.

"Kind of geeky, right?" I venture.

"No, it's interesting." He catches the look of doubt on my face. "Really," he insists. "I was wondering how you knew so much about the stars when you were going on about them last night."

"Was I really going on about them?" I avoid his eyes for a moment.

"A little, but it was fascinating," he says as he reaches across the table to squeeze my hand, reassuring me, just for a moment.

"I would have majored in astronomy, but I doubt there a lot of jobs out there for star nerds like me," I laugh. I can't believe I just told Harry about something that most of my high school classmates never knew, and that he didn't make fun of me at all.

Harry and I spend hours talking as if we've known each other for years.

I send a quick text to Dani before I go to bed: Saw Harry again. Think I'm in love.

~*~*~

The next morning, my alarm goes off and I'm more than happy to hear Hotline Bling. I haven't had a chance to change the alarm tone yet, but it's a welcome sound this morning, because I wake up remembering my second date with Harry. No, it wasn't a date! I scold myself for getting so excited about a guy that I just met two days ago. But I can't help it. He is very sweet, easy to talk to, not to mention adorable. But there's something else I can't pinpoint. I feel very comfortable with him, like I've known him forever.

I start a hot shower and try to warm up my feet on the bathroom rug before subjecting them to the abrupt change in temperature. The tile floor in the bathroom is frigid, and I haven't seen my slippers since yesterday. I'll have to check Fiona's room. She's always "borrowing" my things and forgetting to return them. I can't complain too much, though. I raid her closet on a regular basis as well, and since we can fit into most of each other's clothes, it's like having a wardrobe twice the size of my own.

The only thing we don't share is pants. Through some twist of fate, Fiona has about four inches on me, and it's all in her legs. My dad's side of the family has some height, but it seems unfair that it is so unevenly distributed between my sister and me.

Once the water is warm enough, I let it engulf me. I grab the new shampoo and find myself wondering if Harry will like the smell of sweet pea in my hair. I stop, mid-thought and scold myself once again. You have only known him for two days! Besides, you won't even see him today.

As my hair is starting to dry, I apply my makeup and a little extra lip gloss. I'm making sure that the lip liner is even when I find myself thinking about kissing those remarkably pink lips. Stop it! I tell my brain one more time. One thing is obvious and that is that I've already developed a huge crush on him.

I finish my poker-straight blond hair with a blow dryer. It's the only way I can get any extra body into this otherwise flat head of hair. Most people admire my hair for its natural color and shine. It seems odd to me because I think my hair is the color of straw, and people have no idea how hard I work to make it look more full. How I wish I had some body or curl in the dumb strands, but no amount of curling seems to take. And why, oh why couldn't I have been a brunette? So my hair has always been long, straight and flat. I know I shouldn't fret too much over it. It's easy enough to throw into a ponytail when the need arises.

My face, however, is my biggest source of grief. Although I've been blessed with very little acne during my teen years, still there's nothing I can do about the freckles. I'm not talking about just a few freckles on my nose and cheeks. There are freckles everywhere: my forehead, chin, jaw, and even on my ears. They are not quite as dark as the dots I've seen on some redheads, but I still consider them a curse.

And guess who didn't get any freckles? Fiona. Not one single dot. However, the playing field is level when it comes to our hair. She has the exact same lifeless blond that I do.

With the right kind of concealer, I can usually make my freckles blend in a bit so they're not so noticeable, but I know they will never completely disappear. I could have beauty problems that are much worse, but I tend to think my freckles have relegated me to an eternal state of "cuteness" rather than the grown up beauty I desire.

Maybe that's why my mom keeps forgetting I'm an adult – I still look like Holly Hobbie, while my younger sister looks like Gwyneth Paltrow.

After church, our family sits down for our weekly brunch, without guests this time. My parents use it as an opportunity to start the questions, or statements, at least.

"Harry seems really nice," my dad begins, probably hoping that I will expound on his statement. I just smile and nod.

Mom breaks in and asks, "So, what did you two do last night?"

"Well, you saw us at the diner, remember?" I laugh. "We had coffee, talked, and then went home. Nothing major. He's visiting for the holidays, so I probably won't see much more of him." Even while the words are leaving my mouth, I hope and pray that it's not true. I can't wait to see him again.

"Not so sure about that, honey," my dad offers. "You've been smiling like a lunatic all morning. I'm guessing that if you have any say in it, you will see him again."

"Honey," my mother addresses my dad. "Kate has to think about finals and registering for her last semester of classes. Harry is just a friend, and you heard her; he's only here for the holidays. He lives in Madison. That's over four hours away. It's hardly the time for either of them to start a relationship."

"I don't know, Kate," my sister interjects. "He's hot! As in like, superstar hot!"

My mother flashes her a sharp glance as if to say, 'stay out of this.'

Fiona smiles and goes back to finishing her eggs and perusing her latest issue of Teen Vogue.

My mother speaks as if her way of thinking is flawless and that everyone else will just get with the program when they hear her reasoning. I'm not planning to marry him, for heaven's sake, and I resent the way she assumes that she can just say one thing and that it will convince me that she's right.

Besides, I consider myself to be pretty level-headed. I get nearly perfect grades, I was never much of a trouble maker, and I hardly dated at all when I was in high school. If this is my only real "rebellion" and I end up pursuing a relationship with someone as fantastic as Harry, then what's the big deal? Eventually she has to let me live my life.

When will she figure out that it's my life?

~*~*~

My trolley shift is downright disappointing. There's no sign of the charming guy who invaded my life two days ago. Obviously, I can't expect him to keep riding the trolley over and over again. He did say he had to go back to Madison for finals this week, so I'm sure he has already left.

I try to keep my thoughts focused on my job, but they keep drifting off to Harry. Will I see him again? When? How? Where? He said he'd come for brunch on Sunday, but did I tell him where I live? He doesn't even have my number. He was probably just being nice.

But nothing I told myself could change the fact that I desperately wanted to see him again.

* * * * *

The photograph at the top of the page is my inspiration for Kate. I found the photo on Pinterest and it is credited to Jan Ewoud Vos. I couldn't use it in my book because of copyright restrictions, but I just wanted to show her picture as my inspiration. The_Wife_of_Bath gave me a tongue lashing yesterday for not including  more brunettes as Harry's girls in my books. Guilty. Of course, this one was written years ago and her description is written into the book. Since the model isn't someone I know by name, I will probably use "reasonable facsimiles" of Kate for future pictures or collages. Besides, Wife_of_Bath, this chapter is for you! <3