Rewinding the events of last night, I lie in my hotel bed feeling a familiar sting of embarrassment—not just for being unguarded and unprofessional, but for being naïve. I'd never been approached by someone so young... or so impossibly beautiful. I wasn't used to being seen that way, not anymore. I'd stopped thinking of myself as desirable. But last night? I wanted Harry to want me. And worse—I enjoyed it. That alone was terrifying.

Since Jason, my life had revolved around Anzie and work. There was no time, no space, for anything else. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that truly enjoying someone's attention—really letting it in—meant I was betraying J. Like I'd forgotten him. Rationally, I knew that was nonsense—textbook grief logic. But emotionally? A whole other story.

Anzette needed me to be both parents. That left very little room for "me" in the equation. But now... she was growing up. Becoming her own person. So where did that leave me?

Is it time to move on?

No. At least—not like this. Not with someone so young. So... unpredictable.

Yes, Harry is mature in some ways. Thoughtful. He's got an old soul underneath all that charm. But he's still in his twenties. And—let's be honest—named one of the sexiest people alive. Not wrongly. God only knows how many women he's been with—or how many are waiting in line. I could never be that casual, never just "have fun" without strings. That's not who I am. And I'm certainly not someone to be played with.

I rub my temples. All this thinking is giving me a headache.

No. I can't start something now—especially not with him. I need Sher's voice in my head, telling me what I already know: this is too complicated, too soon, and too risky.

"Are you awake?" Liz murmurs, eyes still closed as she shifts under the covers.

"Yeap."

"We missed breakfast," she sighs.

I grab my phone and squint at the time. "Yeap," I echo, rubbing my temples. My head is pounding.

"You need to go get some decent coffee, Ash," she mumbles, sinking deeper into her pillow.

"Why me?" I mutter.

She cracks one eye open, giving me a look like I've asked whether the sky is blue.

"Because you absolutely owe me," she snaps, her voice scratchy with sleep but packed with drama. "You ruined my chances with Ni because you couldn't just—ugh—sleep with the sexiest man alive who was basically served to you on a silver platter."

"Liz, come on... you say that every time we meet someone. You said the same exact thing when we met Leo. And did I really ruin your chances? I saw you snogging him right before I dragged you out."

"Exactly!" she whines. "Who knows where I would've woken up today, Ash. But instead? Here I am. In bed. With you."

"Sorry for spoiling your magical evening," I grumble, rummaging through my bag for Nurofen.

"Mocha latte—no sugar, organic, decaf, soy milk, not regular. And hurry please," she rattles off, her voice muffled by the pillow.

I groan. "That's not coffee. That's a wedding dress fitting. I need to write this down."

"Say yes to the dress!" she chirps. "Love you, Ash. But let's be real—I'd love you way more if I'd woken up with Niall between my thighs this morning."

"That's... not actually a latte, but whatever," I mutter, mostly to myself trying to forget what my poor ears just heard.

She turns just enough to give me a wicked smile.

"...And something to eat. Preferably croissants. Thanks."

She's terrifying.

"Fine," I concede, pulling on denim shorts and a loose t-shirt before dragging myself to the bathroom to get ready for whatever today has in store.

And God, it's going to be a long day.

***************************************************************

"Yes, Liz... the problem is the projector—the images are blurry. We need to calibrate it," I say, stepping onto the chair after kicking off my heels.

As I lean in to adjust the settings, I feel the heat of someone behind me. I turn to climb down—and come face-to-face with a freshly showered, elegantly dressed, heart-stopping boy offering his hand.

And suddenly, I'm dizzy. Damn him and his ridiculously expensive cologne.

"Hi..." he says shyly, and all I want is to crawl under the table and disappear. Last night flashes in my mind like a bad movie reel. Shit.

"Hi..." I manage, sounding like an idiotic schoolgirl. I mentally kick myself.

"Hey, about last night..." he starts, brushing his hair back, and I cut him off before I make things worse.

"Yeah—please. Just... I'm sorry. I was out of line. Completely unprofessional. I don't know—maybe I had too much to drink. Let's just forget it happened, okay?"

"No," he says simply.

That one word knocks the breath out of me.

"No?" I repeat, blinking.

"No," he says again, calm but certain. "I had a great time. And so did you, whether you want to admit it or not."

And just like that, I'm the one without a comeback.

"Harry, you're right..." I fumble, eyes avoiding his, fingers twisting together nervously. I lower my voice, aware of Liz in the background, already reading the entire situation without a word.

"...I had a great time," I admit, finally meeting his gaze. "But—"

"So, you ready, Styles?" Liam barrels in, interrupting everything. He claps Harry on the shoulders dramatically like he's about to send him into a boxing match.

"Born ready," Harry replies, holding out his hands and making them tremble for effect, mimicking Liam's nerves the previous day.

"See, Ashley? This guy's bullying me," Liam says, mock-offended. "Come on, Ash. Let's watch him crash and burn."

He takes my arm to lead me to the side—but Harry isn't finished.

"Wait, wait, wait," he calls after us.

"What now, Styles?" Liam groans, and I can't help but laugh at his exasperation.

"A good luck kiss," Harry says, stepping forward with a mischievous glint in his eye and pointing to his cheek.

I stop, surprised, but before I can process it, Niall swoops in and plants a kiss on Harry's cheek. I burst into laughter. It's like babysitting a group of sugar-high children.

"Niaaaaaaaal!" Liz's voice cuts through the room, and Niall freezes like a toddler caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

He quickly scurries off to her side, leaving Harry still waiting. He tilts his head at me expectantly.

"A good luck kiss, Ash. Come on..." he pleads with a grin.

I sigh dramatically, stepping forward and leaning in to peck his cheek—but at the very last second, he turns, and his lips meet mine instead.

A soft, fleeting kiss. A feather-light brush of warmth.

I freeze. He pulls away, playing it cool like it's nothing—like it's all part of the joke. Everyone else is still laughing or distracted. No one saw. But I can feel it. The buzz. The spark.

He knows I wasn't expecting it. And he's grinning like the devil himself as I narrow my eyes at him, trying to pretend it didn't shake me.

I'm having fun. With him. With them. But I can't pretend this is something it's not. I can't let myself believe in anything more.

The moment the press floods into the room, the flash of cameras lights up every surface. Harry squints at first, caught in the sudden brightness, but recovers quickly. He looks composed. Steady. Almost too calm.

Then he starts speaking—and the room shifts.

He gives credit to the organization. He mentions Liz. He mentions me. And I find myself grateful in a way I didn't expect to feel.

Everyone is leaning in, clinging to his words. No one commands a room like Styles. Liz once told me he could silence an entire stadium—this, by comparison, is child's play.

I stand back, observing. The way he speaks—slow, deliberate, completely in control. His hand rests confidently on the podium, knuckles flexed. The carefree boy from earlier is gone. In his place stands a young man filled with passion and quiet conviction.

The stubble along his jaw gives him a rougher edge tonight—and I hate that I find that appealing. His mouth moves, and I catch the flick of his tongue wetting his lips. A second later, I realize I've mirrored him, my own tongue brushing over mine.

God. I hope no one noticed.

Jesus, what is happening to me?

I am not Demi, and he is definitely not Ashton. And even if he were—look how that turned out.

Then he looks at me.

Right at me.

And smiles.

And I melt, just a little.

Cameras flash. Reporters launch questions from every direction. He turns back to them, but that smile lingers on my skin like a phantom touch.

"Ashley?" Liam's voice snaps me back to earth.

"Yeap?" I answer, trying to act casual. He steps closer, his expression warm, familiar.

"Give him a chance," Liam says softly. "He fancies you. I bet you know that already..."

"I... I'm not—"

"Ashley." His voice drops, more serious now. "Is there someone else?"

I shake my head.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Liam, I don't..."

"Don't deny yourself something good just because of some bloody taboo. You of all people should know better—"

But he doesn't get to finish.

Because I feel a hand wrap around mine.

And then Harry's voice fills the room again.

"Let's hear it for Ashley Cameron, the woman who's made all of this possible—for Action1D and so many others."

My eyes widen.

He's pulling me onstage.

I stumble forward, heart pounding, blindsided by the unexpected spotlight.

I raise my hand in a wave, manage a quick, awkward thank you, and somehow don't trip on my way back to Liam.

Liam, who is now grinning like a damn peacock, entirely too pleased with himself.

And all I can do is smile back—because despite every reason I've given myself not to feel this... I'm starting to.

*************************************************

There's nothing more beautiful than swimming as the sun begins to set—when the sky is on fire, streaked with crimson and gold, and the world finally seems to exhale.

After calling Anzie and checking in with my mom, I grab a towel and head down to the beach. The water is warm, the sea calm, and for the first time all day, everything is still.

I swim until my muscles ache with the good kind of burn. Then I float, arms wide, letting the salt cradle me. Why can't life be this peaceful? Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Monet always says life is only as complicated as we make it. Of course, she never follows her own advice.

I dive under again, staying there for just a few seconds—just long enough to quiet my racing thoughts. When I resurface, I pull the elastic Harry gave me from my wrist and tie my hair into a bun.

Life is only as complicated as we let it be.

I haven't replied to Harry's text. I agreed to dinner with Leo. Liz has plans with Niall, who's apparently whining about the vegetarian restaurant she picked. It should all feel light, easy. But it doesn't.

Because I know the truth.

I haven't replied because I refuse to complicate my life.

But stepping out of the water, feeling the breeze raise goosebumps along my arms, I realize how long it's been since someone else's warmth was wrapped around me. Not a towel. Not a friend. Someone who breathes beside you in the dark.

I miss that.

I miss him.

I miss Jason.

***************************************************************************

"No, of course not, Leo," I reply as he informs me we won't be dining alone.

"Who else is coming?" I ask, slipping into my seat at SPAGO, a high-end place I've only been to once before. We've already stopped five times so Leo could greet old friends. The place is packed with celebrities, but somehow, Leo makes it feel casual—like it's just another Tuesday.

"Oh—here he is! Harry!" Leo waves, and I glance up.

Of course it's him. Just when I was thinking about keeping things uncomplicated.

He walks toward us with that easy, devastating smile. His lips are flushed red, his curls slightly tousled. Of course he looks like that.

"Ashley," he says, and I rise to greet him. He leans in, aiming for my cheek—but lands just at the edge of my mouth.

Cheeky bastard.

"Harry," I say, pretending like his presence hasn't disrupted my nervous system entirely.

"So, you two are working together on the project?" Leo asks as he takes the seat beside me. Harry sits across, of course—close enough to feel.

"Yeah, we are," I answer a little too quickly. Harry smirks.

"Yes," he adds, eyes still on me. "Ashley is amazing."

I blush. Of course I do. I try to focus on my plate, avoid his gaze, and keep the conversation safe. Leo is charming and gracious as always, and Harry watches like a quiet observer as we catch up—too quiet.

After a while, Leo excuses himself. "Martin's here—I'll be right back."

And we're alone.

"Scarpetta was nicer," Harry says, breaking the silence.

I smile, caught off guard by how easily I agree. "Yeah... it was."

He leans in a little. "Would you—"

"What are you doing here, Harry?" I cut in, dropping the pretence.

He hesitates. "Leo asked me to join."

"Harry."

He sighs. "I wanted to see you. You left. I didn't see you yesterday, and you haven't replied to my texts. You didn't even come to supervise the project. You left Elisabeth to do that."

"Then why can't you take the hint?" My voice is low, sharp. But he doesn't flinch.

"I'm persistent. I can't help it."

Persistent. Or reckless.

"Go find someone else to play with, Harry."

His face changes. "Why are you doing this? You don't even know me."

"And you know me?" I snap. "Let's play with the poor, lonely widow. How noble."

He stands suddenly, jaw clenched. "Good night, Ashley. I need to go."

I don't stop him. But I hate that I don't.

"Hey—where are you off to, pal?" Leo returns, just as Harry reaches for his keys.

"Heading back. Early shoot tomorrow."

Leo looks between us, oblivious. "Would you mind giving Ashley a lift? You're staying in the same hotel, right? Better than sending her with the driver."

I freeze. Harry doesn't.

"Sure," he says flatly.

I gather my bag, thank Leo for dinner, and follow Harry outside.

He walks beside me, his hand gently pressing against the small of my back as we weave through tables. Every brush of his fingers sends heat racing up my spine.

We don't speak on the ride back. Not once. The air between us is charged but silent, and I'm too proud—or too scared—to be the first to break it.

When we reach the hotel, he pulls into the VIP section. Kills the engine. Pulls the key from the ignition... but doesn't move.

He stares at the steering wheel like it's the only thing tethering him to the moment.

"Harry... you didn't have to—"

"Don't."

"Harry, I just—"

And then he kisses me.

No warning. No soft approach.

Just his mouth—warm and sure—claiming mine.

It's not desperate. It's not demanding.

It's just... him.

And I let him.

His lips taste like wine and trouble. His tongue asks for more, and I open to him like I've been waiting for this—for him—all along.

I let him make my life complicated.

And for the first time in a very long time...

I don't regret it. In fact I welcome it.