Before you go... //h.s

Bakery

Let me tell you that two weeks is a bloody long time not to see someone when you have so many things to discuss. I mean, I know that I then wouldn't see Harry for another six months while he was in LA, but at least once he was in LA he was on the same continent as me. Whereas in England he was a six hour plane flight away which felt like he may as well be on a different planet.

I missed him. There was a constant unbearable ache in my heart that he was an ocean away. The worst part was that he was still on earth, still accessible but I couldn't look into his eyes and explain to him how much he meaned to me. He wasn't there to calm me down when everything got to much and I sunk to the floor in a breathless ball. Sometimes I felt like crying and other times I felt like sitting in the quiet and reflecting on what we'd done together.

It was almost embarrassing how much I miss him considering the short period of time we'd even known each other, but my heart already knew that Harry was special.

We tried to call as often as possible, and it was during one of those late night calls – 10pm for me and 3am for him – so I guess late night for him and just the beginning of the night for me that we were just chatting – flitting from one light topic to another and just keeping each other amused.

'All my favourite conversations always happen in the early hours of the morning. People are sleepy, their guard is down and it's when you can truly tell who they are under all the pretences and screens.' He tells me after a small pause in our conversation. I nod, agreeing with him until I realise he can't see me and I mentally curse myself for being so dumb before I hurriedly say,

'I actually agree with you, it's probably when I share the deepest conversations with people,' I pause before adding with a cheeky grin, 'but it's only 10pm here.'

'Ah I know that, but it's 3am here which means it is the early hours of the morning for half of the people in this conversation,' he replies with a small laugh.

'Harry...'

'Iris...'

'What is your house like in England? Can you describe it for me?' I ask, knowing it could be considered a weird question, but I fascinated, and it's been so long since I saw, let alone heard about an English house. No matter what anyone else says, English houses are so distinguishable, so obvious, so uniquely English.

'Well, it's quite new, maybe only 50 years old. It's not very big at all, but it's comfortable, it's homely and me and Gemma both grew up here so it's special to us. It's made of brick and there's a small back garden which we spent hours in growing up. Downstairs, there's kitchen and sitting room that are joined together – a bit like in your apartment. All our bedrooms are upstairs,' he pauses to emit a gentle chuckle, 'I haven't regularly slept in mine since I was about 17 so it still looks like a 17 year old sleeps in there with posters on the dark blue walls.' He stops.

'It sounds amazing, so comfortable.' I tell him, the small description making me long for home in a way that I haven't for three years.

'It is...when I'm here I'm just treated like my mother's son, not a singer...' he trails off.

'You say that like you don't like being a singer,' I ask, nosing slightly.

'I do, I love it. But sometimes... I just feel like I was thrust into this life and didn't really have a choice...when I went on the x factor, I never really thought that it would come to something like this. I just don't feel that I've ever had a chance to jump off the train, but I do love it. Singing, I mean,' he speaks, as though he was desperate to get it off his chest. I stay silent, thinking about it having had a new insight cast over it in a way I'd never seen before.

'What about you? You never seem to have had to get on a train,' he asks me, 'What do you want to do?'

I'm silent, biting my lip. This is the question, the dreaded question that everyone begins to ask you as soon as you hit 16. The question everyone is expected to have a clear answer to, the question that there's no wriggle room in. The question I completely hated because I had never figured out what I really wanted to do in life. Even at the age of 23, I still had absolutely no idea and society made it seem like that was not okay.

'I...I don't know.' I admitted quietly. 'I've spent so long panicking about it, feeling the pressure to decide on something, to decide on anything...but I just don't know,' I repeat, hopelessness pushing down my stomach and I climb off my bed onto the floor, staring at the ceiling and feeling the wood in my back. The floor is where I always lie when I'm feeling hopeless, it just feels right.

'That's perfectly okay Iris. Don't pressure yourself to be something you're not. Just take your time over it... and I'm sure one day when you least expect it, it will pop up and you will be staring it in the face and just know that that's what you want to do.' He says confidently. His confidence infects me slightly, and for the first time pretty much ever, I stop worrying about the future. I can just take it as it comes.

'But have you ever thought about being a film producer...a director...something like that since you love films so much?' Harry speaks from the silence.

'You know, I've thought about that before actually. But the idea of everyone looking at me for instructions...of me having to lead. That's not me. I love films, especially old ones where every single action has been planned and performed over and over until it's precisely perfect. But... I think I love them because I can watch the film and use someone else's reality to escape my own. It's one of my worst bad habits.' I admit, fiddling with my fingers as I speak to the phone beside me and stare up at my ceiling.

HARRY'S POV:
Days later, my mum was pestering me. I mean, I loved her, but sometimes she could just be a bit too much. So I'd headed outside, hoping for a small bit of peace and quiet for the last time before I headed home. I was only here for two more days, and I really wanted to make the most of the innocent, quiet country town.

It was so utterly different to my life back in America, and sometimes I couldn't help but find myself missing the... simplicity of it. I was missing Iris too and I think she was missing me, but it was hard to tell, she could be so closed off sometimes.

I stared out at the quiet lane through the town, only seeing a single car in twenty minutes disturb the peace as it whizzed through the picturesque streets lined with coloured houses. I should go to the bakery, say hi to Barbara who worked there.

Feeling bad that I hadn't already been, I began to wind my way through the streets to one of my favourite places on earth. I could honestly say I considered the bakery one of my second homes, I had grown up working there and I had been teased by many people about how much I talked about it. Apparently, I slipped the bakery into every conversation or interview I had, even when it was completely unrelated to anything we were talking about. It was probably true that I did that, but honestly everyone needed to know about this bakery. It was literally heaven on earth.

My wonderings of the bakery were unfortunately disturbed by a buzz from my pocket so I immediately took my phone out, hoping it was Iris replying to my latest text.

Mitchell: Get ur ass back to LA now Jeff's getting pissy.

Harry: Well, have you shown him She yet? That might keep him off our back for a while?

Mitchell: Of course I have u fucking dumbass. We need something else.

Harry: I'll be back in three days and then we can get down to the studio and figure something out.

Mitchell: I thought u were leaving the tea country in 2 days??

Harry: I am...

I smiled to myself, not wanting to tell him what I was doing. I didn't want anything to ruin my surprise, it was really important to me that that this was pulled off without a hitch.

Wow I'm writing so much at the moment - two chapters in two days!! Just a short filler chapter here though :)
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