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JUNE, 1987
Cocoa Beach was where Harry first laid eyes on the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
On a sunny day by the ocean, he admired her through the flimsy mesh of the volleyball net during a recreational game of girls versus boys. Her painted toenails stood before the serving line that had been drawn by gliding a piece of driftwood through the scorching sand. She wore a clementine-colored bikini while her golden hair fell over the straps in majestic waves. She was so ethereal, with the sun shining down on her and accentuating the natural beauty she lavishly possessed.
She managed an effortless topspin serve, the smack of her palm against the leather ball in perfect time with the start of a song about emotions in motion coming from a nearby boombox.
As for Harry, his emotions were thoroughly in motion.
A dollface like hers was rare. With tan, satiny skin, dark brown eyes, and plump lips of absolute perfection, her features caused his stomach to erupt with summertime butterflies. Thankfully, the sunglasses he had on hid his blatant ogling. He didn't even know her name or where she was from, but he had a strangely intense feeling that told him he was meant to find out.
Thwack!
Without warning, the volleyball hit Harry square in the forehead. His sunglasses flew off as his ass fell backward onto the sand. His vision blackened around the edges while his brain experienced a high-magnitude earthquake.
"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"
His ears rang, yet he could barely make out a soft voice laced with concern. Some of his friends crowded around him, yet one person nudged their way through like how the sun gloriously peeked past the clouds that morning.
Oh... the girl he'd been admiring. How embarrassing.
"Y-yeah," Harry stuttered. He rubbed his pounding temples and blinked fast to clear his blurry sight. "All good. You have a powerful serve."
Doe-like eyes stared at him apprehensively. "Do you feel dizzy? Should I call an ambulance? Is the sun too bright for you?"
"No," he replied, laughing. "I'm sure I'll just have a bruise. No need to worry."
She crouched and moved her dainty pointer finger back and forth in front of his face. He followed it, mesmerized. After repeating the motion a few times, she said, "Okay, your eyes seem to be focused."
He bit back a smirk. "I'm glad they are."
"What's your name?" she asked, ignoring his charm.
"Harry Styles." He gave her his best dimpled smile. "What's yours?"
Gently touching the bump forming on his forehead, she continued, "And how old are you?"
"Nineteen." He would have been lying if he had said his skin wasn't on fire, heat blooming everywhere. "What's your name?" he repeated.
