Since the moment my brain registered that we'd reached our destination, it had felt comfortable enough to shut down. I was having my coffee while in REM sleep.

I woke up on two occasions only.

Mismatched mugs, along with Cass and Stella, were waiting for us at the round dining table as we made it back from his room, but Harry had other plans.

"Wait, before you sit down," he said, taking my hand, "I want you to meet someone."

He led me past his siblings and mom, where Cass was telling the two women about some tagliatelle recipe he'd seen and wanted to try out for Harry's birthday tomorrow, toward the huge sliding glass doors at the end of the dining room. I only had a moment to admire the view of the small but well-maintained backyard, complete with a tiny back porch that fit a square wooden table and two patio chairs, before Harry opened the door.

The very moment my fried brain registered his words—meet someone—I was letting out a delighted gasp.

"Oh my God!" I squealed. "You have a dog?"

The short staircase led to the grassy area of the backyard, but more importantly, it led to a small wooden dog house, out of which the best surprise of today was making its way to us—a yellow Labrador, casually climbing the stairs, tail wagging and tongue hanging out as if to say yes, it's me, the star of the show.

"You never told me you had a dog!" My voice stayed high-pitched as Harry squatted to greet his friend.

"Yep, this is Stevie," he said, both of his hands giving Stevie a head rub while the dog gently bounced around him and tried licking his face. "I got him for my eighth birthday. He's very old now, but still kicking. Aren't you, buddy?"

Stevie's tail wagged harder while I did the math. "Thirteen years," I hummed, nodding in fascination, and Harry nodded back. "That's a well-loved dog."

"Sure is. He's everyone's best friend. The smartest, gentlest boy."

"So," I began as I offered Stevie my hand; he sniffed it and licked his nose, which I took as a green light to pat his soft, fluffy head. "You have a child named Steve."

Harry shrugged at first, but then the hand petting Stevie stopped; the dog nudged his hand while he turned to look at me, a frown on his face. "Huh," he said thoughtfully. "Mine was named after Steven Gerrard."

I nodded. "And mine after Steve Harris."

His lips slowly spread into a grin. My heart hopped.

///

The time difference made it so that we'd arrived while the sun was still up and the sky was a bright blue; Harry's dad made it home right around sunset, whistling a tune as he walked into the living room, marking the second time my brain sparked with activity since arriving in Aspen.

Harry and I stood up from the couch for the introduction, and I noted that the two of them were about the same height, but in terms of genes, Harry only had his father's eyes. The medium brown hair, slightly crooked nose, and butt chin were all features that went to Cass.

"Evie?" Dustin repeated my name after Harry, still shaking my hand.

"Evie," Ellie confirmed from the two-seater across from us, stressing both syllables, and, having grown up with a father, I immediately recognized the gentle tone encouraging him to remember something they'd definitely talked about. "Harry's wife, Dustin."

"Oh. Oh!" He exclaimed, expression shooting into genuine shock at the realization, and shook my hand more deliberately. "Evie! Hi!"

"Hi."

"Hi! Oh- we're finally meeting you!"

I laughed at Dustin's overly jolly tone. "Finally meeting you, too."

"Oh, wow." He moved his hands to his hips, eyes darting from me to Harry. "So- he's really m-" he began, but his question was cut off by Stella's quick nods as he looked over to his wife and daughter, while Ellie gave him a blank but pointed stare. My eyes were now dancing between the two of them, wondering what could be going on.

The memory was a bit hazy, but I could swear Cass had asked Harry the same thing during the drive to Aspen. You're really married, huh?

"Wow," Dustin repeated, his smile seeming genuine enough to allow me to hope that I was just reading too much into their words and reactions. He looked me up and down, eyes staying on my stomach a moment longer. "And you're not pregnant," he said, turning to his wife before the words could fully reach my brain. "You owe me fifty bucks."

Well, okay. That took a turn.

"Kidding! I'm kidding," he added with a naive laugh, but the damage was already done; Ellie had gasped, and Stella had barely stopped a snort, pulling the high collar of her turtleneck over her mouth. I gave a slow nod at his clarification but then pulled my lips between my teeth to halt a reaction similar to Stella's.

"You are such an asshat," came from Ellie in a stern voice. "There was no bet, you guys. I swear."

"Aw, come on, I just said I was kidding!"

"And I just said you're an asshat."

Dustin groaned. "Stella, sweetie, back me up."

"You're on your own here, pops."

And then the rest of the conversation—feud?—became background noise as Harry moved beside me; expression blank, he turned to me without saying anything, making my breath hitch as he pressed his front to mine, and his head fell onto my shoulder.

"Chemo hurt less than this," he mumbled, and it made me laugh, for whatever reason—like seeing him embarrassed because of his dad was somehow a heartwarming sight. Could have been the endearing character resemblance to his mom.

Could have been something else.

I inhaled the scent of his sweatshirt, casually but deliberately, and wrapped my arms around his waist. His followed, around my entire frame, pulling me flush against him with a deep, exasperated exhale against the crook of my neck. My heart hopped.

"You're okay, angel," I whispered back, and he squeezed me tighter into him. Hop, hop, hop.

///

Cass emerged from his room—and his nap—a while later when dinner was ready, in a loose T-shirt, the product in his hair washed out, allowing his fluffy hair to fall around his face.

I leaned into Harry. "Now you look like brothers."

He glared at me, feigning offense at the suggestion that he didn't resemble the professional, put-together businessman from earlier today, but instead this version that was picking sleep gunk from the corners of his eyes. I just grinned at him.

That was the last exchange before Ellie laid out the pan-fried chicken with rice on the table, and once my plate was empty, my fatigue spread throughout my entire body. No amount of caffeine would save me so, after apologizing some seven times, I'd excused myself to lay down for half an hour tops.

A hand softly shaking my arm informed me that the half-hour was up.

"Hm?" I breathed out, shooting up into a sitting position; Harry was sitting on the mattress beside me, but I could barely hear him over my loud heartbeat. His room was completely dark save for a table lamp, and I was oddly well-rested.

"Go change out of those clothes," he repeated softly. "Sorry for waking you, but I figured you'd wanna sleep in your pajamas."

"What? Pa- what time is it?" I asked, a sinking feeling already forming in my stomach. Half an hour would've been 9:15.

"Twelve-thirty," Harry said, continuing even as I gasped, "You were exhausted, Ev, no one wanted to-"

"You let me sleep for four hours?" I squeaked, my hands on my face as I realized, "Wait, I missed midnight? It's your birthday already?"

"Don't worry about it, nothing happened. My folks just gave me a hug and we all went to our roo-"

The rest of his words were compressed into a grunt when I flung myself at him, my arms latching around his neck in a tight hug. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

I could hear the smile in his voice as he placed a hand on my back, but I still shook my head. "No. It's not. It's your birthday. I should've been there with everyone else."

"I promise it's okay. And hey, if it means anything, it's gonna be October 22nd for another twenty-three and a half hours, so, you know, there's still time to wish me a happy birthday. If you want to, I mean. No pressure."

Despite the knot in my chest, I laughed softly, but I didn't add anything; instead, I leaned back to look at his face, smiling but unsuspecting. Perfect. He raised his brows the tiniest bit as I climbed off the bed, but I made my way to my suitcase without an explanation. I had just the perfect apology.

My heart was thumping as I unzipped it for the first time today—not to accidentally spoil the surprise—and reached in to pull out a rectangle frame. I hugged it to my chest and turned to find his curious eyes watching me intently, his head tilted slightly.

"I didn't have time to wrap it in fancy paper or anything, but, um..." I padded across the wooden floor back to the bed and felt the back of the frame for the switch. "Happy birthday, Harry."

The switch clicked, and I turned it around, eyes focused on his face when he saw my gift for the first time. The soft glow of the backlight illuminated his blank expression and parted lips as he stared at the digital painting I'd spent the past week losing my mind over. It was him—his upper half—with his hands in his pockets, looking off into the imaginary distance, wearing Liverpool's away jersey.

Harry's mesmerized face got a little laugh out of me, before making me laugh harder by crawling across his twin bed to the other side, where I stood with his gift. He took it in his hands, slowly sitting back on his heels to keep staring at it. "Y-" he started but glanced down again, just to be sure. "You did this?"

"Yeah," I said, my hands fidgeting as I waited for an official review.

"It's... me. It's me!"

"Yep." I bit my lip. "'How come you've never done a portrait of me,' you said that one time."

My tone was light, and Harry breathed out a laugh, but getting to this point had been anything but funny. The time it took to get every line of his facial features just right (by staring at a specific photo of him on Instagram for an ungodly number of hours) and every goddamned green square of the primarily white jersey the exact way it was on the actual shirt (by staring at a specific photo of van Dijk from the photo shoot, which also inspired Harry's pose in the painting), was enough to warrant a psych evaluation.

"This is..." I blinked at Harry's voice; he was shaking his head. "So fucking cool. You're insane. I mean-" he laughed as he looked up at me. "Good insane, obviously. I look like a model. Why- why does he look more like me than I do? I'm sorry, Ev, I don't know how to react. This-this is the coolest gift ever."

I perked up. "Yeah?"

"One million percent. Look how flustered I'm getting. Like a teenage girl. Oh God," he rambled, but then smiled as I laughed. "Best gift I've ever received. Hands down. Thank you."

My heart was full. "You're very welcome."

"But I'm still counting on that naked, blue diamond necklace proposition."

My cheeks hurt from laughing—a core memory was definitely being created. Harry reached out to place the painting on the bedside table, and we both watched its soft light for a moment. "You are... so talented. Like, I see how you're making money off of this. I do have a question, though," he said, and I felt my heart start to hammer in my chest at the last part all over again. I knew what was coming. "Um, why the away jersey? I'm not complaining but, you know, it's, uh, specific."

"I thought you'd ask that," I said in the most casual voice I could muster, leaving his embrace for another quick trip to my suitcase. Harry's elated face had gone wary by the time I turned to him again, like he couldn't allow himself to believe this was going exactly where it was going. "It's because I got you this, and thought a matching painting would be nice."

He eyed me and the plastic bag in my hands, slowly taking a seat on the bed. "No."

"Oh, yeah." I approached him, handing over the soft package. I sat down next to him, my legs folded beneath me, and watched him peel back the plastic with the same blank, mouth-hanging-open face. "I figured, you're a fan, and you might already have the red kit since, you know, all of their home kits have been red. But, what are the chances you'd have an away jersey if you already have the red one?"

I was still grinning when he unfolded the shirt, too proud of myself and my thinking process to consider the level of crazy it had catapulted me into. He turned it around, and his flat face broke into a laugh at the sight of his favorite player's name. "Virgil."

"Mm-hmm. You could've told me van Dijk doesn't wear his last name on the back, by the way. Would've saved me a lot of time."

Harry bit his lip and dropped the shirt onto the bed, a lot sooner than I would've hoped; then, in one swift movement, his arms came around me, pulling me against him despite the awkward sitting angle. "You didn't have to do all this."

Slowly, my arms wrapped around his neck. "I wanted to make it special."

"You made it special the moment you got on the plane with me," he countered, and I smiled. My heart was actively hopping.

His hand rubbed my back, and for whatever reason, a gut feeling told me that he'd soon let go of me; in a flash of panic to preserve the bubble, I threw a leg over his lap and, slowly, clumsily, pulled myself into his lap. Any doubts about the dicey decision were silenced when Harry followed my movements, sucking a breath in surprise, but still shifting to accommodate the change in positions.

"Hi."

Harry's baffled face broke into a smile, and his nervous hands finally sat on top of my thighs. "Hi," he whispered back, the very basic exchange which was also so very ours making me smile back at him.

"You gonna wear the jersey tomorrow?"

"Oh, I'm never fucking taking it off." A small laugh accompanied his words, his hands sliding up to my hips. "I didn't have a Liverpool shirt, for the record. At all. You would've been safe with the red one."

"Oh."

"But the thought that went into all this," he went on, shaking his head, "shit, Evie, I'll never look at a home kit ever again. I'll never look at white and green the same again. You've given colors a new meaning."

A warm feeling in my chest spread throughout my entire body, a fond smile emerging from it. My hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, thumb gliding along his jawline while his eyes watched me, darker under the room's dim light. The proximity reminded me how tall he actually was—even while sitting on his thighs, I was less than an inch taller than him. Just the perfect height to experimentally move my face closer to his, without any goal or clear purpose in the movement, and have his nose meet mine halfway.

"You deserve it," I responded when the silence was beginning to feel too thick, and Harry let out a breath, eyes closing, head dropping against my collarbone. "You deserve everything. Happy birthday, angel."

A deep breath and a confident slip of his hands from my hips to my waist; he lifted his head at the same moment that he gripped my sides and pulled me closer, pressing me against him, our noses brushing without leaning in. He didn't look nervous. Then again, his ears could've been ringing the same way mine were.

"I need to, uh..." he began, shifting underneath me. "Set up the... pull-out chair."

I blinked. "What?"

"For sleeping. You can take the bed, and I'll take the chair." He nodded toward the armchair I'd noticed in the corner of his room earlier, but I was lightyears away from the headspace it required to look at it right now.

"I don't want you to," I said simply.

"Yeah?"

No delay from my admission to his question. The subtle rise of his brows roughly translated to I was hoping you'd say that. I glanced down at the twin bed that looked a lot like mine back in New York, the one we'd shared twice now, and shrugged, ignoring how my heart was picking up speed again. "Yeah."

"Okay." He nodded, voice lowered into a whisper, and then shook his head. "I don't want to either."

My thumb brushed his cheek, and his gaze moved downward; so did mine. His hands eased from my waist to my back, one dipping underneath the sweater I'd fallen asleep in, the heat from where his hand met my bare skin coursing to my stomach.

A knock, and then, before either one of us could register it, Ellie opened the door with, "Harry, you left your-"

"Sh-!"

As if the situation wasn't spiraling into a disaster fast enough, my instinctive response to it—shit!—felt too inappropriate for my fake husband's mother; thankfully, I cut it off before things could get even more awkward.

The fact that her barging into the room sent me jumping from Harry's lap, as a frightened cat would, and unceremoniously falling on my ass on the floor, didn't exactly help the awkwardness.

"M-mom!" Harry cried, half frustrated and half panicked, scrambling to the floor where I hoped to become one with the carpet. "Are you okay?"

"Just leave me here."

"I- oh, God, I'm... I'm sorry, kids," Ellie said from the door. "Y-you left your phone downstairs. I was just... I thought... you were already asleep."

Harry had pulled me up by the end of her spluttered explanation, hands on either side of my face to make me look up at him. "You alright?" He asked again, moving a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Yes," I stammered, glancing behind him at his mom; she stood frozen at the door, shoulders tense, wide eyes darting from me to Harry. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have said she looked shocked rather than embarrassed.

"Mom, for the love of God."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," she hissed, finally moving from her spot to place Harry's phone neatly on the nearby dresser, holding up a hand in surrender. "I'm sorry. I'm leaving. I'm gone. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Happy birthday, baby."

"Thank you, mother."

The door closed, and Harry's head dropped, chin meeting his sternum in defeat. I'd quietly hidden behind him, knowing the act of facing his mother after this was best to be done in the morning. Well, never, ideally, but that wasn't the world I lived in. The morning was the closest I could get to not turning into a pile of Embarrassment Dust.

"I'll just... go get ready for bed," he said, turning to face me with sad eyes that matched his voice. I had my fist against my lips, but still smiled at the look on his face. This moment was over, but we had many moments ahead.

"I'll wait for you."

That kind of lifted the gloomy look from his face. It went away completely by the time I pulled the covers over us and snuggled into him, his arm around my waist and his chin against the top of my head.

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