Summertime & Butterflies

Four

Harry let out a laugh. "So," he echoed Olivia's statement, taking a drink. It was awkward, sitting alone with a man she barely knew, but should due to his fame. She wondered if she should apologise for not knowing who he was, but she suspected he and Louis liked that the sisters did not realise who they were.

"I have to apologise for-"

"I'm sorry, my sister-"

Harry and Olivia laughed as their words overlapped each other. Harry ran his hand through his hair and smiled at Olivia again.

"Louis thinks he's funny," Harry told her with an apologetic shrug. "He means no harm by it, but he should stop."

Olivia dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. "It's fine, really," she assured Harry, impressed that he thought he should apologise for his friend. "My sister thinks she's funny, too. I tell her all the time she's not, but..."

"No, she's lovely," he told Olivia. He smiled, his mouth twitching as though he was going to say more. "Uhm..."

"So what did you tell him about me getting sick?" Olivia blurted out, jerking a thumb towards the patio. "Sorry," she added, realising the bluntness of her question a moment too late. Her face warmed, and she wished she could shake the middle school sensation. "Never mind that. Go ahead."

"No, no," Harry answered, ducking his head. His smile came across as bashful, perplexing Olivia. She didn't think she could make a huge pop star like him abashed.

"Erm..." he continued after a brief pause. "Well, I wouldn't have said anything to him if I knew I'd be seeing you again. No, well..." he corrected himself, "I shouldn't have said anything at all. It's not polite to gossip."

"I threw up on you," Olivia reminded him. "I'd have told everyone if it happened to me," she snickered. "Besides, aren't you the one who said it was your right to make fun?" she reminded him, remembering their conversation from the plane.

"I said that, didn't I?" Harry mused. "I was probably trying to make you smile. You have a great smile," he added, offering Olivia his own great smile.

"Oh, jeez!" Olivia laughed. While she didn't think she wasn't worth the compliments-and three years of braces assured she did have a great smile-her past told her that boys who complimented girls in a bar were nothing more than fuckboys looking for a lot more than flirty banter over a couple pints. First it was a comment on her smile, her eyes, her figure and before long, the lonely girl was going home with the insincere boy.

"Thanks," she added after a moment. Maybe Harry wasn't a fuckboy. She laughed to herself-he was a rock star. Of course he was.

"It's true," he replied, his voice quiet, and Olivia wondered if he sensed her incredulity. "I'm not... anyway," he corrected, changing his mind on what he was about to say, though Olivia had an idea. He grinned again and nudged Olivia's shoe with his own.

"It's not a line," he assured her. "If I would give you a line, it'd be something like... do you like raisins?" He looked at Olivia expectantly and gestured for her to answer the question.

"Uhm... not really?" Olivia answered with a snicker, hoping she didn't ruin Harry's joke, and trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach caused by his foot touching hers.

"Then how about a date?" Harry finished, grinning proudly at the cheesy pick up line.

Olivia had to laugh. Whether Harry was a fuckboy only after one thing, or a nice man with a terrible sense of humour, the pickup line tickled her funny bone.

"That's terrible," she told him, moving her foot and intending on responding to his own foot nudge, but stopping at the last moment. Then she wondered if he was asking her on a real date, and then she wondered further when she turned fourteen years old.