I pull back first, fully aware that we’re in a public place. My face is flushed as he gazes down at me, his jaw clenching. “How was your flight?” he murmurs softly.

“Short,” I reply and step away from him carefully. I’m wearing black high heel boots; one of my Christmas presents that I couldn’t fit into my luggage and had decided to wear instead. It’s been awhile since I’ve worn high heels and I’m almost at Brian’s height.

“You look nice.” He eyes me up and down appreciatively and I blush harder.

“How’s Bronx?” I ask as we walk toward the baggage claim area.

“He’s good. He’s at my house right now, waiting for us. We went out to Lake Louise the other day.” I realize that no man has ever really taken such good care of my dog before.

“Thank you for doing that, really Brian,” I tell him gratefully and he gives me a small smile back. We reach the baggage claim and wait patiently in the crowd for the belt to start.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m okay right now,” I tell him. “I can probably wait until we get back to Banff.”

He nods and his jaw clenches again. I wonder what’s on his mind. Just then, out of nowhere, a young girl and her friend come up to us, a shy look on both of their faces. “Excuse me,” the blonde, shorter one speaks up, looking up at Brian timidly. “But… are-are you Brian Littrell?” She’s breathless now and her friend is slightly bouncing from foot to foot beside her.

Brian smiles at them both and nods. “Yes, I am,” he replies then adds jokingly, “but don’t tell anyone.” He gives them a wink and they start giggling nervously, looking at each other and back to Brian with the most excited grins on their faces. I’m taken aback by their reaction to merely just his presence. Brian is all boyish charm right now; something that I guessed he’s picked up in all his young years of being famous around the world.

“Oh my God, can we please get a picture with you? Please?” the taller brunette asks, her voice turning up a couple of octaves. Brian glances up at me and I smile back, reaching out my hand for the camera.

“I can take it for you girls,” I say and they’re almost jumping up and down with excitement. After I snap the picture, they shake Brian’s hand and scamper away, giggling and talking excitedly.

“Sorry about that,” he says softly, giving me a sheepish smile and I shrug it off.

“No need to be. It’s part of who you are.”

Before he could reply, another group of girls – this time four of them – come up to him, all of them talking at once. “Oh my God, you’re Brian Littrell!” they squeal excitedly, reaching out to hug him. I watch as Brian interacts with them – he’s very good; calm demeanor, humorous, and comfortable with the attention. It hits me, again, that he lives a whole other lifestyle outside of the small town living. He strikes up a short conversation, takes pictures, and signs a few random items like the back of a receipt and a library card. By this time, he’s generated quite a bit of attention from onlookers who are eyeing him speculatively, wondering why this man keeps getting approached by young girls.

“He’s so cute!” I can hear a few girls giggle and look up in time to see a few snapping pictures of him on their phone.

I shake my head. “Wow,” I breathe. “I never realized you live like this. Are you used to it?”

He nods. “Sometimes, but you can’t ever really wrap your head around the idea of fame.” The baggage belt finally starts up and he sighs heavily. “This means that one of those girls will tell their friends, who will tell their friends and so on and I can guarantee you that we won’t step out of this airport without some paparazzi outside.”

“Paparazzi?” I say, the word almost foreign to me. “In Calgary?” It seems almost humorous; a random city in Canada… with paparazzi?

He grins at me. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

Sure enough, when we step outside there are a few photographers snapping pictures and following us to the parkade. “Hey, Brian, how’s your night?” one asks. They’re all eyeing me warily, probably wondering who the stranger lady is and why she’s with one of the members of the most famous bands out right now.

“It’s good,” he replies simply, pulling my suitcase on wheels behind us. He walks close to me, but doesn’t make body contact.

“Did you take a flight out somewhere?”

“Nope, just picked up a friend at the airport.” Somehow, the word ‘friend’ stabs at my heart but I ignore it.

“So why did you all of a sudden move to small town Banff from L.A., Brian?” The guy asking is tall, bearded, and well… downright rude. At this, Brian says nothing but just smiles politely as he leads us to a steel grey Range Rover, which I recall him mentioning that he bought after sending the Ferrari back.

“Thanks guys, have a good night,” Brian says – his subtle way of getting rid of them.

“Have a good night,” they reply simply and finally stop following us.

“Well, that can get annoying,” I mutter as he opens the passenger door for me.

He laughs softly. “You’re telling me.”

We’re cruising at a steady pace down the Queen Elizabeth Highway now, the sun completely set and only the lampposts and the moon to guide our way. The views of the mountains are looming in the distance, the stars out, and the roads empty except for a few trucks and the occasional passing car. It’s been quiet in the car since we’ve left the airport, the only sound coming from the speakers softly playing 90’s R&B. I peek occasionally at Brian who keeps his gaze straight, eyes set, and face soft. He looks so handsome.

I stare out the window and up at the stars twinkling in the sky. It’s so comforting to see something constant. “What a beautiful night,” I murmur softly, more to myself. I can tell he’s looking at me, perhaps surprised that I had said something.

“It is,” he agrees and it goes silent again for a few minutes. Though, I don’t mind the silence – it’s somehow a comfortable one despite the complicated situation between us. Finally, he speaks up again. “I’ve missed you.”

My heart constricts, probably for the millionth time since meeting him. I look at him and give him a small smile. “You’re not allowed to miss me, remember?” I reply softly and gaze out the window again.

“Why not?” He reaches for my hand and I let him take it, bringing it up to his lips. Gently, he kisses my knuckles and my stomach does cartwheels.

“That can get complicated.”

He sighs deeply. “But, I did miss you.” He pauses. “Is that a bad thing?”

I mull this question over in my head. “Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”

“Tell me how it can be a bad thing.”

I take a deep breath. “Well, for instance, missing someone would imply that you care for them in some way and enjoy their company.”

“I think we’ve at least established the fact that I care about you,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze and bringing it up to his lips again.

“See, that confuses me.”

“How so?”

“Because, we’ve agreed on physical terms. No bullshit, no lovey dovey, no caring. Yet, here you are telling me that you care about me and kissing my hand.”

He smiles against my knuckles and his slight stubble tickles my skin. “I’m not completely heartless, London. I can’t help my feelings.”

Feelings. “So that’s it then? Are you telling me that you’ve caught feelings?”

He rolls his eyes at me, exasperated. “Well if that wasn’t obvious.”

I sink into my seat, biting my lip. I’ve wanted to hear this confession for a long time now, but why is it not settling as well as I hoped it would? I pictured it to be more… I don’t know, deep and talking about being… together. “So what now?”

“I get so attached to you, London.” His voice is soft, serious. “I don’t know what to do around you. I want to show you and give you everything that I’ve got, but I… I can’t.” He whispers the last part and my heart drops to the floor. That’s it. He can’t. This can never work.

“Why?” I ask, my voice small. “I don’t understand.”

“If anything happened to you because of me.” He squeezes my hand again and brings it to his cheek. “London, I could never forgive myself. I need to keep you safe.”

“Does it make a difference, Brian?” I take my hand away and he glances at me, eyes wide and nervous. “Does it really make that much of a difference that we’re not technically together, yet here we are… together? If whatever is out there is stopping you from being in a relationship that is officially called a relationship, they sure as hell are not stopping you from everything else a relationship is supposed to be. Because this, Brian, this whole missing each other, texting each other, kissing, the sex, seeing each other every day – is that not a relationship already? Or is there some sort of unsaid policy that it’s supposed to be official before you can even call it that? It’s so confusing.” My little outburst surprises both him and I, all unspoken words laid out on the table. I have nothing to lose and I’m tired of feeling this way. I need to know.

“I want to be with you,” he says after a few seconds. “Trust me, London, if I could I would. If you’re wanting more, I can’t give you that. I’m sorry, but I’m here. I don’t know if that’s better than nothing…” he trails off and I’m left to let his words settle in.

So he can’t. That’s that. All we’ll ever be is what we are now. The thought settles the burning questions in my head, relieves me of the what-if’s, but also disappoints me like no other. There is no future with Brian Littrell, simple as that. Only the now, the now that will never change. I sigh and gaze out the window again, deep in thought. What do I want? What do I want? After the Christmas holidays, I’ve realigned my beliefs and principles. I’ve been reminded of everything that my parents have raised me to be. I want the romantic engagement, the marriage, the family, the loving household – it’s all that I know and all that my Mom would’ve wanted for me, too. My happiness lies in good family values - not this physical nonsense.

I shake the thoughts out of my head. I’m so tired of them, so sick of being left in these constant, nagging thoughts. I need to free myself, feel elated again, and bring back that sense of independence. Linda, my Dad, Karen, everyone is right – I should give love a chance. And if it’s not with Brian, then who’s to say I won’t be happy with anyone else? I manage a smile on my face and decide to let it go for now. At the moment, I just want to enjoy the rest of the drive to Banff and have a decent conversation without talking about feelings, the word ‘physical’, or anything remotely close to a relationship.

“So, how was the rest of your Christmas?” I ask and he looks at me, surprised at the change of context in the conversation.

“It was good,” he replies slowly. He’s eyeing me warily and I have to laugh.

“Just good? Brian, I don’t want to argue anymore, or whatever it is that we were doing. I just want to have a normal conversation. Is that so much to ask?”

He thinks about it for a second and then nods in agreement. “You know what London, after a holiday of record label meetings, interviews, some press, and fan encounters… a normal conversation is exactly what I need.”