For our second date, I encourage her to pick our activity, keeping in mind the whole clandestine spy-like thing, and she comes up with a scavenger hunt. Seriously. (Yes, those are my eyes rolling.) She has a list of things we race to find in my house, and I find this a bit suspicious. Does she think she's going to win? It's my house after all.

But then I start looking through the list, and there are things like "find an object the other person loves deeply". Fuck. What am I supposed to do with that?

Don't get me wrong. There are easy ones on the list too like "a photo of your idol" and I have plenty of photos of idols. The challenge is who to choose because it could be Elvis or Chris or my mum.

I spot her sneaking around in the kitchen and can't imagine which item on the list she needs from there, so I scan the list.

When she yells "Finished" after 30 minutes, I'm inclined to challenge her on every item, but it turns out that she has fulfilled the whole list. Her idol? Malala Yousafzai whose picture is on the cover of one of the magazines I read when I have time. And she grabbed my boots with the holes in them as an object I deeply love, and she is 100% accurate.

I would say the game is rigged in her favor, but I have too much fun hearing about what she picked for each item on the list, plus I get to hear what she would have chosen for herself on each answer. That's golden because we're continuing to learn about each other.

==========

Your third date occurs after he flies home from Cannes on a Wednesday night. The two of you have talked every day either via text or on the phone. You prefer it when you can hear his voice, although you'll take text if that's all he has time for. That evening, he doesn't get into the airport until after nine o'clock, and Bobby picks you up first, dropping you at Harry's house before heading to the airport. You wander around Harry's house at a loss on how to spend your time until he arrives, so you end up flipping through his vinyl collection, noting which albums are most used, playing a few that you hadn't heard in awhile or ever. By the time Harry drags himself through the door, he's exhausted. You both climb into bed together, whispering in the dark as you allow him to be the little spoon.

"How was it?" you ask, wrapping your arms securely around his chest as you snuggle into him, having remembered to bring your own lingerie tonight -- which Harry barely glanced at while he was brushing his teeth and preparing for sleep.

"Lots of schmoozing, you know?" he sighs, clearly fatigued.

Kissing his shoulder blade as he's without a shirt and wearing only his boxer briefs, you comfort him, "Did you meet anyone exciting?" You shiver at the feel of your lips on his warm flesh.

"Mhm. Met Tom Hanks again. And James and I talked to Lady Gaga. That was a fascinating conversation." He yawns, clearly ready to sleep, but you want more details.

Rubbing your hand up and down his belly, you try to coax more out of him, but he's snoring before you can even get the next question out. When Nick said Harry could sleep anywhere, you didn't really believe him, but now you know it's true.

Snuggling as closely as you can to his warm body, you nip at his neck and sigh, "Glad you're home," before you drift off to sleep with him.

==========

"What the fuck?" I ask, as she wrestles a giant bag from the car to the gym. When she pulls out two fake sumo wrestler outfits, I fall down laughing. "Who's going to help us get up when we fall in these things?" I grin.

She raises her eyebrows, "Who says anyone is going to fall down? Or rather, who says I'm going to fall down?"

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, we are both on the floor of the gym, paddling our arms like crazy as we try to stand up again. We're laughing so hard that we continue challenging each other to sumo fights for the next two hours until neither one of us has the strength to push ourselves up in the bulky suits.

I've never laughed so hard with a girl other than my mum and Gemma.

==========

It's on the fifth date that it happens. You aren't expecting it. You don't plan for it. It just sort of slips out. The night has been perfect as usual. Bobby picks you up, and this time you provide the meal for the two of you.

Unpacking the groceries in the kitchen, you listen as Harry waxes poetic about his recent trip to New York, sharing about the behind the scene secrets of the interviews that you had recorded and watched multiple times. In fact, that was the plan for tonight: dinner and then watching Harry promo interviews together so you can make fun of him and critique his responses. You love watching his laugh and seeing his face light up when he says something he regrets. There's nothing better in life.

You've brought the ingredients for your famous fish tacos, and just before you add the Siracha, you hold the bottle up. "How spicy do you like it, Harry?"

You both freeze. It's the first time you've called him by his first name, and the moment gives you goosebumps as he stares at you without moving for the longest time. You wonder if he will make a big deal out of it, and you can tell the wheels are turning in his head, but then he just grins and says. "I like my women spicy, but I prefer my food to be fairly mild. It irritates my throat."

Clearing your own windpipe, you inspect him and respond dryly, "Duly noted." The moment passes without additional comment, and you don't call him "Styles" again.

==========

Since she called me Harry on our last date, I've been over the moon. We're actually making progress which isn't easy considering I'm on the road so much, and the tour starts in the next few months so there are rehearsals. Tonight we're enjoying a bottle of champagne outside in my garden as we watch the stars.

I've missed her so much these last few days while I've been busy with award shows and press junkets here in London at night, and she works during the days. Tonight Bobby picks her up after work, and it's so lovely to see her. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in deeply to permeate my senses with her scent. She presses kisses over my neck and face and whispers that she's missed me too.

I've ordered a variety of Indian food, and I force Bobby to stick around to sign for the delivery so that neither of us is seen. We've managed to keep our relationship from the entire world until now, and the isolation, while likely unhealthy overall, is a balm to my soul. The safe haven we've created at my home is comforting, and we can always forget that the real world exists. Almost always.

As we enjoy the variety of curries along with a sideshow of stars and a full moon, I broach the subject I've been most curious about for a while now: her life.

"So, I know you went to UCLA, but I don't know anything else about you." I've spent days crafting this statement because I don't want to seem like I'm prying too much, but damn! I really want to hear her life story -- what makes her the person I care about today. I hold my breath because her answer is important to me. Yes, I want to know about her childhood, but I also want to know whatever she's willing to share with me.

She sighs, adding some jasmine rice with veggie vindaloo to her plate, "It's boring, Harry. Really. My dad is an executive in the television industry. Please don't ask me who he is. It doesn't matter because I've worked hard to separate myself from his world. Moving to London was the final straw in his frustration with me. Although I talk to my moms frequently, I rarely talk to my dad. He's not a bad guy, but I don't want his lifestyle."

I can tell it's not a topic she relishes discussing, so I don't push. These comments alone give me some insight into who she is. "So...." I start, and she looks over at me, questioningly. "You're saying that you know what the life of a celebrity is like, and you aren't interested?"

The startled look in her eyes says that I've hit the mark. "I've never thought of it that way." She is frank with me, as has become our custom with each other. There's always this sense in the air that THIS could end at any moment, so we both want to get to know each other as quickly and honestly as possible.

"Now that you say the words, though, it strikes me that perhaps I have been prejudiced. Because I know, of course, that not all celebrities are one particular way. There are plenty of celebrities who don't want the attention they receive. They just happen to be talented individuals who aren't allowed the privacy they crave." Taking a few more bites, she is quiet, and I revel in the remarkable ability she has to examine her own thoughts and motives.

==========

"When are you coming home?" you ask Harry over Facetime, missing him so desperately that you've used the code he left for you to let yourself into his house,

"Mmmmm....in a couple of days. Is that my Styles shirt?" he asks, his eyes trying to see where the camera isn't tilted.

Tucking the shirt tighter around your chilly legs, you smile shyly. "Is it okay, Harry? I couldn't take being apart from you anymore so I came over here." You pause again, "I just.....I needed to feel close to you," is your confession. You feel awkward announcing to him that you've missed him. In the past, you would have considered yourself an independent person, but now you are shocked at how much you need him. Like literally NEED him. So there's a moment in which you hesitate, unsure whether you should admit this to him. It feels so much more intimate than any sex you've ever had. You are exposed. But what have you got to lose? Might as well go full force with the possibilities where Harry is concerned.

"Mhm," he mumbles, his eyes glazed over, and you are sure that he's thinking about the upcoming appearance on Ellen, but then he leans forward on his palms, "I wanna see some tit, babe. Can you....?"

Blushing, you lean back from the camera, running your hand seductively over his embroidered name on the left side. "This old thing?" you mutter, as you reach to unbutton the first two buttons, sliding your fingers in between the fabric as the flesh becomes more exposed.

Harry is leaning forward, his eyes locked on your cleavage. "You gotta do two more buttons, please." The slight begging tone in his voice dries all of the moisture from your mouth.

Gazing at the camera lens on the laptop, you unbutton those next two buttons, holding the fabric together with one hand while you do so.

"Oh, come on!" Harry is mocking impatience, and you giggle.

When you finally peel apart the lapels of the black silk, you watch as his eyes lock in on your breasts and don't waver.

"Hey, Harry!" you call out, startling him, "My eyes are up here!"

"Yeah," he mutters, "I really need to get home. Are you sleeping in my bed tonight in that shirt?"

"Uh huh," you grin.

"Leave the shirt on the bed. I wanna smell you the instant I get home."