It's December now, things have definitely changed.

For starters, Sam and I are exclusive. He asked me to be his girlfriend two weeks ago. He was dropping me off at home and we stopped at a park, we sat on an old wooden bench. He told me that I was something he'd never experienced before, that he wanted to explore a world of me. He looked down at the ground and his face tensed up into an expression full of concentration. His weight shifted to the hand that rested between us and his lips landed on mine, it was a soft kiss that left me blushing.

His exact words when he asked me were, "You're the kind of girl I prayed I'd never fall for," and he must have been able to tell by the puzzled look on my face that he needed to explain further, "Because I won't be able to fall for anyone else ever again." I brought my bottom lip between my teeth to hold back my smile. "I want to be with you, only you." His kind voice melted my heart as he spilled his confessions out so effortlessly, his bronze eyes scanning my features for an answer. I was elated beyond belief when he asked and I quickly threw my arms around him and brought our lips back together.

We've spent every free minute together since, he finally properly met Teddy and Nick, they love him. He was so helpful with Eddie while he was at our house, feeding him and changing his diaper so that Ted and Nick could have a break. It made my heart burst watching him carry Edward around, he was a natural, he'd make funny faces at him when he started to get fussy.

Edward is about a month and a half old, he doesn't do much still but he'll make silly expressions and is obsessed with people's hands. He'll clutch your fingers with all his might and wiggle your hand around and clench and unclench his fist in front of your face. He also is starting to reach around for things, especially Teddy's hair. She got it cut into a shorter style a few days ago to avoid getting her hair pulled out, she definitely looks like a mom now.

My hair, on the other hand, is getting far too long for my liking and my roots are continuing to grow out. I've been trying to blend it the best I can in an attempt to fade the colors together to hide the light ginger color from shining through. I desperately need to get my hair done by a professional but I just haven't gotten around to it.

Sam has been so lovely, he is the perfect boyfriend. He brings me flowers all the time, Teddy has vased them throughout the house, he always tells me how beautiful I am, and listens to me when I tell him things. I have no complaints, but I have this nagging feeling that something is off.

There's this doubt in the back of my mind that this isn't what I want, that he doesn't actually care for me the way he portrays. I know that Sam is a genuine guy and wouldn't do that but I can't stop the shadow from spreading.

I know I'm just overthinking and all it will lead to is self-sabotage. I've grown used to it by now, I really like Sam but I fear that this relationship won't last and it'll be due to my destructive mindset.

A part of me believes this won't last and that I'll have my heartbroken, but another part is telling me to fear that it will last forever. That I'll watch my life go by and even though I'd be with Sam, I'll never truly care for him. I'm far too independent and stubborn to ever want to depend on another person in that way. I crave a relationship in which I can be independent but still have someone to share memories with. That may sound contradictory but I, myself, am contradictory.

In other news, I haven't really spoken to Harry since that night almost a month ago. I never did tell Sam about what happened, I kept meaning to but the more I thought about it the more I realized it wasn't worth it. Nothing happened, just Harry being an ass, so there was really nothing to tell.

He's been seeing this girl. Her name is Rebecca, she's a girl I went to high school with, she was one of the more popular girls. She's got this long brown hair that falls to her waist and this smile that just lights up the room. I guess she and her boyfriend broke up, all throughout highschool she dated the captain of the varsity football team, I can't say I'm surprised. He was not a good guy.

I've seen them around town the past few days, she must be home for a break from school. She's not the type of girl I'd expect Harry to spend time with, she's very nice but she's a little superficial. Rebecca is the kind of girl that would let you sit with her at lunch, talk to you and make you feel included, but as soon as you got up from the table she'd start talking shit about you. Maybe that's exactly why he likes her though, they can be assholes together.

It made me a little irritated to see them together, probably because I know the way they both are. It also confuses me too. I know she's an urban-poppy girl, she constantly posts videos and pictures on her social media of her at concerts and listening to whatever is in the Top 40 at the moment. Harry had told me that anything after the eighties wasn't worth listening to, I can't see how they listen to any music together.

Right now I'm sitting in a booth with Sam at Tiff's, we decided to grab breakfast before my shift at Darcy's. I got my usual, chocolate chip pancakes, and Sam got a bagel. Strange choice when there's a lot better food than a bagel at Tiff's but everyone is entitled to their own breakfast choices, no matter how bland.

I glance over to see Harry sitting at the counter. He's wearing a crewneck sweater with a pair of black skinny jeans and converse. His tall build slouched over as his legs rest awardly under either side of the stool. The familiar plate of smiley face fries, grilled cheese, and an absurd amount of ketchup rests in front of him on the laminate.

"Phoebe," Sam says to get my attention.

I blink my eyes a few times and lock eyes with a concerned Sam, "Sorry about that, I was just thinking."

He nods and his gaze drops to the watch on his wrist, "We should probably head out, you have work in a few minutes."

I grab my coat and slip it on my arms as Sam walks over to the counter to pay for our food. When he gets to the register, Gianna glances between Sam and Harry before ringing up our food and handing him the receipt. I catch Harry shoot Sam a harsh glare before his glimpse turns to me and the glare deepens. My eyes dash down to the table as I pick at my nail beds.

"Ready to go, Pheebs?" Sam's voice calls out from the register and I quickly stand up from the booth, grabbing my notebook.

I rush over to him and meet him at the door, lacing our fingers together as the door closes behind us. The bitter winter weather has set it, snow has covered the tops of buildings and left a grey slush on the sides of the streets.

We walk hand in hand down the sidewalk before crossing to get to Darcy's, he gives me a peck on the cheek before kissing me goodbye. I wave to him as I head inside and I watch him disappear down the street as I get situated behind the checkout desk.

Darcy is reading to the same group of young kids again today, she's been reading to them once a week for the past month. They've calmed down and caused less and less damage to the store each time, you wouldn't believe what a reward of animal crackers and a juicebox will do. They now sit quietly in front of the reading chair with their snacks, not saying a word while Darcy reads enthusiastically to them. They've become so enthralled by her every word that they have defaulted to silence.

I pull the return bin out from under the large wooden desk and begin peeling off the sticky notes that detail the reasons for their returns, most of them just say things like, 'Loved, wanted to share,' and, 'Great read, recommend reading.' That's what most of the post-its on these books say, nothing about why they were returned, just that they enjoyed them. I separate the books by section and begin taking the stacks to their designated aisles to put back in their homes.

I pass the aisle of music books again and I can't help but shake my head. Everytime I see the sign on the end of the shelf that reads, 'music, musicians,' I am reminded of Harry. I still have yet to read that Louis Armstrong biography, the desire to read it diminished significantly after the last time I talked to Harry.

My curiosity in the soundtrack of Harry Styles' life was fading, at least I hoped it was. I couldn't seem to loosen the grip he has on my mind, at random times throughout the day I'd wonder what music he was listening to, who he was talking to, what he's thinking about. It confuses the hell out of me.

Speak of the devil, the bell above the door frame chimes and he wanders in, his arm wrapped around the shoulder of the brunette girl aforementioned. Her bored expression led me to believe that coming to this store was his idea. He leaned down to her ear and whispered something which made her face scrunch up with irritation.

They walked past the desk, his eyes met mine before I darted my vision down to the scratches and grooves of the wood, and down the music aisle. His arm slides off her shoulder and down to his side as she stands with one of her arms folded over her chest and the other diving into her pocket to retrieve her phone. I couldn't see him anymore but from Rebecca's constant glances in his direction I could tell he was digging through the shelves for something.

I go back to filing returns in the ancient desktop computer that rests on the small oak desk behind the large counter. This system is very outdated and tedious but Darcy refuses to change it, Eddie created the software specifically for this store which is why I assume she's so against the idea.

I hear muffled arguing from behind me coming from the aisle before Rebecca comes out of the aisle and stomps out of the store, swinging the door open brutally and it hits the table of books next to it. A gust of cold air follows through the door as it takes its time to close. A shiver runs down my spine from the chill.

"Fucking bitch," I hear a mumbled complaint come from Harry as he sits in the chair nearest the purchase desk, "All I said was I wasn't fucking going shopping."

He sits back in the chair and drops the pile of books on the table next to it. He runs his hands through his rich curls before throwing his head back against the back of the chair and rubbing his eyes harshly with the heels of his palms.

He snatches the top book off of the pile and pulls the cover off and holds the book between his fingers. His thumb and pinky finger hold it open and the middle three prop it up to his vision. His intense stare changes from one of anger, furrowed brows and clenched jaw, to concentration, lifted brow and pursed lips. His pale green eyes run across the pages as taps the fingers of his other hand against his thigh.

"Studious fella there," Darcy's sweet tone catches me off guard.

I jump in my seat and throw my hand up over my chest, "Dee, you scared me."

She laughs under her breath and directs her eyes to Harry before looking back to me, "An enigma that boy is, I don't think I've seen him smile since he got here. He always looks so focused," she pauses, "Like he's trying to distract himself from something."

"He's a mystery." I agree simply before turning back to my work.

Darcy places her frail hand on my shoulder, "It's slow, you should go talk to him."

"I don't think so, Darcy."

"I may be old but I'm not blind," she gives me a disapproving look, "I've seen him looking at you when you're not paying attention."

I shake my head and huff, I know she's not going to let this go until I go over to him. I have no desire to stir the pot with him. I already know how it'll go--I'll ask the wrong thing (as usual), he'll get defensive, I'll get pissed, and we'll both stomp off.

I push the chair back and stand before grabbing a book that needs to be returned in the section by his chair anyway and move from behind the desk. My red high tops scuff against the old wooden floor as I shuffle past him to put the book back on the shelf.

I step up onto my toes before lifting my arm up to place the book back on the high shelf, the wood creaking beneath me as I slide it back into its place.

"Could you keep it down, Sunshine." He mumbles as I flatten my feet again.

I shoot him a stark scowl and he pulls a forced cheesy smile. "What're you reading?" I inquire and I walk over to sit on the arm of his chair.

"A book." He says plainly.

"Thank you Captain Obvious." I say with sarcasm contrasting the coerced grin across my face.

He lets out a short sniff before lifting his hand to brush across the tip of his nose. "Crooners." His arm wraps around the top upholstery of the chair's back.

I lean to the side to get a better view of the cover of the book, it's a book about the artists known for crooner music and the category's history. "Do you like it?"

"It's fine, I already know most of it." He speaks softly as he tucks his thumb between the pages of the book and it closes around it.

I raise my eyebrows and lean down towards him, "Shocker."

He lets out a huff and shifts in his seat so that he faces towards me more. I turn on the arm of the chair and fold my legs and place my hands in my lap. We just look at each other for a time, his eyes scan my face as mine his.

"Nice sweater." He says abruptly.

I look down to the primary colored sweater that nearly drowns my torso, "Uh, thanks."

It has shifted from civilness to an uncomfortable tension that neither of us know how to remedy. I look down at my nail beds and pick at the chipped nail polish and he runs his fingers through his hair.

"Rebecca, the girl who was with you earlier," I start quietly, "what's up with her?"

Our eyes meet and his expression tenses, "Just some girl. How do you know her?"

"I went to high school with her," I mutter, "unfortunately."

His brows drop, "Unfortunately?"

I nod, "Not my fondest memories."

He nods it off as if he could tell it was a subject I'd like to avoid. "Mine either, secondary school was a waste of my youth."

That strange tension that makes silence compulsory between us arises again but he breaks it quickly, "How's lover boy?"

I shake my head and a small snicker leaves my lips, "He's perfect."

"Really?" He asks as if it was impossible that my statement was true.

"Yes."

He leans closer to me and he says lowly, "You're a shit liar."

"Excuse me? He's a great boyfriend, much better than I'm sure you are to Rebecca." I snap back.

"Rebecca is a bitch and we both know it," he argues, "Another warm body. I don't waste my time making attachments that won't last."

I roll my eyes, "That's the difference. Sam is great, he's nice and he listens to me. He's not just another warm body."

"A waste of time is what he is." He whispers back bitterly. "Not at all what you want," he mumbles under his breath in an attempt to conceal it from my ears.

"Not what I want?" My voice raises before I bring it back down, "It's obvious you don't know what you want, Rebecca isn't what you want and you know it."

His jaw loosens and his expression drifts to one of desperation as he rasps, "What do I want, Phoebe?"

"What?" I jolt back and catch myself on the back of the chair to keep myself from falling backward.

"Since you know what I want," he grits out through his teeth, "Tell me what I want."

"I-I don't," I stutter, "How am I supposed to know?"

"You and I both know exactly what it is that we want," his voice raises, "You just don't want to admit it."

"No, I know what I want. I want Sam." I defend myself even though it's questionable.

"Bullshit." He yells out making my skin erupt with goosebumps and I hear Darcy's footsteps approaching.

The floorboards creak beneath her feet as she brings herself to stand in front of us with an impatient expression spread across her normally cheerful face. "Young man," Darcy points her shaky finger out at Harry, "You need to leave."

Harry stands up from the chair and repeats Rebecca's previous action, swinging the door open and letting it crash against the front table before bringing his hands up to flip the bird and walking out.

I sit there blinking with raised brows, trying to decipher what just happened. Rebecca isn't what he wants, she's exactly the person he hates. She's conceded and uninteresting, she can't even stand to be in a bookstore for more than five minutes. Sam is what I want, at least what I think I want. He's kind and caring, he listens to my stories and asks about my interests.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Darcy pipes up with an apologetic tone.

I nod as I stand from the chair and grab the pile of books Harry left behind. "I'm fine, I'll put these away." She goes to say something else but I add, "Really, I'm fine."

I juggle the various books cradled in my arms and walk to the music aisle. I let them fall to the floor and pick them up one by one to set them in their proper positions. I picked up the first book, the one Harry was reading and placed it back on the shelf, then another book about Crooner music, then a Paul Anka biography, then a Frank Sinatra biography, and finally the same Louis Armstrong book he's returned previously.

I run my fingers through my hair and grip at my scalp trying to sort out the thoughts flying through my head. There's just so many questions that I have, for myself, for Harry, for anyone that's willing to answer. I shake my hands to relieve the leftover shaking from nerves and find my seat back behind the counter.

The same two young kids from a while ago walk through the door, they're around eleven or twelve years old, a boy and a girl. They both smile softly at me before going back to the classic fairytale and nursery rhyme aisle. Only a few minutes later, they're sitting in the middle of the aisle, reading loudly and laughing as they lean into each other.

It's obvious that they're very close friends and comfortable being completely themselves with one another. Their bright laughter and jester like behavior while reading is very touching. A new page is full of dramatic monologues, exaggerated impressions, and outbursts of joy.

The boy will bring his hand to rest on hers when the sitting position allows for it and when he's not paying attention the girl will just stare at him as if whatever he's doing is the most important thing to ever happen.

I don't know if they realize that they both care for each other the way it seems, maybe they do but they're too afraid to ruin their friendship. It's funny that they're so young and conduct themselves in a way that could preserve the other's feelings while simultaneously crushing them. It's a strange limbo between platonic and romantic love, this fine line that so many of us walk.

I bring my notebook up to rest on the table and flip to a page with space. I dig through the drawers of the desk and find an old pen that has the bookstore's name and information on it. I scribble a few circles to get the ink flowing and then chicken scratch in a stream of consciousness.