I go through my classes with a half-dazed feeling. I think way too much about the times I've spent with Harry. Should I stop by his place and say hi? Was he just being friendly and now he's making other friends while he's here?  When I'm not obsessing about seeing him again, I'm berating myself for failing, once again, to get any kind of contact information from him. We'd had a very nice time after his second trolley ride but neither of us thought to exchange phone numbers. On my part, it had been my state of sheer bliss that had prevented me from thinking straight enough to ask for his number. But what if he didn't ask for mine because he didn't really want it?

I try to distract myself as much as possible. On Tuesday, when I'm finished with classes, I head to Eagle Canyon high school so that I can run on their indoor track. Ours is by no means an affluent community, and it is almost unheard of for a Class D school to have an indoor track as well as a swimming pool. But, about ten years ago, an alumnus of Eagle Canyon High School made a hefty donation to the school, specifically for the purpose of providing better facilities for the sports program.

I prefer to run outside where I can enjoy the beauty of my surroundings, but when it gets too cold, it's more comfortable, and safe, to run inside. Besides, when I run on the indoor track, I usually catch Fiona when she's done with school.

I start with a slow jog to get my muscles warmed up. Then I take it up to a faster jog. After a few laps, I realize that I must not have run for several days because I'm getting winded quite easily. Nonetheless, I push myself into a full run. I only manage to do a mile or so, and then I cool down. It always feels better to do even a little bit rather than to do nothing at all.

As I predicted, Fiona meanders in just as I finish stretching and I'm putting my sweatshirt back on. She always cuts through the track on her way out of school.

"Hey, why didn't you wait for me?" She jokes. We both know that there's no way she would ever run voluntarily. Not only is Fiona tall and gorgeous, she doesn't seem to need exercise to keep in shape the way I do. This is a good thing because she hates sports. We are opposites in so many ways, but my little sister is still one of my best friends.

"Do you want a ride home?" I ask her.

"Of course! Isn't that why you're here?" She teases.

On the way home, I ask, "Fi, do you think I'm crazy?"

She answers immediately and in absolute seriousness. "Yes."

"No," I chuckle. "I mean, I just can't stop thinking about Harry, and I think I'm going crazy. Am I crazy to be so obsessed about someone I just met?"

"By obsessed, do you mean infatuated, or just captivated?"

"Captivated, for sure. I mean, I just can't wait to see him again. I want to know everything about him, and I hate when we have to say good-bye. That is a little excessive after just two dates, right?" I ask.

"Not if he's the one," she says dramatically.

Now that she's said it out loud, I realize how silly I'm being. It's ludicrous to even consider him that way yet, so I push the thought out of my head.

~*~*~

In my psychology lecture on Wednesday, the instructor announces that we will have a guest speaker, Professor Des Styles from The University of Wisconsin.

Did he say Styles? From Wisconsin? Harry was from Madison and his dad was a professor, right? This must be his dad! My stomach gets all squirrely and nervous.

As Dr. Styles approaches the podium, all doubt is erased from my mind. I can see exactly where Harry got his green eyes. He's a little taller and maybe a little more built than his son, but Harry is built with the same muscular physique as his father. Dr. Styles' appearance seems inconsistent with his attire. With his broad shoulders and square jaw, I would expect to see him in a football jersey with a coach's whistle around his neck, but wearing a coat, tie, and shiny dress shoes, he doesn't quite fit my idea of a professor of psychology.

I listen intently to the lecture, well at least for the first few minutes. It becomes evident that Dr. Styles is a knowledgeable professor as well as an athlete. Soon, however, my interest in the lecture wanes as I begin to think of ways to talk to him so I can get in touch with Harry.

Hi, Dr. Styles. I met your son on the trolley last weekend.

Yo, Professor, what's up? Give Harry a shout for me, okay?

Dr. Styles, I might possibly be in love with your son.

Ugh, I'm so bad at this. I finally decide to simply write my cell number on a piece of paper and give it to Dr. Styles after class.

When the lecture is finished, I gulp down my hesitation and approach the front of the lecture hall. "Hello, Dr. Styles? Professor Styles?" Shoot, what is the right thing to call him? I stumble on, "Could you please give this to Harry? I mean, he can call me if he wants to." I hand him the piece of paper with my number on it, and I'm sure that my cheeks are turning the color of a holly berry right now. But it's worth it if I get to see Harry's smile again.

Dr. Styles ask, "Are you Kate?" When I nod yes, he continues, "Harry's been talking about you." He takes the piece of scribbled paper. He nods, and I make a hasty exit with a thank you thrown back as an afterthought.

I can't decide what my emotions are doing as I head back to my truck. His dad said Harry had been talking about me. Not that he mentioned me once and dropped it. "Had been talking about me" sounds like he talked about me more than once? Maybe twice? Or maybe as often as I thought about him?

But Dr. Styles had also seemed kind of abrupt, almost accusatory, as if I've invaded Harry's life, his family's life. And he didn't even smile at me. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but his look seemed to say, who are you and why is my son suddenly so interested in you?

Okay, I decide I'm definitely over-thinking his response. I had probably just caught him off guard. I shake off any residual uneasiness as I arrive at home and begin my homework.

I'm just helping my mom get the finishing touches on dinner when I feel the familiar buzz of my phone. I hadn't turned the ringer back on since class. My heart leaps into my throat when I see the caller ID: 608-555-8725. I don't recognize the number, but as I accept the call, I feel fairly certain that 608 is a Wisconsin area code.

"Hello, it's Kate," I answer with my standard greeting, trying not to let the quiver in my voice come through.

"Hi, Kate, it's Harry. Remember me?" Oh, my gosh! Do I remember him? DO I REMEMBER HIM???

But I play it down a bit, "Sure, from the trolley, right?" Yeah, the trolley and five hours of hanging out and letting me fall in love with you.

"Yes. My dad got tickets from the community college for Handel's Messiah tonight at 7:00. Would you like to go with me?"

"I'd love to go! It's at the Baymont Center on campus, right? I know right where that is. Meet you there? Or do you need another ride?" I'm poking a little fun at him, but he doesn't sound bothered by it.

"No, I'm fine. I'll meet you at the front entrance a few minutes before 7:00, okay?"

"See you then!" I hit end with a satisfied sigh.

Mom gives me a sideways glance but says nothing.

I trudge through the falling snow, up to the Baymont Center. I wonder how Harry will handle the accumulating mess. The plows surely won't come through until this storm is over. I catch sight of him a moment later, and he's cruising through without a problem. My heart gets a little jolt when he flashes me his awesome smile.

"Hi Kate. I'm glad you gave my dad your number. After I left the diner last weekend, I couldn't believe I hadn't gotten it from you. I was going to have to book another ride on the trolley to find you." His grin is unbelievable. As he's talking, I ponder his lips and wonder how they would feel on mine....

"Kate?" Harry questions my spacey look.

"Oh, sorry, um, yeah. Glad your dad gave you the message." Oh, I've got it bad! I change the subject to avoid incriminating myself. "To tell you the truth, I'm not a huge fan of classical music, but I do like to see a Christmas concert at least once during the season."

Harry laughs his perfect laugh and admits, "It's not my favorite either, but there's not a whole lot to do in this little town."

I agree, "You can only take the trolley tour so many times."

We find our seats and I lean in a little closer to him as the music starts. The subtle scent of Harry's cologne reaches me, and my heartbeat speeds up a little.

It turns out we are both enchanted by the ensemble. Or maybe we are enchanted by each other. I feel like I could sit through anything just to be able to spend time with Harry Styles. However, there are some really lovely music pieces that I discover I actually enjoy.

When the concert is finished, we head to the glass exit doors but stop dead in our tracks. The snow has created quite the blanket already, and it's still coming down in heaps. I turn to Harry. "Would you like to go out for coffee again? I know another good place in town." I don't mention that it's also quieter and darker than the diner we had visited a few days before. "But I think you'll have to ride in my truck. I know it will get through the snow, and whatever you're driving will not, unless it's four-wheel drive."

"What are you talking about? I brought my snowmobile."

I laugh out loud. "A snowmobile date, now that would be interesting," I say. Is this a date? I think. Maybe I shouldn't have said "date."

"I know you get snow in Madison, but I'm guessing that you don't regularly see the kind of snow we have here on Lake Superior. I can pick you up tomorrow after the plows come through and take you back here to get your car. Sound okay?" I ask, hopefully.

"I can have someone from my family take me back to get it tomorrow. Oma is here, so we can use her car."

"Oh, okay," I smile, but I'm a little disappointed. I would happily accept another excuse to see him.

"Just wait for the plows to come through before you come and get the car!"

"All right, Miss Over-protective! I won't leave the house tomorrow until every last bit of snow is gone." His exaggeration is obvious, and he's convinced me that he's not offended by my bluntness. He proceeds, "But, we're still going for coffee, right? Or will we get stranded at the cafe? That might be a nice way to spend more time with you."

I'm beaming as we head to the truck. Sure enough, my good old reliable Ford treks out of the parking lot with no problem.

"Like I said, classical isn't my favorite, but tonight was nice," I comment. "Speaking of which..." I turn on the radio. It's currently set to a country station and I quickly say, "You can change it to something else if you'd like. Most of my friends can't stand country."

"It's fine," Harry reassures me. "I'm a closet country music lover myself."

"Really?" I ask. "You're not just making fun of me?"

"No, seriously. I like the stuff, but I won't admit it to many of my friends either. We should form a support group for people like us."

I laugh, squeezing my eyes shut, and I almost steer the truck off the road, which isn't hard to do in these slippery conditions. Once I regain control, I ask, "So, what else do you like to listen to?"

Harry tells me that he listens to a lot of popular music, including pop Christian music, but he's into a little bit of everything. "Anything but Opera" are his exact words.

"Well, I love acid rock," I say.

"No way!" Harry laughs. "Seriously?"

"No, I don't even know what acid rock is. I like a variety of sounds, too. But, you can't go wrong with top 40, I guess."

When we arrive at Sue's Brews, it looks completely deserted. Good, I think. Fewer distractions, more time with Harry.

Sue's Brews is probably the most unique restaurant in Eagle Canyon. Sue and her husband Mitchell run the establishment, but it is separated into two sections. Sue offers the best coffee and specialty coffee drinks I've ever had. Mitchell has a small-time brewery and he creates exclusive craft beers using some local ingredients.

Harry and I choose to sit in the cafe rather than the pub.

"So, now, tell me more about you, Harry Styles," I fold my hands and stare at him as I wait for him to respond.

"Well, I'm an Aquarius, I like long walks on the beach, and I'm not afraid to cry."

I lift my eyebrows and comment, "Oh, is that what your online dating profile says?" He laughs and I think I would say just about anything to hear the sound of him laughing.

Harry played just about every sport imaginable throughout his childhood. He started playing soccer when he was four, or as he calls it football, while our version of football is called American football. He started playing baseball when he moved to the US. He shows me the scar from the baseball that hit him in the eye during his first game. It's hardly noticeable – just above his eyebrow. But now that I see it, I can tell it's there.

As I watch Harry's lips move and his face become animated with our discussions, I can't figure out what has me so drawn to him. He is incredibly handsome, warm, welcoming, funny, sweet. Still, that doesn't even come close to summing it up. I see something else in him. Something real.

Three hours pass too quickly and Sue has to chase us out. We head out into the storm once more, but I stop Harry before he hops into the truck. "Thanks for a great night. I'm glad you invited me to the concert."

Before getting in the truck, I chance a look at the sky. "Look," I say, pointing toward a patch of starry sky between the clouds. The snow has stopped, at least for a little while. There are still many heavy-looking clouds threatening to drop more snow on us, but the few open patches provide me the opportunity to share a little more of my passion with him.

As I'm pointing, I draw the outline of one of the constellations." There's Orion," I tell him.

"I've heard of Orion, but the only other ones I recognize are the Big Dipper and Little Dipper," he says.

"Those are the easiest to spot," I tell him. I trace out the outline of Orion. "Orion is the hunter. See his shoulders? And the three stars in the middle make up his belt, and then another little line of stars makes up his sword." I can't tell if he's really following what I'm saying, but he's leaning over my shoulder, breathing next to my ear. I can feel his warmth on my cheek, and I can hear his soft breath. My knees start to feel weak. At least he's pretending to be interested.

"Then, look to the left of Orion." I move my finger along the sky and try to trace out another constellation. "Those two are known as Gemini, the twins."

I continue in almost a whisper. "If there were no clouds, you could see Taurus over there, and Pleiades, the Seven Sisters. Do you see how bright the stars are when there's no light pollution?"

"They're fantastic," he says. He's so close that I think his lips might be brushing against my ear. I want him to kiss me. If I turned around and caught his lips with mine, would he kiss me back? I wonder. I'm too shy to find out.

I pull up as close to his cabin as possible, and just as he's getting out, Harry turns back to me and asks, "We're still on for brunch on Sunday, right?"

"Yes!" I remember and tell him, "I'll text you my address."

~*~*~

I can barely keep my attention on the pastor's sermon this morning. My thoughts keep drifting off to a certain chocolate-haired guy with the amazing smile. I have to keep dragging my brain back to the here and now. When I was little, I used to get in huge trouble if I was distracted or misbehaving during church. Without thinking, I check to see if my parents have noticed my wandering attention. They wouldn't discipline me for it now that I'm an adult, but it's an automatic response after years of being redirected.

After church, I brew a fresh pot of coffee and start making my mom's famous Cinnamon Crumble recipe. It's the best coffee cake in town, confirmed by the county fair board three years in a row.

The knock at the door starts my heart racing. Since my hands are full of cinnamon and brown sugar, my mom opens the door. I hear her exclaim, "Oh, Harry, you didn't have to do that!" She returns from the kitchen door with a huge poinsettia in her hands. There is a small rope suspended above the flowers, almost like a hanging plant, and I quickly realize that Harry somehow rigged it so he could carry it inside.

I turn, with my hands still in the mixing bowl. "Hi! Sorry I can't come over to shake your hand just now." I smile as he makes his way to look over my shoulder. "Hi," he whispers right next to my ear. "That looks great. And so do you." My face feels flushed as he heads to the table and sits down.

Just then, Marcus barrels in and yells, "When is brunch going to be ready? I'm starving!" Typical middle school boy. I'm so grateful he hadn't walked in when Harry was whispering in my ear. I would have never heard the end of his ridicule.

However, being the obtrusive boy, Marcus finds another way to embarrass everyone in the room. "Hey, what's with the crutches? Did you break your leg? I broke my leg once and had to wear the cast for six weeks. And then I used the dumb crutches for another six weeks. You probably slipped on the stupid ice, right? Yours are different, though. Can I try them?"

"Marcus!" My mom says sharply, trying to distract him. "Please make the orange juice."

I bite my bottom lip and look at Harry to see his reaction to my brother's brainless questioning. "I'm sorry," I mouth out to him.

He smiles reassuringly at me and then looks at my brother. "I've had them a lot longer than six weeks. Both of my legs are weak, so I use them all the time."

Thankfully, that satisfies my pea-brained brother's curiosity. He finishes the juice and leaves the room yelling, "Let me know when the food is ready. I'm starving."

"You mentioned that!" I yell back. Harry and my mom both laugh.

"I hope you like bird's nests," I tell Harry as we transport all of the food to the table. The confused look on his face prompts me to explain. "These are bird's nests," I motion to the plate filled with bread that has been fried with an egg in the middle of each, where a small circle of bread has been cut away.

"And this is my mom's famous Cinnamon Crumble," I inform him proudly. I haven't met anyone who hasn't loved the stuff.

Brunch is a pleasant mixture of food and conversation. Of course, my parents ask Harry about college. He tells my parents that he is studying to become a physiatrist. He goes on to explain the unfamiliar term, "It's a doctor who specializes in rehabilitation. The full title would be Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation Specialist, but that's kind of a mouthful."

I wonder again about his crutches. It has only been a few weeks, but it seems like I've known Harry forever. However, it strikes me as odd that I still don't know why he uses the crutches. I assume that it's not the best time to ask him, during brunch, in front of everyone, unless he just offers up the information.

"Where are you planning on going to medical school?" My father questions.

"Well," he begins, "I was telling Kate that I haven't gotten that far yet. I still have to apply to schools and take the Medical College Admission Test. I will get my Bachelor's degree this spring."

My mother chimes in, "Well, Katherine will also be finishing at the community college this spring. She is still researching schools as well. Such a busy time in both of your lives, so many big decisions.I can't imagine either one of you have space in your life for much more than that."

She is probably just trying to make pleasant conversation, but it feels to me as if she's trying once again to drive home her point that neither one of us is ready for a relationship.

"Where do you go to church?" My father asks. It seems like that could be a much more loaded question than my mom's little jab about school. But my dad is more masterful at making conversation, so he can make a potentially tricky question sound like he wants to talk about the weather.

"My family is Roman Catholic, sir."

"Ah, so have you been going to Holy Cross while you're visiting? It's such a beautiful church."

"Yes, we went last weekend. It is a fantastic piece of architecture. But we often go to my grandmother's church in Ontonagon on the weekends. We were there last night."

I sit quietly and listen to the conversation, admiring Harry's confidence and ease with my family. I still can't figure out what's so different about him but whatever it is, I like it.

A lot.

We spend the remainder of Sunday afternoon playing board games. I vanquish Harry in a game of Scrabble, and then he crushes me at Monopoly. We join my parents who are watching a football game - and American football game, of course. Apparently, my dad is a Badgers fan, which I never knew. Harry and my dad prattle on about the team, the coach, the season. I quickly become bored and excuse myself.

I head to my room to get ready for work. But first, I send another text to Dani: Harry is here!

From Dani: PICTURES NOW!

I run downstairs, sit next to Harry, hold out my camera and tell Harry to smile. Before he figures out what happened, I've already hit send. Hopefully he's not too weirded out that I'm sending a picture of us to my best friend.

By the time I reach my room, Dani has responded: Holy skunk, he's cute!

That's Dani for you – a combination sophisticated art student and granola-eating tree hugger and eccentric scholar of life. She says the goofiest things and couldn't care less what people think. I'm glad she approves.

When I'm ready to leave for my shift, Dad and Harry are still talking, so I leave them to it.

"Are you sure you don't want to ride the trolley again?" I bat my eyelashes in an exaggerated way.

"Yep, I'm pretty sure. I'm still thawing out from last weekend. But, before you go, let me give you this." He leans in for a kiss on the cheek before I leave.

That spot on my cheek keeps me warm for my entire shift on the trolley.

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