Waiting for Prince Harry

by Aven Ellis

  I laugh softly. “You’re seeing me on Tuesday, remember?”

  He flashes me a grin. “That’s too far away.”

  “Isn’t there some guy code you’re breaking with this?” I ask, flirting with him. “Aren’t you supposed to leave me waiting for days for a text or phone call?”

  Harrison stares seriously at me. “The only game I’m interested in playing is hockey. I would never play games with you.”

  Ooooooh!

  “So,” Harrison says, sliding his hands up to my face again. “Tell me when I can see you again, Kylie Reed.”

  Chapter 12

  The Pop Quiz Question: So the first date went well. Your mindset for Date Number Two is:

  A) Let’s just see where this goes. It’s only the second date, after all. But I see potential here.

  B) Date Number Two with who? I’m keeping my options open.

  C) I would never admit this to anyone, and like that Carly Rae Jepsen song, “Call Me Crazy,” but I have finally found The One.

  “How beautiful is this?” I ask excitedly. It’s a stunningly gorgeous Sunday morning. A major storm has passed through earlier, dropping the temperature into the 70’s range. Harrison texted me and suggested we grab coffees and head to the Dallas Arboretum right when they opened, and I eagerly agreed.

  After all, I’d just seen him yesterday, when he came over with Thai takeout and we watched The Holiday at my place. Even though he left after midnight last night, I was more than ready to see Harrison again.

  And now we’re walking under a glorious archway of bright pink crepe myrtle trees, along the wet path, holding hands and enjoying being outside together.

  “Very beautiful,” Harrison says. “But I’m not looking at the trees.”

  He’s staring right at me. He leans down and gives me a sweet kiss on my lips. I feel as though my heart might burst inside my chest. “This was the perfect idea, Harrison. I love the Arboretum, but normally it’s too hot in July to really enjoy it.”

  “I know. The summers here are brutal. I’m starting to get used to them though. And this,” Harrison pauses, and waves his Dunkin’ Donuts cup toward the trees, “is one of the few places in Dallas that I’m not really recognized. So I knew it was safe to bring you here. Nobody expects to see Dallas Demon Harrison Flynn hanging out amongst the flower beds or gazing out over White Rock Lake.”

  I nod. Harrison explained to me last night that he wanted to take things slowly with us, while we are in this early stage of dating, because his celebrity has been known to cause problems in the past. People interrupting dates, people taking pictures—Harrison said he didn’t want to scare me off with that. That we deserved this time to be about us—not about the persona the rest of the world wanted a piece of.

  But as we stroll here in this glorious garden, as I feel his strong hand around mine, I can’t imagine anything ever scaring me away from him.

  “There are a lot of landscaping ideas here,” I say as we walk. “We could use some of them for the renovation project. At least we know anything we see growing here will survive the Texas summer. Like these zinnias.” I stop and take my iPhone out of my shorts pocket. I focus on them and snap a picture. “They’re so bright and cheerful and just happy, you know?”

  “So are these some of your favorites?” Harrison asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

  I nod. “I love them.”

  “Then zinnias are in the flowerbed,” Harrison says, smiling at me.

  Okay, when he smiles at me like that my heart does cartwheels.

  We continue our stroll, down paths, across grasses, amongst gorgeous flowers. Finally we reach a spot that just takes my breath away every time I see it. The lush lawn goes sloping down toward White Rock Lake, and on the other side of the lake sits the historic Hunt Mansion, sprawled out across a sweeping green lawn in all its glory.

  I stop and sigh with content. Then I glance up at Harrison, who pulls my back into his broad, muscular chest and holds me as we glance out over the water.

  “This is the best Sunday ever,” I say softly as a breeze comes up off the lake and blows across us.

  “I wish every Sunday could be like this,” Harrison says. Then he clears his throat. “Kylie?”

  “Mmmmm?” I say, content to stay snuggled into him.

  “Promise me something,” he says seriously.

  I wiggle around and look up at him. Harrison is wearing a serious expression on his face.

  “What?”

  He reaches up with his hand and gently brushes his fingertips over my loose chignon, playing with it.

  “If my celebrity starts to overwhelm you, or frustrates you, please be honest with me,” Harrison says quietly. “Right now it’s all good, because we haven’t really ventured out in public much, and I don’t plan to do that right away, so you can make sure I’m worth fighting through all the crap that comes with dating me. But don’t hesitate to tell me when you have feelings that bother you, okay?”

  I stare up at him, touched by his concern for me. Harrison absolutely wants to take this slowly, on all levels, to make sure I’m ready for the leap with him if we both agree that’s what we both want.

  But I know, without a doubt, I’m ready to take the leap for this man. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

  “I promise,” I say firmly. “Just like I promise I haven’t Googled you since that night of the fashion show. Right now this is about you and me.”

  “And seeing where this could go,” Harrison says, still touching my hair.

  “Yes,” I say, my heart fluttering.

  Harrison kisses me again, gently, sweetly, his fingertips of his free hand stroking the nape of my neck and sending shivers down my spine.

  “So,” he murmurs between kisses, “are there any questions Google didn’t answer for you that you would like to know?”

  I laugh against his lips, and he laughs, too.

  Then I step back. “Actually, yes.”

  “Oh, then by all means,” Harrison says, grinning. “The floor is yours.”

  I take a breath, as I’m not comfortable asking him the question I’m about to ask, but I really need to know the answer to it.

  “Have you only dated famous women?” I blurt out.

  Harrison stares at me. “No. Let’s walk and I’ll explain.”

  So hands entwined, we head back up the lawn. Harrison clears his throat. “Let me go back for a second. You have to understand, Kylie, my parents—they didn’t want a hockey player for a son.”

  I’m surprised by that comment, but let him continue.

  “They’re in . . . education,” he says slowly. “So having a hockey-playing son with no college education . . .” Harrison’s voice trails off for a moment. “Well, saying they were disappointed is the understatement of the century.”

  “I know that feeling,” I say, thinking of how my parents freaked out when I said I wanted to go into fashion.

  “I know you do,” Harrison says softly. “Except you listened to yours. I rebelled against mine.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, here I was, this 18-year-old kid with no education, and one of the biggest rookie contracts in hockey history in my hands. All of a sudden it hit me—I didn’t know shit about anything. And I was scared to death. So I went to my dad, who said this was the only wise decision I had ever made, and he sent me to the family financial advisor. He laid out an investment plan, told me I could live well without going crazy, etc.

  “So I got that all squared away, so to speak,” Harrison continues, “but suddenly I’m thrust into this world of famous people, elite parties . . . and for a guy who only thought about hockey during his teen years, it was a pretty fucking big deal to have a model ask you for your number.”

  I try to wrap my head around what he is s
aying. Harrison sounds so real, so normal. The guy I fell for, I think, gazing up at his handsome profile, is a real man living an extraordinary life.

  “Anyway,” Harrison says, “I dated the people I met. Models, actresses, singers. But I never found what I was looking for, so I gave that up. There are always girls wanting to meet you—the fans—but they don’t even know me. They see me on TV and say they love me. Very misplaced attachment.”

  I smile. I love the way his brain goes into psychology mode at any given moment.

  “Yes, Dr. Flynn. Misplaced attachment,” I tease.

  Harrison laughs and pulls me into him as we stroll amongst the blooming flowers.

  “Or girls love my bank account. That happened the last go around,” Harrison says. “And I got to the point a year ago and thought, ‘Fuck this.’ I’m going to live my life and if I’m meant to live it with someone, it’ll happen.”

  We reach A Women’s Garden, a formal garden with manicured lawns, gorgeous trees, and an infinity pool and breathtaking view of White Rock, and Harrison stops. We have long pitched our empty coffee cups at this point, and now he wraps his arms around me.

  “And maybe,” Harrison whispers, stroking my face with his hands, “the right girl just happened to fall into my lap.”

  I stare up at him. “Maybe she did, Harrison.”

  “Did we really just meet eight days ago?” Harrison asks.

  “It feels like much longer,” I say, entwining my arms around his strong body.

  “I know, for me, too,” he whispers. Then he lowers his mouth on mine for a kiss in this very romantic setting.

  “Perfect,” I whisper against his lips.

  “What?” Harrison whispers back.

  “The perfect place for a kiss,” I say.

  Harrison laughs against my lips. “Well, we should perfect perfection then.”

  So we kiss again.

  Then we snuggle together and stare out at this amazing garden in front of us, and I can’t believe how simple this moment is, but the most joyous one I’ve ever had. I have nature around me, creating this most romantic setting, and I’m sharing it with the most amazing man I’ve ever met.

  And this, I think closing my eyes and listening to his heart beat through his Brooklyn Bridge T-shirt, is just the beginning. There are some things you just know. And my heart is telling me—despite what my head should be overruling—that this is just the first of many romantic memories I will be making with Harrison Flynn.

  I practically float into Boutique Dallas on Monday morning. I have my tray of ridiculous coffee orders from Starbucks, but that didn’t even bother me today. I’m still wrapped in thoughts of yesterday—of spending all morning with Harrison at the Arboretum, then going back to his place to make lunch and watch some TV. And make out, make out, make out some more—

  “Kylie, did you make sure to get extra hot this time?” Laurel asks.

  I pause for a moment. Wait a second. How did Laurel know that making out with Harrison was extra hot?

  Oh dear God. She’s talking about her coffee.

  I feel my cheeks burn the second I realize what I just did. Shit, I’ve got to find a way to put Harrison thoughts on pause while I am at work or I’ll get nothing done.

  “Um, yes, it’s extra hot,” I say, handing her a Starbucks cup marked with her crazy stupid order on it.

  Which does describe my Ginger Boy, I think as I absently pass Mona a cup of coffee. He’s extra hot.

  “Ugh! Is this plain coffee?” Mona snaps.

  I blink. Oh, shit, I just handed Mona my coffee by mistake!

  “Sorry, Mona. That’s mine,” I ramble, quickly switching out the cups.

  Kylie Needs To Focus On Things Other Than Harrison. KNTFOTOTH. No. That’s too long to remember. Kylie Needs to Focus On Work. KNTFOW. Better.

  I concentrate really hard and manage to get Bradley and Alyssa the correct coffee concoctions from hell. Then I go out to the floor to survey how Mona has re-arranged my work from last week. I start with the Men’s Department. Okay, she re-dressed a mannequin in summer clothes after I put on first launch fall. Fuck. Why am I even here if this is going to be allowed?

  I push that thought aside as the thought of confronting her nearly gives me hives.

  Instead I think of the design I’m going to implement today. Since we are launching pre-fall, and back-to-college themes, I have found some fantastic vintage varsity pennants from SMU, TCU, Oklahoma, and The University of Texas. I was going to fold them over a retro packing trunk with the kinds of clothing the typical college student needs, etc.

  Suddenly Bradley walks up to me, his face ashen.

  “You . . . you’re friends with Harrison Flynn, right?”

  Something about the way he looks alarms me. My throat grows tight.

  “Yes,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s on the news,” Bradley says, waving his hands about as he does when he’s nervous. “A crane has fallen over on to his house. Like straight through his house.”

  I start to shake. I saw that crane in his neighbor’s driveway. It was huge. His home could be destroyed by that—

  “Wait,” I say. “Did the reporters talk to Harrison yet? Did you see him?”

  Bradley stares at me, his eyes large. “Kylie, nobody has been able to reach him. Rescue crews are looking for him inside the wreckage.”

  Chapter 13

  The Pop Quiz Question: Your true love is in a serious accident. How do you react?

  A) True love? No I don’t think so. But I hope he will be okay.

  B) Remain calm and get a handle on the situation.

  C) Pray like I have never prayed in my life for his safety.

  I stare at Bradley. My whole body begins to shake. Bradley’s words play on a loop in my head.

  Harrison. Accident. Crane. Crash. Missing. Wreckage—

  “No!” I cry, taking a step back. “This . . . this is . . . this is wrong! It’s not his house!”

  “Kylie, it’s on TV right now.”

  “This . . . this . . . isn’t happening,” I blurt out. I feel as though my legs are about to go out from underneath me. “There’s been a mistake.”

  The room begins to spin. I can’t breathe. I hurry toward the back room, where I find everyone watching the TV in Laurel’s office. As soon as I step in the doorway, all eyes shift to me.

  I walk closer to the TV. Laurel has it on Total Access Total Sports, and there is a live shot of Harrison’s destroyed house. The crane crashed straight through the core of it, and I want to throw up when I see it. Then I see the graphic below the reporter that says:

  Hockey Superstar Harrison Flynn Unaccounted for in Accident

  Oh God. Oh God. No, no, no, no. I gasp out loud and my hand flies to my mouth. Please God, I pray, don’t let Harrison be in there. Please. I’ll do anything if you spare him. Please, God, please don’t let him be in there.

  A scroll rolls across the bottom of the screen that gives updated information, including his exact address.

  “I . . . I need to go,” I blurt out as everything becomes blurry through my tears.

  “And do what, Kylie? Dig him out?” Laurel says.

  “Laurel!” Bradley and Alyssa gasp at the same time. Mona’s jaw actually drops in surprise.

  I whirl around to face Laurel. “I will if I have to,” I snap angrily. “Not that I expect you to understand that.”

  I grab my purse and run out the boutique, even though I hear Bradley and Alyssa calling for me to wait.

  He’s not there, I tell myself. Call him. Find him. Harrison does a million things in the morning. Surely he’s not home.

  I grab my iPhone and my hand is shaking so bad I can barely punch the key for his number. I call him an
d hold my breath as I hurry toward my car.

  Please Harrison, please answer. Please. Please be okay.

  Ring . . . Ring . . . Ring.

  Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.

  “Hi, you’ve reached my voicemail,” Harrison’s familiar voice says. “Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.”

  I try to speak over the sob that is threatening to break loose in my throat. “Harrison . . .” I say, my voice cracking. “Please let me know that you’re okay. I’m really worried. I’m . . . I’m on my way to your house.”

  I hang up the phone and toss it back into my bag. I hurry toward my car, anxiety raging through me. I slide behind the wheel and continue to pray as I drive.

  I picture all kinds of things in my head, from this being a mistake to Harrison being trapped underneath rubble in his home. Oh God, no, no. What if he sustained a major injury? What if he couldn’t play hockey? That would destroy him.

  Or worse, what if he didn’t survive the accident?

  “No,” I yell aloud. “You’re alive, Harrison. I know you are. Please be alive.”

  I frantically turn to the local sports radio networks, which are updating the situation.

  “The Dallas Demons organization has no comment regarding Captain Harrison Flynn following an accident—”

  “Rescue crews are looking for Dallas Demons Superstar Harrison Flynn, who is unaccounted for after a crane crashed through his home early this morning—”

  I punch the radio off. I can’t hear this. I can’t.

  I’m driving as fast as I can, my heart racing, tears blurring my vision.

  Finally I reach Harrison’s neighborhood. And his entire street is chaos—fire trucks, police cars, TV trucks with satellite equipment. I see reporters lined up with microphones, giving live updates on the search for Harrison Flynn.