#rebexciting

Quinn is not one of those people.

She really doesn’t want to think about all of the changes she’s had to make to her own work schedule to drone out the inconvenience, but, in the end, her day really wouldn’t be the same without complaining about the ridiculousness of the whole thing at least once.

“I’m this close to stomping over to his desk and pulling the plug on all of his shit,” she moans to Liam over the phone on her lunch break. (It’s earlier than she’d like it to be, and she’s forever bitter about it). “Literally. I’ll pull the plug, Liam.” 

Privately Quinn suspects Liam’s incredibly tired of listening to her ramble about how she hates this one bloke at work that she’s never even actually met in person before, but as her best mate he’s got no choice in the matter.

“I don’t think that’d go over too well with your boss, yeah?” he says, a placating lull to his voice that Quinn figures he only uses when she’s being silly. “Just tell him you’d rather he turn the volume down, Q. It’s not a big deal.”

“I can’t say that to the Golden Boy,” Quinn grumbles, shoving her belongings into her handbag and tossing the remaining scraps of her meal into a nearby bin. “And anyway, why do I have to tell him? Shouldn’t he realize by now that no one wants to hear his dumb farm animals?” 

Liam tsks sharply in her ear as she swipes her ID for reentry into her work building. “Everyone’s got their hobbies, Quinn. You don’t have to be rude about it. Don’t you remember your Candy Crush phase?”

“Don’t remind me,” Quinn huffs, calling for the lift and shuffling in place while she waits. “But I didn’t play the stupid music out loud for everyone and their mum to hear. And this is Farmville, Liam. Talk about bloody embarrassing, Christ.”

“No, but you did send yourself lives from my Facebook account. You were pretty obsessed too, don’t you think? I was a bit embarrassed myself to be associated with you.” Liam’s the sort of lad who calls you out every time you do something even the slightest bit hypocritical. Quinn reckons she likes the habit when it’s used against everyone but her. 

“At least I didn’t send out requests to all of my friends! No one else knew,” she hisses into her phone, scowling at her screen for a quick second before painting a polite smile on her lips for the flood of people rushing out of the lift that’d just arrived. “Farm Harry added all of us on the first day and now he sends us daily requests to help plow his fields. Who even does that, Liam? We’re co-workers. Is that a euphemism?”

Liam sounds amused when he asks, “Do you want it to be?”

Quinn doesn’t dignify that with an answer and hangs up just as the lift pings, announcing her arrival back to the office. Liam’s loud laugh rings in her ears for a good minute afterwards, but it’s still not enough to block out the cries of distant farm animals.

Would it be considered breaking and entering if you hacked a virtual farm and trashed it beyond repair?

Quinn hopes not. It’s the only thought that really keeps her going these days.

-

The truth is, Quinn Cooper wants to be the best. She’s not used to being anything less and it rattles her a bit that she’s not her boss’ pride and joy. (It bothers her even more that the bloke who is spends all of his spare time plowing imaginary fields on the Internet. Since when did she end up losing to a person like that?)

The whole situation leaves Quinn a bit puzzled, if she’s being perfectly honest. She knows it sounds a bit vain to say that she’s never been second to anyone before, but if there was ever a time in her life when she was runner up to anyone for anything, Quinn doesn’t remember it. And if Quinn can’t recall it then it obviously didn’t happen. 

Or so she tells herself, anyway. When her mum was still around she would tell Quinn that as long as she was convinced of her own worth, then no one would ever take that away from her. 

(Liam tells her that her mum’s advice doesn’t mean she can blatantly deny all of her own shortcomings. Quinn likes to pretend she can’t remember him ever saying these things to her.)   

And so it’s her mum she’s thinking about when her boss calls her into his office to tell her she’s going to be assigned a partner for her next assignment.

“This is a pretty big project, Ms. Cooper, but I think that you and Mr. Styles will be up to the challenge. You’ve met Harry, haven’t you? He’s a good boy so I’m sure the two of you will get on perfectly well,” Mr. Long says, distractedly shoving a file under Quinn’s nose as he searches through the mess on his desk for something or other.

When Quinn had been called into his office ten minutes previously she was convinced that maybe this was finally it – her shining moment. That maybe her mum was finally right and if Quinn believed in herself hard enough then other people definitely would believe in her too.

Instead, the complete opposite happens: Quinn finally gets assigned a cover job for the magazine. Except, of course, it’s with Farm Harry. 

(She vaguely wonders if maybe she was a shitty person in one of her past lives and this is karma finally catching up to her. There’s no other explanation for it, really.) 

“I don’t think we’ve ever met in person. We were in separate orientation sessions when we were hired,” Quinn explains through gritted teeth, lips plastered in her best fake smile. Mr. Long doesn’t notice.

“Yes, well, technicalities.” He bats a hand, waving her off as he dives under his desk to shuffle through the piles of papers underneath. “I expect you’ll have no problems. Introduce yourself, exchange contact information, bounce some ideas off of each other. I have faith it will go well. Good luck.” 

Quinn somehow doesn’t think things will go nearly as well as he says they will. 

And, as it turns out, she’s right. As always.

- 

Quinn ends up planning their first conversation in her head a lot more than she probably should. Which is to say, she makes a list of ways she can casually bring up proper work etiquette without seeming like a total asshole. There aren’t very many it seems. (Ok, none at all). 

In the end it’s Niall, her Irish co-worker who sits in the cubicle across from hers, who tells her she’s overthinking everything.

“Calm yerself woman,” he says, yawning as he blinks tiredly up at her, watching her fret in her chair about a lunch meeting she’d set up with Farm Harry over Facebook the night before. “Just don’t make the lad cry and things will be fine, yeah?” 

Niall runs a hand through his messy blonde hair before pausing for a second and raising his eyebrows at her. “Ya can’t destroy his chickens or whatever it is yer plottin’ to do either, okay? I know ya. As much as I want some peace and quiet in me life too, don’t go and do something like that, Coop.” 

Quinn scowls at him, rolling her eyes. If anything, she thinks he should be pretty darn grateful to her for making sure to schedule her first meeting with Farm Harry over lunch so he wouldn’t have to put up with the damn mooing for one day. 

“Whatever,” she says, throwing a wadded up paper ball at his head. It smacks Niall right between his eyes and he yelps, almost falling out of his seat in surprise. “Do you even know what he looks like? His profile pictures are all baby animals, so I can’t tell. Is this guy even real?”

“I dunno.” Niall playfully frowns at her as he picks up the crinkled ball and pointedly drops it in his waste bin. Quinn exaggeratedly rolls her eyes. “Reckon he looks like a farmer, though. The two of ya will have loads of fun. Crop harvesting and chill, am I right?” 

“I hate you,” Quinn grumbles, standing up from her seat and shoving the file Mr. Long had given her yesterday into her handbag. “Enjoy your quiet afternoon today. Some angel out there took pity on you and made it happen. I wonder who this lovely person could be. She’s a proper saint, yeah?” 

Niall snorts loudly as she’s walking away and Quinn flips him the bird over her shoulder. He’d successfully distracted her for a good five minutes, but there’s a familiar rush of despair setting into her tummy now that she’s stood up to make her way to meet her arch nemesis. 

(Farm Harry’s never done anything to her, really. Except for the fact that he gets assigned all the projects Quinn wants and drives her absolutely mad with his stupid Farmville addiction. That’s definitely arch nemesis material, if Quinn does say so herself.)(It doesn’t matter that they’ve never met in person before and she doesn’t even know what he looks like. Technicalities. Whatever.) 

It also doesn’t help that he’s late. Quinn’s not exactly the golden standard for punctuality herself, but his desk’s less than five meters away from their designated meeting place in front of the lift, so what’s holding him up? 

Four people and ten minutes pass by before Quinn’s had enough of awkwardly loitering by the lift, hovering precariously close to a giant rubbish bin. Though she’s never been down the corridor that leads to Farm Harry’s desk (why would she walk closer to the ridiculous farm animal sounds? Quinn pities all of her unnamed and unknown coworkers who have cubicles near Harry ‘Farm Boy’ Styles), Quinn finds herself making an unfamiliar right turn by the drinking fountain near the men’s loo. 

It’s a step into unknown territory. Into Farmville. 

(That’s a terrible, horrible, absolute tragedy of a pun and Quinn hates herself for even thinking it.) 

As it turns out, finding Farm Harry’s desk isn’t particularly difficult. Most of the cubicles in this hallway (a perfect reflection of the area she works in on the other side of this floor) are pristine—immaculate gray fabric lined into perfectly spaced rows. A small voice at the back of Quinn’s head (the one that very often insisted throughout uni that she really ought to have studied English, even though, in the end, she graduated as Quinn Cooper, Graphic Design Major) remarks that the view is rather dystopian. Quinn doesn’t dwell on the idea, though, because when she spots one cubicle in particular on the far left, she loses all train of thought. 

Quinn has one and only one word for it: tacky. Or, rather, Tacky with a capital T. 

For someone who does cover design and Photoshop for a living, Farm Harry’s apparently got a somewhat shit aesthetic, in Quinn’s pretty much always-right opinion. He’s got this crinkled red construction paper lined up in the center of the side of his cubicle, streaky lines of green marker cutting vertically and horizontally across the page. There are cut outs of cute baby animals collaged across the sheet: piglets and chicks and small little penguins. (Quinn’s really confused because that doesn’t make sense with all the farm vibes he’s got going on?) 

In the center of the circle of pictures it says, ‘Harry’s desk xx’ in chicken scratch, wiry letters and exaggerated loops. Quinn even hates his handwriting. (That’s how you know you’ve got an arch nemesis – when you even hate their penmanship.) 

“You’re late,” she says monotonously, walking around the cubicle’s side to lean against it dramatically, arms crossed and lips twisted into a hopefully threatening frown. She presses her shoulder into the small, ‘All the love xx’ scrawled on the bottom right corner of his sign. (It’s a metaphorical Fuck You even though he’ll never be able to tell. But it happened so, you know, Quinn 1 and Farm Boy 0.) 

The guy sitting in the desk chair shoots up immediately, glancing at her over his shoulder with wide eyes and furrowed brows. He looks a bit like a deer caught in headlights—staring at her like she’s an oncoming vehicle about to plow right through him and his life. 

(It’s official, Quinn hates herself. Stupid, stupid farm puns.)(At the back of her mind there’s a voice that sounds like Liam. Wishful thinking, it hums.)

There’s no way this is Farm Boy, Quinn thinks. Nope, she’s definitely got the wrong desk because she refuses to believe this bloke’s the type of guy who spends his spare time taking care of a virtual farm. There’s just no bloody way a guy with a half naked girl tattooed on his forearm plays Farmville. 

Also, he’s just too… attractive. It would be tragic. 

“I’m so sorry.” He twists in place to face her, running an anxious palm through dark, curly hair. His tight dress shirt ripples against his chest, shifting and creasing as he drops his arm back down to his side to fidget with his rolled up sleeves. “I just missed the time and I was dealing with something and I just… I’m so sorry, Quinn. It’s Quinn, right? I’m Harry.” 

Then he extends a hand out to her: smooth, tanned skin and too long fingers and a ring around his third finger, not fourth. (Why would you even notice that, Quinn? she thinks to herself. Get a bloody hold of yourself.)

“Right,” Quinn says, extending her own hand to touch his with only the tips of her fingers. She gives it a quick shake, like she’s lifting his hand a little bit and letting it drop, before pulling hers back sharply. She doesn’t meet his eyes, turning around and asking over her shoulder instead, “Shall we go now?” 

He scrambles to pick up his wallet and a jacket, and only catches up to her because she’s stopped for a drink at the fountain by the lift. Let it never be said that Quinn Cooper is not considerate, even to her arch nemesis. She honestly should have been Quinn Cooper, Kindness Major. Yup, that’s her all right. 

“So,” Farm Boy sings once they’ve pressed the button for the lift. They’re standing side-by-side, staring at the black doors for a full minute now, and Quinn knows what’s coming, can feel it in her bones, can sense it in the chills running down her spine. 

Quinn hates small talk. (She realizes today that she sorta hates a lot of things. What’s a girl to do?) 

“I know we’re friends on Facebook, but we’ve never met in person before and, well, I hope we can be friends in real life too now that we’re working toge—“ 

And then the lift arrives. Ok, so maybe Quinn Cooper, Kindness Major was a bit of an exaggeration, because she steps forward without letting him finish. She doesn’t have any excuse, really, other than the fact that there’s a headache blossoming at the base of her skull and her tummy’s grumbling (she’s gotten so used to an early lunch that it’s weird to be eating later, like she used to.) 

The icing on the cake’s the fact that of course it’s Farm Harry’s fault that she’s off schedule. Again. 

“Where do you want to get lunch?” she asks once they’ve entered the lift, tipping her head back and staring at the ceiling. You can make it through this stupid project, Q, she thinks.

When Farm Boy doesn’t immediately reply, Quinn closes her eyes for a hard second, rubs her forehead in soothing circles, and finally looks at him. 

She almost feels bad that she’s glaring at him because he’s fidgeting under her gaze, pulling awkwardly at the collar of his shirt and flashing her a small, slightly scared smile.

“Whatever you want’s fine,” he says eventually as the doors open and they’re walking into the lobby. It’s probably the best answer he could have given, Quinn recognizes, and she’s grateful because she’s grumpy and not in the mood to have to convince him to go elsewhere with her. (Honestly, she only asked his opinion to be polite. They would have ended up at her favorite salad bar either way.) 

It takes a good fifteen minutes for them to get their food, but eventually they’re seated and talking about the project they were assigned. Quinn quickly realizes why Farm Harry’s the favorite around the place. He’s, well… he’s so bloody nice. And talkative, and full of great ideas, and just all around kind of amazing. (As amazing as someone whom you’ve just met can be, anyway.) 

(Also, the bloke can bloody talk. For literal ages. Quinn tries to be nice about it. Really, she does. But she can only take so much blabbering about animal feed before she goes bonkers. Quinn Cooper, Pretend To Care Major has a nice ring to it, right?) 

“So,” he hums, looking at her as he daintily brings a spoonful of soup to his lips. Quinn had slurped hers down a good ten minutes ago, and now she’s tackling the massive chicken salad wrap they’d had as a special today, shoveling piece after piece into her mouth. “How do you want to work on this? I reckon we can get it done by the end of next week if we meet up for a few nights after work? If you’re up for that, I mean. We could also ju—“ 

“That’s fine,” Quinn interrupts, wiping her fingers with a stray napkin and turning to look at him. “Let’s just…let’s just get this done as fast as possible, yeah?” 

“Oh.” Harry’s smile falls a bit, but returns back to full strength when she raises a questioning brow at him. “That’s perfectly fine! Wanna stay late on Monday and get a head start?” 

“Sounds like a plan,” she agrees, shoveling more food into her mouth, because, well, if Quinn’s eating then she doesn’t have to talk and this way things will be better for both of them. (Meaning, Quinn won’t put her foot in her mouth if food’s in there, right?)

Another fifteen minutes later and they’re parting ways in front of the lift. Farm Harry waves goodbye to her lazily, a lopsided smile on his lips and a giddy twinkle in his eye. 

Quinn turns around so he doesn’t see the scowl on her face. Quinn Cooper, Pretend To Care Major seems like a lot of work, she thinks. She doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea or anything. God forbid he tries to get her to play Farmville too. 

That’d be the day.

-

“Well, that’s sort of ironic now, isn’t it?” 

“More like some higher power out there really bloody hates me, Liam,” Quinn huffs while tossing a crisp at his head. He catches it in his mouth and winks at her. (Maybe Liam should be her arch nemesis, honestly. He’s a bloody wanker too. That’s it… Niall’s her new best friend.) 

“It’s the universe catching up to you for being such a Negative Nancy all the time,” he says matter-of-factly, tapping a finger on his chin while he pretends to contemplate the idea. 

Quinn pauses the film they’d been watching and turns to him, a massive frown on her lips. “Catching up to me how? By pairing me with actual Positive Polly? Or, even better, Farming Felicity.” 

Liam shrugs, chuckling as he watches Quinn’s shoulders drop. “God,” she groans, letting her head fall against the back of Liam’s sofa. “Why me?” 

“Because you’re a brat,” her best friend says after rolling his eyes. He snatches the television remote back and presses play, returning his attention to the film on screen. 

Maybe she should have majored in Done With Your Shit? That’s got a ring to it, doesn’t it? Quinn Cooper, Done With Your Shit Major, concentrating in Lack Of Patience and Sassy Comebacks, because she’s pretty sure that she’s very over Liam’s logic and decency. Who even needs those? And, anyway, isn’t your best friend supposed to hate all the people you hate too? Isn’t that written in the manual or something? Maybe in the fine print? 

“Just give the lad a chance, Q,” Liam says, batting a distracted hand at her while watching Woody and Buzz fight en film. 

Liam sucks, Quinn thinks as she huffs, sinking back into the sofa to watch too. Some bloody best friend he turned out to be. 

-

There are very few things Quinn Cooper hates more than being wrong. In fact, there are only two things, really. The first is, predictably, the distant wails of farm animals and the second, well… the second is when Liam’s right. (As if being wrong weren’t punishment enough? But Liam being right too? Ugh.)

So, working with Farm Boy isn’t as horrendous as she thought it would be. (Not bad enough to top her list of Most Hated things, anyway.) He’s got some really great ideas and if Quinn happens to disagree, then he’s always willing to compromise. (Damn him, can’t he give her a reason for this arch nemesis thing to be not so blatantly one-sided?) 

They’re staying late on Wednesday night, wrapping up some tidbits here and there, when Quinn realizes he’s maybe not so bad. 

“Alright,” Harry whispers distractedly, green eyes scanning the open document over her shoulder. “I think it looks pretty darn good, yeah?” 

“It’s alright,” she says, leaning back a bit to admire their progress. “We still have a bit to do, but we’re almost done with this damn thing.” 

“We can wrap it up tomorrow after work?” Harry questions, slipping around to sit in the seat adjacent to her. He opens his forgotten laptop and fiddles around with it for a bit before placing it onto the table next to her. It’s open to Facebook. Quinn watches him like a hawk. There’s absolutely no way he’d play that stupid game when she’s right here next to him, right? He has to know that she’d kill him. He’s not that daft, there’s just no way. 

(Farm Boy really is that dumb, apparently.) 

He clicks the small red and blue F on the left side of his screen with practiced ease, pulls up his knees so he’s sitting cross-legged in his desk chair, and readies himself just in time for his screen to load. Quinn watches him in awe—he’s got the whole thing timed down to the millisecond and it’s absolutely bizarre to witness first hand. 

If this were a film, Quinn’s pretty sure there would be background music blocking out the painful screeching of farm animals starting up right about now, and the lights would probably dim a bit. Then she’d spot the glimmering reflection of Farm Boy’s computer screen in his eyes and be charmed by his lopsided smile and his massive heart. (The one that even cares for imaginary farm animals, of course!) 

But this isn’t a shitty love story and Quinn isn’t ready to give up all her pent up animosity against Farm Boy just because he looks half decent when he’s smiling like a loser at his computer screen. 

(But it’s whatever, she’ll give him a pass. But only this one time. And only because he lowered the volume on his computer for once. Not because he’s cute when he’s feeding his chickens. Nope, not at all.) 

-

Two days later, Quinn wakes up late, sporting the worst headache she’s had in years. Her entire head’s absolutely pounding as she trudges into work with a newly cracked phone screen and a still searing coffee stain spread down the front of her shirt. 

It doesn’t help that the day gets worse and worse as it goes on. Niall’s especially annoying today, throwing little wadded paper balls at her head and laughing (read as: shrieking) like a hyena in what seems like hour intervals. At lunch she gets a phone call from her dad about scheduling a dinner date with him and her brother (something she very much does not want to do) and, by the time work’s ended, her headache’s spread from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet. 

“Look, Styles, I’m really not in the mood today, yeah? My day’s been absolute shit, so can we get this done?” Quinn sighs as she drops her laptop and notes on the conference table next to him. Farm Boy looks up from his scrolling to stare at her, a concerned frown on his lips. He doesn’t mention anything about her frazzled state when he finally does speak a moment later. 

“Oh, ok. That’s fine. We’re nearly there. Just, well,” he pauses, squinting at his computer screen for a bit before continuing, “what do you think about this bit here?” 

“Whatever you think is fine,” she says, sliding into the seat next to him. “Let’s just get this done.” 

Quinn tucks her head in her hands and rubs her eyes tiredly. There’s nothing she wants to do more right now than pass out for possibly an entire week, sat on her couch with a bottle or two of wine and a subscription to Netflix. 

“Are you… are you alright?” Harry interrupts her thoughts, a worried glint in his eyes. “You don’t look… you don’t look like you’re ok right now, Quinn. Do you want to maybe go home?” 

She stares at him for a full ten seconds before swatting a hand at him. “No, no. I’ll go when we finish.”

“Don’t force yourself,” he insists, turning in his seat to face her. She thinks for a second that he wants to reach out and rest the back of his hand on her forehead, but decides against it at the last second, wrenching his outstretched hand back into his lap before he’s even close to making skin contact. Quinn almost feels bad that he’s concerned about her, but she’s a big girl and they’re almost done anyway. There’s absolutely no way she won’t see this damn project through. 

“I’m fine.” She can feel the annoyance stirring in her belly. He doesn’t deserve this, Quinn thinks, attempting to calm herself. It’s not entirely successful. 

For the rest of the hour Harry shoots her concerned frowns every few minutes, his green gaze boring holes into the top of her head from his continued staring. 

“You should have taken a picture,” she says as they’re wrapping up for the day. “Would have lasted longer.”

Harry jolts back from slipping his computer into his bag, a bit surprised by her statement. “What?” 

“Look, I appreciate the concern, but it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“I just think you need to rest.” Farm Boy frowns at her again—he’s been frowning at her all day. Is she really that bad to be around? Quinn contemplates being nicer to him, but it’s too much effort to really think about right now and she’s tired. “Go home, sleep, maybe try some yoga this weekend. I know that it’s really good and you’ll feel better—“ 

He’s getting on her last nerve. She doesn’t want to be mean about it, but if he doesn’t stop soon she’s going to burst a blood vessel and yell at him about how he’s not that bloody great. He doesn’t know how to deal with everything. He should have been a bloody doctor if he wanted to dish out health advice. 

“Please, Styles. It’s fine. Let’s just go.” 

Harry frowns at her again, lips twitching like he wants to make a massive speech. Probably about how he knows best, Quinn thinks. “I really think that you—“ 

“I’m bloody fine. I get it that you’re the Wonder Boy in this office, Harry, but I’ve just got a sodding headache so you don’t need to pretend like you care. We all know you give the best advice this side of the Thames.” 

When Farm Boy does nothing but blink at her for a full minute, Quinn knows she should have just kept her stupid, loud mouth shut because she’s gone and mucked up everything again. 

There’s an I’m sorry on her lips right as he abruptly picks up his things.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he says coldly. A chill runs down her spine and suddenly her headache’s gone. Now there’s a dreadful hollowness in the pit of her stomach, a guilty frog in her throat. “I’m sorry I bothered.” 

She realizes in that moment that maybe she should have been Quinn Cooper, Arsehole Major instead. Fits better. Makes more sense. 

Quinn reckons she would have been her boss’ pride and joy if she’d studied that. 

(Though, staring at the doorway Harry’d stomped through only minutes ago, she thinks that maybe for the first time in her life she doesn’t want to be the best at something.) 

(Not at this.)

-

Everyone in the office knows something’s wrong the next day when there are no animal noises during lunch. No one really complains, though, because it’s a pretty huge relief—as nice as Harry Styles is, his gaming habits are definitely a bit less than convenient.

When there are no animal noises the next day or the day after (for a full week, even), everyone’s at a complete loss. Well, except for Niall, that is. 

“Alright, Cooper, what did ya do?” 

Quinn stiffens immediately when she hears his accusative Irish lilt from behind her. “What makes you think I did anything?” she asks, continuing to type out her email to a client. It’s not her fault that Farm Boy’ so damn sensitive. 

“Doesn’t take a detective ta figure it out. Yer face’s got guilty written all over it.” 

“Fine,” she says, turning around in her chair and glaring at the smug, blonde idiot behind her. Quinn only gives in because she maybe needs some advice. How the hell is she supposed to apologize to Farm Boy when he’s avoiding her like the plague? “Maybe I said something I shouldn’t have. How do I fix it?” 

Niall raises an eyebrow at her, whistling, “Ya musta done something reaaaal bad if yer fessing up so easily. Christ, what did ya say?”

Quinn closes her eyes, gritting her teeth behind closed lips. “Something not very nice. It’s not important. Just tell me how to bloody fix it.” 

“Yer not being very nice ta me right now,” Niall huffs, crossing his arms and shooting her a devious smile. “Why should I help ya?” 

Quinn hates Niall. He’s not her best friend anymore. In fact, he’s slowly overtaking Farm Boy as her arch nemesis. Bloody bastard. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Please help me, Niall. How do I fix this?”

The idiot has the gall to laugh afterwards, slapping a hand on her shoulder and ruffling her hair. (Fuck him. Quinn hates when people touch her hair. He bloody knows that too, ugh.) “Ya really mucked up then, eh Quinnie? Well, I’ve got no idea how to fix it. Just show him yer sorry and that ya didn’t mean what ya said. Simple.” 

“How is that simple?” Quinn mumbles miserably as he walks away, laughing at her over his shoulder. “That’s the worst advice anyone’s ever given me.”

Niall shrugs. “Never said I’d be helpful. Just that I’d help.” 

“I hate you.”

-

Quinn goes over the speech she’s written on all of her post-it notes about a million times before she finally gathers up the courage to head over to Harry’s desk. All of her efforts are, of course, useless, because as soon as she spots his stupid ‘Harry’s Desk xx’ sign, she can’t even think straight. (Quinn is definitely, without a doubt, the worst apologizer in the world. So much for being the best at everything.)

By some miracle, a higher power takes pity on her because he’s not there when she peeks around the corner of his cubicle. She leaves her apology gift on his desk and scrambles away quickly. (Quinn’s also generally shit with confrontations. This fight with Farm Boy’s made her realize she’s pretty far from the best at a lot of things.) 

Two days pass and when Quinn doesn’t get a response about her gift, she resorts to drastic measures. 

She makes a Farmville account. 

(It’s really bloody stupid, but Quinn feels slightly better when she accepts the 57 help requests from him in her Request For Aid inbox.) 

Another day passes before Farm Boy finally talks to her, cornering her by the lift after they’ve both stayed late on Friday. 

“I can’t believe you bought me Farmville vouchers and left them on my desk,” he says after they’ve entered the lift. He sounds amused. Quinn lets out a loud breath (she’d been really bloody nervous to be alone for him for some reason? It’s sorta silly because Farm Boy wouldn’t hurt a fly, so what could he possibly do to her?), and turns to look at him. 

“Seemed like a good thing to do at the time,” Quinn laughs nervously, almost jumping out of her skin when the lift pings, announcing their arrival to the lobby.

“I… I appreciate it,” Harry says after a second, scratching the back of his head like he doesn’t know how to approach the situation. To be honest, Quinn doesn’t know either. 

“Look, Harry,” she starts to say, before he interrupts her, wrapping his hand around her wrist to tug her out of the lift’s entryway. (She hadn’t noticed the army of angry men dressed in immaculate suits trying to squish around her). “I’m sorry about the other day, I was—“ 

Quinn can’t believe he interrupted her. It’s ironic and she’s almost proud (because he’s taken a page from her book, even though it’s probably not something he should be doing). 

“Let’s forget about it,” Harry says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. There’s a bit of a red flush on the tip of his nose and Quinn reckons she’s maybe a little bit charmed this time around. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot?” 

“I think so,” she says, nodding her head vigorously because she just wants this whole thing to be over. Quinn needs the guilt to go away as soon as possible—she’s spent her last few nights dreaming about strange farm animals shrieking at her because Farm Boy hasn’t fed them in days. She’s going bloody bonkers, Christ. 

“Do you…do you maybe want to get lunch tomorrow?” he asks slowly, staring at his feet. 

“I’d like that.”

-

These days when there aren’t any animal noises during lunch. Everyone knows it’s because Harry’s found a new way to spend his lunch break. (Quinn’s never had so many people leave her Thank You notes before. It’s kind of overwhelming.)(But she’s okay with it because Quinn Cooper, Girlfriend Major’s got a nice ring to it, she thinks.)

-

(Now when Harry sends her Farmville requests, Quinn indulges him. It’s not like she’s planting her own crops or anything—she’d never do that. But, well, if he’s short one damn brick for his stupid farmhouse then, well, she might as well help him if she can, right? There’s no point in asking any questions about his online activity anymore, Quinn’s used to him and his ridiculous ways. She’s fond of it, even.) 

Niall Horan lived in the building next to mine and was also a professional dog walker. He told me that he wasn’t really a professional dog walker and that he only did it to help out the people in his building while also making a quick buck, but that adding the ‘professional’ to the title helped his business. Apparently there weren’t any qualifications to being a professional dog walker and it didn’t seem like something that someone would sue him over.

                Niall at first looked horrified when I made my offer. I told him that there really wasn’t much of a trade-off and that he wasn’t going to get anything out of this other than some time away from all of the dogs that he walked, but that I would greatly appreciate if he did this for me. Then he looked amused as he began thinking over the insane question that I’d asked him. I mean, this was the first time that we’d ever had a real conversation with each other and it wasn’t even like I’d asked him about this over coffee.

                But Niall agreed and I promised him that if I one day had anything that I could offer him then I would gladly do so, and then my plan was set in stone.

                My Nanna lived on a sprawling property. She had too much land that she clearly didn’t know what to do with. Sometimes she would host weddings, sometimes she’d host carnivals, and sometimes she’d put host dog shows. My parents had always told my siblings and I that we weren’t supposed to question it and were to instead admire how creative our grandmother was. I thought that Nanna was batshit insane, but all of her doctors ensured that all of her marbles were there. Apparently my grandmother was somewhat of a genius. I knew this because she reminded us of it every chance she had.

                I had to give the woman credit though; she did know what she was doing. No one ever had any complaints when Nanna provided the venue. Did I think that it was weird that she was hosting a dog show? You bet! But did I think that it was going to be a poorly planned event? No. I knew way better than that.

                I was nervous that Nanna and the rest of my family would hate my date, but he did have a few things going for him. I mean, he was cute and sociable and probably wasn’t going to flip out and bite someone.

                “You… your grandmother really is hosting a dog show,” my date shook his head in disbelief.

                “Did you think that I was joking?” I asked Niall.

                “I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly. I know that you told me that we were going to a dog show, but I didn’t think that- I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting an all-out dog show. Are people actually competing in this?” Niall’s eyes were wide as he looked around at all of the exquisite dog-themed decorations. I was too embarrassed to tell him that I hadn’t even batted an eye at this all because I was so used to this happening.

                My qualifications had been simple: don’t be a criminal and also know how to act around dogs. My grandmother had a knack of knowing people’s criminal records right as she met them, which was slightly horrifying and also made me wonder if she’d ever worked with the FBI or CIA or something. She would know if someone even had as much as an outstanding parking ticket.

                The dog part was because of the fact that it was a dog show and the last thing that I needed was to spend twelve hours with someone that had an irrational dislike of canines.

                “There are several competitions, but this is mainly more of a family-friendly dog festival,” I clarified.

                “Jolene,” Niall shook his head again, “I cannot believe that you invited me to be your date to a dog show that is being hosted by your grandmother in her backyard.” Well, when you say it like that…

                “I know, I know, it’s weird and I’m sorry. But I promise that this shouldn’t be too bad and no one in my family is going to say anything rude to you or anything. In fact, they’ll probably just ignore us because you aren’t a dog and dogs are what they are here for.” I didn’t know why I felt like I had to apologize for anything, but I still felt like I had to as a disclaimer just in case anything went wrong.

                “Is your grandmother expecting for you to be married by now or something?” Niall asked as a mini parade of poodles pranced by.

                “Maybe not married, but she’s expecting for me to have something consistent in my life,” I replied.

                “Consistent,” he repeated, bobbing his head up and down a few times. “I can do consistent. I didn’t bring a ring or anything but I think that I can pull out a pretty good fake proposal. Although more questions might be asked and I don’t know if you’re willing to put in the time to create an entire fake wedding. Although, judging by this dog show, I would kinda like to see how your grandmother planned our wedding. Do you think there’d be dogs there?”

                I laughed as we walked by my aunt, who whipped her head around, saw who I was talking to, and immediately whipped out her cell phone to start the wildfire that I knew would be spread. The gist of it was usually pretty simple- it was mainly them wondering how long this one was going to stay for. If only they knew that it was (normally) just an elaborate scheme and that most of the boys that I brought home were never actually romantically involved with me. Anything was better than having your various family members play matchmaker with you.

                “We don’t really have to do anything,” I whispered to him as we made our way up the driveway. “Just a little bit of handholding and you have to laugh at around seventy percent of my jokes.”

                “Are you… are you not funny?” Niall asked softly.

                “I am hilarious. I just need for you to help solidify that,” I held on to his arm. “Also, ignore everything that anyone says to you about me. And feel free to lie through your teeth in response to any of the questions that may get asked to you. No one is expecting for us to be together forever and no one is going to get together to corroborate their stories. And you don’t have to remember names. Odds are that no one will remember yours.”

                Niall chewed his lower lip, nodding along to what I was saying. “Why is your grandma hosting a dog show again? And why is it in her backyard?”

                “Honestly, the less questions you ask, the better off you are.”

                “Not gonna lie, Jo, I’m still pretty curious. Was I supposed to bring a dog or something?” Niall asked me, looking around at the people surrounding us. “It seems like everyone here has a dog.”

                He was right; everyone there did have a dog. Or, if they didn’t have a dog, then they were huddled up with someone that did. I wondered how many love connections were going to be made that day. Animals have a way of bringing people together.

                “No, it’s better being dogless. My grandmother will judge a dog harsher than she will judge a person, which is why I chose to bring you with me instead of one of the dogs that you were walking,” I reassured him. “Ugh, there she is over there,” I groaned as I spotted my elegant, regal, batshit crazy grandmother waving at people as they walked in. “Let’s go and get this over with now.”

                “She seems nice. She is hosting a dog show,” Niall said.

                “You do know why they call it a bitch, right?” I grimaced before plastering a smile on my face as I extended my arms towards my grandmother. “Nanna!”

                “Jolene!” she gave me a quick hug and I knew that her eyes never once left the scene that was unfolding around her. I was not important enough for her to lose focus on her dog show. “It’s so lovely to see you again. And you’ve even… done something with your hair! It’s so full of life today!” I knew that was a jab at my unruly curls, but there’s only so much that a girl can do.

                “God bless that high humidity,” I smirked.

                My grandmother’s eyes twitched. “And who are you?” she asked, her lips curling upwards into a smile as she didn’t try and hide how she was staring at Niall. I was surprised that she even looked at him. A dog could have gotten loose in that period of time.

                “I’m Niall,” he introduced himself happily, shaking my grandmother’s hand. Good for him for going the extra mile; I hadn’t even planned on telling her what his name was. “I’m Jolene’s boyfriend.”

                If my grandmother would have allowed herself to ever look startled, she would have then. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest.  She was so dramatic. “Who did you say that you were again? Jolene’s friend?”

                “He’s my boyfriend, Nanna,” I corrected her. No need to act shy.

                “Right,” she said dismissively, not at all trying to act like she believed me. “Well, you and your boy friend need to get these damn crows to stop scaring the dogs. They’re riling them up! We can’t have a bunch of unruly canines let loose on a farm! Do you know how much of a liability that is?” she cried. A scarecrow? What the hell did she think I knew about building scarecrows?

                I wasn’t going to say anything, but Niall did. “No?” he answered unsurely.

                “He’s kidding,” I quickly covered to spare the lecture. “He knows.”

                “I don’t think he does, Jolene. And I have enough time to explain it to him if you-“

                “No, no, Nanna, that’s fine,” I cut her off. “We’ve got this. You want for us to find a way to scare away the crows and make sure that there is no dog riot. We can take it all from here.”

                “Not yet, Jolene.” I didn’t understand why she felt the need to keep saying my name when it was obvious that I was the one that she was talking too. While my grandmother was a bit of a bitch, she wasn’t the type to bark out orders to a complete stranger. Even if she was in dire need of help, she wasn’t going to rely on someone that she’d never even heard of before to step in because she didn’t know their skill level. That would have been a liability. “I need for you to take Gretchen with you.”

                Gretchen was my niece. I wasn’t sure if it was her father that was related to me or if it was her mother because I’d known both of them for so long and they were inseparable. Their daughter, Gretchen, was eight years old. She was like every child I’d ever encountered, but I liked her enough.

                “Uh, okay?” I said. There was no point in arguing with my grandmother when she was hosting an event because I knew that I’d just end up doing what she wanted anyway. Besides, spending time with Gretchen meant less time I had to spend answering Nanna’s questions about where my new boyfriend came from.

                “Gretchen is already over in the field. Run along and hurry before these darn birds cause a ruckus!” Not only was Nanna overdramatic, but she also talked like she was staring in a period piece even though she was a loyal believer in Apple products.

                “Will do, Nanna,” I rolled my eyes before grabbing Niall by the arm to lead him to where my young niece was trying to scare off crows in the field a couple hundred meters away from where the main part of the dog show was taking place.

                “Do you normally build scarecrows for your grandmother?” Niall asked once she was out of earshot. “Or even in general?”

                “Nope, never have in my life. But I’m not about to let that woman down. Have you ever seen one person turn a pack of dogs against you? Because that’s what’ll happen if I don’t at least make an attempt at what she wants,” I sighed. It was true. This was how the circle of life worked. “Hi, Gretchen!” I called out to my niece as we got closer.

                She barreled over to where Niall and I were, latching her arms around my waist and squeezing as tightly as she possibly could because when you’re eight, you don’t care about your digestive system.

                “Hi, Jolene! I missed you!” she cried out even though I’d seen her a week ago. She pulled away and apparently noticed Niall for the first time. I guess she hadn’t seen him when we were literally whispering in each other’s ears as we walked over to her. “Who’s this?” I couldn’t tell if Gretchen was trying to whisper or if she had a cold because her voice had a certain rasp to it that it normally didn’t have.

                “That’s my boyfriend. His name is Niall,” I said.

                “Hi,” he said, offering her a smile and a wave.

                Gretchen was young, but she wasn’t dumb. She had caught on to how I brought a different boy to every family gathering and I knew that she was waiting for the right time to use it against me. Today wouldn’t have been the worst time for her to do so, but I wasn’t in the mood to fight with her.

                “That’s your boyfriend?” she sneered. There was a hint of disbelief in her voice as well, as if she didn’t think that I was capable of bringing someone like Niall to an event like this. I don’t even know why she felt like that. Niall wasn’t even anything remarkable.

                “Niall walks dogs,” I told Gretchen. I knew that it wouldn’t take much to win her over. It didn’t really matter if anyone actually liked Niall, but it definitely wouldn’t hurt if they didn’t hate him either. Gretchen seemed like the easiest person to convince. Maybe one day she’d think that her aunt was somewhat of a catch.

                That made her eyes light up. “You work with dogs?” she bounced up and down excitedly.

                Niall’s eyes flicked over to match mine before focusing back on Gretchen. “Yeah, I do work with dogs. I walk them three days a week,” he said, crouching down so that he was closer to her level. I could see the hearts pop up in her eyes when he did that.

                “You like dogs and you like Jolene?” Alright, Gretch, what were you trying to say here?

                “Well… yeah, I guess.” Even though he didn’t sound too enthused to be linked to me, I had to give him credit for at least sticking up for me in the face of a child. It was admirable. Chivalrous, even. “I like dogs and I like Jolene. I guess that you’re right on that one,” he flashed me a tiny, wicked smile.

                “Are you in love?” Gretchen asked, twirling one of her pigtails around her chubby finger. “Nanna said that you two are in love an’ if you’re lyin’ then I’m-I’m gonna tell on you.”

                God damn it, Gretchen, you piece of shit.

                And fuck you as well, Nanna.

                “We’re in love,” Niall answered because I was too busy wondering how fast I could make a cornhusk voodoo doll of my niece and then decapitate it.

                “Yeah. We’re in love,” I echoed.

                Gretchen looked at us long and hard before speaking again. “Okay. Kiss her.”

                Normally I thought that Gretchen was cute and I typically didn’t want to wish harm against her, but if a tractor trailer got loose and ran her over, I certainly not would have complained. I was honestly ready to stuff her into a burlap sack and post her up as a scarecrow. Would anyone even have noticed if she was missing? How could someone that I shared DNA with possibly pop out such a demonic spawn?

                “He can’t. I have a cold.” It was my turn to jump in and save the day because it wasn’t fair to leave it all up to my dog-walker fake boyfriend. He didn’t deserve to be there in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to actually get sacrificed.

                Gretchen actually looked disappointed, which was concerning on so many levels. What was going on at her house? Was I going to have to have a talk with her parents? We’d already had to have a conversation about the repercussions of naming their daughter ‘Gretchen’ in the 21st century. Sure, they tried to play off as a family name, but I’d never seen a ‘Gretchen’ on their ancestry.com account.

                We started work at building the scarecrow because the last thing that I wanted was for my nanna to come and check on us only to found out that the only thing that I’d accomplished was killing her granddaughter. The goal that day was acceptance, not murder.

                “You haven’t coughed in hours,” Gretchen, a direct descendent of the devil himself, attempted to go and kill the carefree vibe that Niall and I had so cautiously created. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, I thought that Gretchen was my favorite family member under the age of twelve. And look where we were now. I wanted to slather her in peanut butter and throw her to the dogs.

                “That’s how medication works, Gretchen,” I rolled my eyes at her.

                “So you’re not sick anymore?” she raised an eyebrow.

                “I’m getting sick of your questions.” I was. I knew that I would be reprimanded by her parents for being a bitch to their eight year old, but they should have raised a less annoying kid. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

                “I’m having fun with you,” she said sweetly. She then added on, almost as if it was an afterthought, “and Niall.”

                “Thanks, Gretchen. I’m having fun too,” my fake-boyfriend once again shattered the expectations that I’d had set for that day. Maybe it’s not always the best thing to expect for the absolute to happen. Sometimes people are surprising.

                We went back to working on the scarecrow after that. I’d taken the time to Google the directions and the three of us accumulated all of the supplies that we’d need. It wasn’t as terrible as I thought it’d be, but it certainly wasn’t fun, either. Or, well, it was kind of fun. I guess there’s no need for me to lie about that.

                It also took a bit longer than we’d expected. When we finished, we all took a step back to soak in our masterpiece with our arms folded across our chests and thoughtful looks on our faces.

                The scarecrow was flat out heinous. The only reason that the crows flew away was because they’d get a good reason at the monster that we’d created and decide that something that treacherous wasn’t worth their time. I couldn’t blame them. But, hey, we’d done what we could.

                “It kinda looks like me,” my little niece said with a frown.

                “It kinda does,” Niall laughed next to me. I’m glad that they’d gotten what I was going for.

                “Gretch, put your jacket on it. To complete the look,” I instructed her. It wasn’t like she was wearing the thing anyway. How did kids produce all of that heat? Do you know how much cheaper my electric bill would be if I could just put an eight year old on one of those hamster wheels and somehow convert that into energy?

                Gretchen did what I told her because I was willing to be that I was her favorite family member and she wanted to look cool in front of Niall. “It does look like me!” she squealed with delight, throwing her head back in laughter.

                I laughed as well because it was funny that my niece was so thrilled to be mimicked by a scarecrow and Niall laughed too because he was one with good spirits and the air was crisp and the sun was bright and for a second I forgot that I was supposed to only be fake dating this boy because everything felt so real and genuine.

                “I’m gonna go get my camera!” Gretchen proclaimed, running off so that she could find the little polaroid camera that she’d been given for her birthday.

                Niall and I stood there staring at each other.

                “She’s a cute kid,” he said, breaking the silence.

                “Eh.” I mean, she was kind of in the way.

                “She’s probably going to ask us to prove that we’re in love again.”

                My eyebrows shot up, but I wasn’t embarrassed. I wasn’t nervous either. I was intrigued. I boldly took a step closer to Niall. “She probably is. Or maybe even my grandmother will. What are we supposed to do if they ask?”

                Niall laughed, inching forwards as well. “I don’t know, Jo. They’re your family.”

                I pursed my lips. “We can ignore Gretchen, but maybe not my grandmother. She’s going to want some sort of evidence or proof that we’re actually dating.”

                He made a face like he was thinking it over before breaking out into a goofy grin. “Sex tape?”

                It was my turn to laugh.

                “Ew, no!” I wrinkled my nose in disgust, swatting him playfully on the arm. My hand lingered there. I didn’t pull away. He didn’t move either. Everything suddenly felt lower, darker, more intense. “I was thinking something a little simpler first.”

                “Right,” he agreed. “I agree. We should start with something small. Something inconspicuous. Something that proves our relationship without seeming too staged.”

                Our faces were so close together that I could feel his warm breath on my lips. He quickly glanced down at my mouth and I’m sure that I did the same thing to him and he moved his head a little closer so that the tips of our noses were brushing together and he had heavy-lidded eyes and I could feel my heart start to race a little and then-

                “Jo-lene!”

                My eyes shut completely because at least then I could imagine what could have happened if I hadn’t been interrupted by my new least-favorite niece.

                “What is it, Gretchen?” I called back to her, pulling away and straightening my hair (even though nothing had happened that would have caused for it to have been messed up).

                “Nanna wants for you to come and help her with something and she says that you have to come right now!“ she shrieked, darting over to where Niall and I were awkwardly fumbling with our limbs and pretending like we weren’t doing anything suspicious. We really hadn’t been doing anything inappropriate because we were two consenting adults that were also currently trying to convince my grandmother that we were something more, but there’s something uncomfortable about getting caught in a compromising position by an eight year old.

                “Ri-right now?” my voice cracked as I tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

                “Yes, right now,” she repeated, rolling her eyes at me and not noticing the situation that she’d run it on. “Don’t worry, Jo! I’ll stay with Niall! I can show you all of the dogs!” she assured me, grabbing onto his hand. Great. Now I had competition.

                “You don’t have to do that,” I tried to spare Niall from the potential torture but he just smiled and laughed.

                “It’ll be fine,” he smiled. “We are at a dog show and I haven’t seen very many dogs.”

                Niall was a grown man and I couldn’t stop him from doing what he wanted. Besides, him being with Gretchen was better than him being with anyone else in my family. I was going to have to start counting my blessings because that day had provided me with so many of them.

                Reluctantly, I went to go help Nanna with whatever ludicrous task she’d thought up now. She wanted for me to hand out dog treats to the people in attendance and make sure that everyone was having a good time. It was a simple enough request that filled a lot of the empty time that I could have been spending with Niall. And Gretchen, I guess. Maybe Gretchen.

                Hours went on and the dog show dragged to a close. Pets and their owners left with goodie bags and sleepy children in tow. Gretchen left with her parents and Niall made his way back to me. He had a paw print painted on his face. I thought that it was cute and was staring at him instead of paying attention to whatever it was that Nanna had been saying to me. She’d been talking all day; I needed to think about someone- something, I mean- else.

                “Sorry that I had to leave you for so long,” I apologized maybe a little too loudly, but it wasn’t like I was saying anything controversial. It was normal to tell your (fake) date that you were sorry for leaving them alone with your family for more than five minutes. Except I knew that Niall was with Gretchen and everyone there- everyone other than my Grandmother- was focused on the dogs instead of who Jolene had brought with her.

                “It’s okay. Do you want for me to pull the car up to the front of the lot for you?” Niall asked, taking his role of fake-boyfriend a little too seriously. I appreciated it. I liked it, really. I liked spending time with him and hoped that maybe it would happen again.

                “You don’t have to,” I said. I could walk. I’d been walking all day and there was no need for me to stop now.

                “It’s okay,” he replied with a grin. “You just finish up here and I’ll come back with the car. It was nice to meet you,” he said to my grandmother, shaking her hand first before then going in for a hug, which, to my utmost surprise, my grandmother returned. The Ice Queen did have a soft spot for people after all.

                “I like him,” Nanna said to me as Niall walked away to get the car. “He’s… nice. He’s nice.”

                That was strange coming from my grandmother, who liked dogs more than she liked people. She especially liked dogs more than any other boyfriend that I’d ever had, whether they be real or not.

                “Thanks,” I said proudly. I knew that it wasn’t something that I should have been dwelling too much over because she would never see Niall again, but it was good to know that I’d gotten her approval for once.

                “I hope that I’ll be seeing him in the future,” Nanna raised an eyebrow at me before turning her back so that she could go back to tending towards her guests.

                “I… I hope so too,” I let my voice trail off.

                The car ride was as smooth going home at it was when we’d been on the way to my grandmother’s house. We’d started off making light conversation, although it was definitely more personal and meaningful now than it had been earlier. Now we were friends. We had an established friendship. I wanted to see him again. My grandmother wanted to see him again. I never knew that it was possible to spend more than eight hours with someone and not completely hate them by the end of it. None of my other fake boyfriends had ever done this well. I was shocked.

                The closer we got to our destination, the more tired I got. I was fighting to keep my eyelids open, mumbling simple responses whenever Niall said something as a pathetic attempt for him to know that I was still paying attention.

                “You can go to sleep, you know,” Niall said softly, quickly glancing over at me.

                I shook my head. “I’m not tired.”

                “Hey, Jo, it’s okay if you are, alright? I’m not going to be mad if you fall asleep on the way back,” he assured me, placing his hand on my kneecap and squeezing it lightly.

                I don’t know why, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. Normally it was hard for me to fall asleep in front of strangers. I didn’t trust for them to wake me up if something happened. But I was so, so tired and I couldn’t think of why I wouldn’t want to fall asleep with Niall. With Niall in the car, I mean.

                “Are you sure?” I asked him even though I was the one that needed convincing.

                “Yeah, Jo. You can sleep,” he said, and that’s exactly what I did.

X

                “Jo.”

                I felt someone gently nudging my shoulder.

                “Jo.” I was jostled again. “Jolene, wake up. We’re home.”

                My eyes flew open and I jumped out of the car, not sure of what was going on. Why was I in the dog walker’s car? Why had I been so okay with being in the dog walker’s car? Why did I want to spend more time with him?

                “Come on,” he said in a soft voice, getting out of the driver’s side and walking around to where I was now standing in the middle of the street, more confused than I’d ever been. “I’ll walk you up to your room.”

                He did walk me up to my apartment, one of his arms around my waist while the other opened the door, pushed the buttons on the elevator, absentmindedly pushed strands of hair out of my face.

                We made it to my door, but he didn’t pull away. His arm remained around me. I didn’t want for him to pull away.

                “I had fun today. Thank you for coming with me,” I said, twisting so that I was facing him but also making sure to not lose any contact between the two of our bodies. It was like his arm was the only thing that was keeping me from collapsing on the floor.

                “I had fun too,” Niall said, pulling me a bit closer and slowly tilting his head forward until his forehead was touching mine. “We should do it again sometime. Soon. Sometime soon.”

                It was just like the scene from before.

Our faces were so close together that I could feel his warm breath on my lips. He quickly glanced down at my mouth and I’m sure that I did the same thing to him and he moved his head a little closer so that the tips of our noses were brushing together and he had heavy-lidded eyes and I could feel my heart start to race a little and then-

                “We don’t have to do this,” I whispered to Niall, confused. “We’re not at my grandmother’s house anymore; no one can see us.”