The Maiden in Winter // Harry Styles Series #4

ONE

~Alex~

Someone else's chewed gum isn't usually a nice thing. Not something you go looking for. In fact, it's something most people avoid.

Unless you're seventeen-year-old Alex Griffin.

Let me explain...

***

You might have heard of my hometown, Janesport, Massachusetts. It's really more of a village, an out of the way corner of Janesboro, a bustling town in the center of Cape Cod. Our little enclave sits on a mile long finger of high ground between a stretch of marsh and the ocean, with only one road in and out. It's a quiet, private place.

Every summer, for nearly a century and a half, big, old, stately homes have been filled by big, old, stately families, more than quadrupling the population from late May through early September. Picturesque little beaches stretch between rocky outcroppings along the shoreline. A tidy little golf club and pretty little stone church sit up on a rise overlooking the town, marsh, and sea. A long breakwater protects the harbor and fishing pier from an often-turbulent ocean.

A very rich and very famous, or maybe I should say infamous, family bought several houses here in the early twentieth century, bringing global attention to the otherwise unassuming spot. While some residents looked down on them as upstarts and rabble rousers, my own family always appreciated the extra business from gawking tourists and day-trippers come to town with the hope of spotting one of 'them.'

The first Griffin to arrive in Janesport came out from Boston in 1904. Seeing opportunity in the budding vacation town, my great-great grandfather Daniel opened Griffin's General Store. I'm the fifth generation to own the store, and the first woman. My father always said that taking the family name was one of the conditions he would set for any future husband of mine, so that the store would continue to be owned by a Griffin. Of course, that was before Bean came along.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to the gum.

***

I was alone in the store on a stormy weekend in November 2012 when the door opened, a gust of wind and scattering leaves around the incoming customer. At that time of year it was almost certainly a local, so I didn't even look up from my French homework until they set a pack of gum on the counter in front of me.

It was Harry Styles.

Janesport sees its fair share of celebrities. The Family, as we refer to them, always seems to be hosting someone famous. And there are a few other A, B, and C-listers who own or rent homes as well. I'd learned early on to hide the surprise and not to stare. And never, ever ask for a picture or autograph. They're just customers, Mom and Dad had told me, just people who need something from the store.

But this was Harry Styles. HARRY FUCKING STYLES! Right there, in front of me, wearing a nondescript hoodie and knit beanie, curls escaping in front of both ears, long fingers loosening the scarf around his neck.

And I was a seventeen-year-old girl with a healthy appetite for the biggest boy band around, and the green-eyed hottie from Holmes Chapel in particular.

I stared. I trembled. My voice broke as I rang up the Wrigley's.

"That'll be... um... one fifty-nine."

He dug in the pocket of his low-slung skinny black jeans, fishing out a few crumpled dollar bills and some lint.

"Four... um... forty one cents is your change." At least my math skills were still intact, even if my composure had completely deserted me.

"Thanks. Do you mind if I wait inside until my ride comes? It's chilly out there."

"Oh, yes please," I whispered.

He smiled then, dimples and all. I'm pretty sure I stopped breathing.

"I just walked ahead to get this," he held up the gum, "for the trip back to the city. This is a lovely little town."

He was making conversation. With me. All I could manage was a nod.

"We came out for the weekend. Staying at a friend of a friend's place. Do you live here all year?"

I found my voice, and a little self-confidence. "Yes. This is my family's store. We're much busier in the summer. You should come back then."

"Hmmm... I think I prefer the quiet. What's your name?"

"Alex. Alexandra. But Alex. Griffin. Alex Griffin."

"Nice to meet you, Alex Griffin."

It was a close call, but I managed not to swoon at the sound of him saying my name.

"It's... um... nice to meet you, Harry Styles."

Oh, man, there were the dimples again. I realized I was sitting on my hands to keep myself from reaching out and touching him.

He leaned forward, resting a hand the counter, and it seemed as though he was about to say something else when the door opened again. He straightened up and we both turned to see a tall, willowy figure wrapped in a soft pink scarf and matching hat step inside.

It was Taylor Swift. TAYLOR FUCKING SWIFT!

My mouth fell open. Like some star-struck goober. Which is exactly what I was.

"Let's go, Harry." She gave me a quick glance and a fleeting, but kind, smile.

"Do you have a rubbish bin?" He took a piece of gum from his mouth.

"Yes."

I bent down and took the trash can from behind the counter, tipping it in his direction. He flicked the gum inside.

"Thanks, Alex."

That was twice he'd said my name. I wished I'd been able to record it.

"Harry, we're going to be late."

"Coming, dear," he whispered in a singsong voice. Giving me one last grin, he waved over his shoulder as he followed her out the door.

The car hadn't even pulled away from the curb before I was picking that gum right out of the trash can and wrapping it in a little piece of waxed paper. It lived in a tiny trinket box on my dresser for years.

I realized that it was gross and pathetic, so I never showed it to a soul, not even my best friend. But I knew it was there, a little memento of my fangirl dream come true, and that was enough for me.