The next few days are a flurry of activity. It seems every other hour Harry is calling me to ask me something new about the trip.
"What clothes should I pack?" he asks frantically the first time he calls.
"Whatever clothes you want to, Harry," I tell him.
"Should I book a hotel room? Or do you already have that covered?" Harry says in a rushed voice the second time he calls.
"It's all covered," I reply.
"How cold do you think it will be?" he exclaims in the middle of the third phone call.
"Harry, I don't know," I say, exasperated. "Look it up online or something."
"I don't know any French!" Harry shrieks during the fourth call.
"It doesn't matter," I say. "Neither do I."
Eventually the calls die down and I can't help but be a little grateful. It's hard to pack when Harry's dead sexy tone is talking a mile a minute about macarons. I fold my clothes neatly and place them in my suitcase. I only pack my best clothes because I know the French are stylish. Definitely not because I want to impress Harry or anything.
Soon enough, it's the day before we leave and I'm packing last minute things. When my phone rings, I smile, knowing it's probably Harry freaking out over a pair of pants or his passport.
"Hello?" I say when I pick up.
"Louis," Harry grumbles. "I have a problem."
"Right, your fiftieth one this week," I say, laughing.
"Oh stop it," Harry scolds. "This is serious."
"Alright, Harry, what is it?" I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
"I can't find my boots," Harry says after a dramatic pause.
"Your boots?" I say, biting back laughter.
"Can you please come over and help me look?" Harry pleads.
I sigh. "Okay Harry. I'll be over."
I hang up and chuckle to myself. Hopefully when we get to Paris, Harry can calm down and just enjoy the trip.
I drive over to Harry's and let myself in the unlocked front door. I head upstairs, jumping a little when a loud crash echoes through the hallway. I speed up.
"Harry? Are you okay?" I ask, worried. I poke my head into his room.
"I can't find my boots," Harry says miserably. "I've looked everywhere, too." I glance around his room and see a mirror laying on the floor, a crack snaking through the middle of it, probably the source of the crashing noise I just heard. Then I look down.
"You've looked everywhere?" I say, biting my lip.
Harry nods. "Yup."
"Have you looked on your feet?" I ask seriously.
Harry looks down and a surprised expression crosses his face. "Are you kidding me," he says through gritted teeth. I can't help it. I burst out laughing. Harry looks up at me, startled at the sudden noise, and then he smiles. Before long, we're both laughing hysterically. I wipe a tear off my cheek and steady myself against the doorframe.
"Are you okay?" I say. "You seem really stressed."
"Um, no. I'm fine," Harry replies. "I just really hate packing."
I smirk. "I hadn't noticed."
"Shut up." Harry grins at me.
"You're just overreacting about the whole packing thing," I tell him.
"I can't do this," Harry wails, collapsing onto the floor overdramatically. "I'm definitely forgetting something. And are these even the right clothes for California?"
"Harry, come on. You're packing to go to California, not for meeting the president," I say, handing him a pile of folded shirts. "You can do it."
"I don't know why packing is so stressful for me, but it is," Harry whines, half-heartedly throwing a pair of shoes in his suitcase. He zips it shut and looks at me for a while.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" I ask nervously.
"How did I end up with you?" Harry asks suddenly.
"What do you mean?" I respond, confused.
"You're so...perfect. And then there's me," Harry says sadly.
"I feel the same way about you," I admit. "I always feel like I don't deserve you."
"At the same time though," Harry continues, "I feel like we're perfect for each other."
"Because we are," I say shyly, hoping Harry won't negatively react to what I just said.
"You're right," Harry says. "We were meant to be together."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry says.
"I usually am," I say smugly. Harry laughs, shaking his head, and puts the last of his things in his suitcase.
"Have you made an itinerary?" he asks.
I scoff. "I don't need a schedule to follow. I figured we would just do whatever we wanted the whole time."
"I really want to see the Eiffel Tower!" Harry says animatedly, his eyes lighting up.
"We'll definitely do that, then," I reply. My phone buzzes from my pocket and I pull it out. "My mom needs me at home now," I say apologetically.
"Okay," Harry says. "Thanks for your help. Even if it was kind of obvious."
"Sure," I say, lingering in the doorway for a second. Harry walks toward me and my heartbeat speeds up. He wraps his arms around me in a hug, surprising me and sending a flash of lightning through me. I hesitantly hug him back. I can feel him smile and I can't help but smile as well. When the hug ends, I find myself wishing it wasn't over. "So I'll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning," I say, backing out into the hall before Harry can see my red cheeks.
"Bye, Lou!" Harry calls as I hurry outside and get into my car. I press my hands to my cheeks, and they're warm. Get yourself together, Louis. I think of Harry hugging me and I find myself grinning like an idiot. I sit in Harry's driveway smiling at the feeling of Harry's strong arms around me for a few minutes before I realize I should probably go. I smile the whole way home.