My dad was waiting in the baggage claim when I arrived. He gave me the obligatory hug and kiss. I was thrilled that Leslie hadn't tagged along.

Dad married Leslie when she was 21. And I was 15. So yeah, you do the math. I showed her due respect because she was my step-mother, which was a bit creepy since she was only six years older than me. Dad seemed happy with her, but I always thought she was a gold digger, a young buxom blonde who married my wealthy father when she was barely an adult. What further irritated me was the fact that she was a major player during one of the worst years of my life, 2007. That was the year Nana Sylvi died, the year my mom told me she was moving to Amsterdam, and the year Dad married someone half his age. I suppose I had nothing personal against her, just a general resentment of her presence in my life.

"How was the flight?" He asked as I spied my bags coming around the carousel.

"Boring," I chuckled and grabbed the first one. "That one's mine, too," I said pointing to the other suitcase following close behind. We made our way to his Lincoln Navigator in silence. Why he needed such an enormous, gas-guzzling vehicle was a mystery to me, since he had no other children besides Melissa and me, and we were both grown.

Once we got situated, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

I really didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I'd rather just get settled into my new digs. "I'm kind of tired. Can we just go straight there?"

"Caila, I only get to see you a few times a year. Can't we just have a quick bite to eat?"

"I guess that's fine," I relented. "But remember, I'm back for a while now, so you'll have more time to see me."

"Just don't make yourself a stranger," he admonished.

"That goes, both ways, Dad."

We stopped at some American burger joint, of which I don't even remember the name. It was mainly small talk - all things we could have covered in an email or over the phone, but I got it - he was my dad and wanted to see me in person. If that small detour satisfied him, I was okay with it. We finished up quickly and headed out to Grosse Ile.

When we pulled up in front of the old place, it still looked relatively the same, only nicer. The brickwork was patched up and the lawn was nicely trimmed; a new slate sidewalk had been put in, winding from the drive to the front door. I could also see that some work had been done to the old carriage house - new windows and paint, and a blacktopped driveway, to name a few things.

A tall, slim man with long, curly brown hair chased a little red-haired toddler around the front yard, throwing a ball and following when she failed to catch it. His eyes turned towards us as we parked, so he scooped up the little girl and came to welcome us.

"Hello, I'm Harry Styles," he said warmly and in a lovely British accent. I hadn't ever spoken to him on the phone, only to his wife Regan, so that was a bit unexpected. He was undeniably handsome as well so it was hard not to stare. "You must be Caila," he smiled. Damn, his wife was a lucky woman.

"Yes, and this is my dad, Charles Ford," I said by way of introduction.

"Great to meet you both," Harry said. Looking at the adorable baby with flaming red hair in his arms, he announced, "And this is Melody." Then turning his attention to my father, he asked, "Any chance you're part of the Ford family, as in the automakers?"

"You got me," Dad shrugged. "Vice President, Advanced Engineering Service Division." True to form, he pulled out a business card and handed it to Harry.

"Ahh, my father Robin worked for the company some years back. He was here on a contract from England, specifically working on a powertrain project. But that's as much as I know," he chuckled.

"Styles?" Dad questioned for clarification.

"No, his last name is Twist. He's my stepfather, actually."

"Oh yes," Dad replied. "A portly fellow with a jovial personality?"

"Dad," I chided.

"It's okay," Harry said. "He is a bit portly, but yes that's him. So you knew him?"

"Not really, but I knew of him. Probably sat through a few meetings with him at some point or other. I do remember the British accent."

They chatted a bit more and then Harry led us inside calling for his wife. "Regan, Caila is here."

Momentarily, a young and pretty red-headed woman came into the foyer. I could see that's where Melody had gotten her coloring. The baby practically leaped out of Harry's arms and towards her mother. If I didn't know better, I'd think maybe Regan had the beginnings of another little one growing in her belly, but I definitely wasn't going to ask as it wasn't super obvious yet and her top was loose-fitting.

"Oh, Caila, it's so nice to meet you," Regan said and hugged me. I was a little surprised at the warm greeting, but I welcomed her hug and then introduced my dad. More chatting followed and then an offer to see the house, which I could already see had changed tremendously since the last time I set foot in it.

Dad declined the tour, saying it was getting late, so I followed the Styles family around the house which was almost unrecognizable in some places, but it was really quite lovely just the same. The slate floor in the foyer was polished and gorgeous; I'd never seen it looking anything but dusty. The walls were painted in a bright fresh color. It used to be a dingy blue-gray color that always seemed so drab and not welcoming in the least.

My grandma's old country kitchen had been completely remodeled and split into two kitchens, a larger professional kitchen serving the bed and breakfast and a smaller private kitchen for Harry and Regan's family. The professional kitchen was mostly white with a stone island in the middle which offered plenty of food preparation space, along with a gigantic stainless steel sink. A bar in the kitchen opened to the dining area, but an unobtrusive gate off to the side held a polite little sign, proclaiming to the future guests, Kitchen Staff Only, so they couldn't just wander into the kitchen.

The family kitchen was cozy and in the corner still sat the old cast-iron stove, which looked as it was now used for storage. Still, I went and ran my hand lovingly over the cool metal surface.

"That's a great piece, isn't it?" Regan asked.

"Sure is. I have so many memories of this in my nana's kitchen, especially when she would bake bread in here. It was heavenly."

"Mm, I bet," Regan said fondly. She led me into the large family room on one side of the house and I was moved to tears when I saw that the old fireplace still had the plaque that read Burnham Est. 1875.

"Oh, you kept it," I whispered, touching the raised letters.

"Of course," Regan said reverently. "It's a piece of history." I knew in that moment that Regan and I would get along well.

We went quickly through the rest of the house and I was surprised and pleased at every turn, although a bit saddened, too, that the house I once knew was no longer the same. The part I enjoyed the most was the attic, which had been turned into a honeymoon suite. It was a rather expansive space over the large house, and I had often thought it would make a fantastic bedroom or play space.

After the somewhat abbreviated tour, Regan said, "We're planning to have you stay in the apartment above the old carriage house, which is now just a garage, if that's all right. It's almost completely finished. There's just one wall that needs to be taped, drywalled, and painted. Does that sound okay? It has a small but full kitchen rather than some of our suites which only have kitchenettes, so I thought it would be more useful to you that way. Although you're welcome to join us for meals whenever you'd like."

"Thank you, that's very generous of you," I answered. "And I'm sure the apartment will be perfect."

Regan handed Melody off to Harry and I and followed her to the space above the old carriage house. I was enamored with the tiny but modern space that would be my home for the next few months. On the left was the kitchen, which was as tiny as Regan had said, but had fridge, a small stove, microwave, and coffee maker, which was about all I'd need. On the back wall was a small cabinet and sink. Next to that was a fireplace below a sizable flat screen TV, which I doubted I would use much. Still, it was aesthetically pleasing, matching the size and shape of the fireplace. On the other side of the room were a comfortable-looking couch, a plank-wood coffee table and a matching end table with a lamp. It was simple but tasteful.

"A fireplace, I'm impressed," I noted.

"Oh, I have a thing for fireplaces," Regan smiled happily. "Harry said it was one of the selling points of the house because he knew I loved fireplaces. Of course, we added this one because I asked him to."

"Aw, that's sweet," I said, opening the door to the compact bathroom and the bedroom area where I found a full-size bed, made up with a clean red and white quilt, and a matching dresser.

"Do you think you'll need any other furniture?" Regan asked.

"I think I'm all set," I told her. "I'll let you know, though."

"Sure," she smiled. "There are extra blankets and towels in the cabinet, and the kitchen is stocked with towels and dishes, so yeah, just let me know if you need anything else. I guess I should leave you to it then. You must be pretty tired from traveling all day."

"I am, actually." I had gotten up at 6 AM Pacific time, driven to UCLA and back, which took over two hours during rush hour traffic, another hour to the airport and then a four-and-a-half hour flight. Add on a quick meal with my dad, meeting the Styles family, the house tour, and then the time change. "Oh! And it's really late for you. What time is it?"

"It's just after ten," Regan said. "Don't worry, Harry is putting Melody down to bed." Then she yawned.

"Okay, it's past your bedtime," I laughed. "Go and enjoy some quiet time with your family. I'll unpack a little and hit the hay."

"Great," she said. "Well, welcome, we're happy to have you here. Just make your way over to the house in the morning, we're up early. We have plenty to eat until you get a chance to shop."

"Perfect, thank you so much."

Regan left and I locked the door to my new little apartment. It was the first time I had my own place. In college, I shared a dorm room or an apartment with someone, and during grad school, I lived at home with my grandparents. This felt like the beginning of my official adulthood.

* * * * *

Caila's little apartment above the garage (I'm jealous):

This is what I imagine the bed and breakfast kitchen to look like (there's no gate in this picture, but otherwise, this is what I was thinking):

* * * * *

What do you think of Caila so far? :D Are you ready to meet Liam?