To say the dinner with Alex, his mom, and Chris was awful would be an understatement. Maybe I'm overacting, but it was pretty bad. I don't think I even got to say more than five words during the dinner, aside from telling the waitress my order.

The whole dinner was spent having Chris and Sandra talk about business involving Alex while I awkwardly picked at the grilled chicken and veggies on my plate. Then, majority of the time, Alex kept shooting me apologetic glances from across the table. I've never wanted to escape a dinner more in my life than last night.

The last half of the dinner, I sat there having a mental war inside my head of whether to politely excuse myself and leave or sit through more torture. I ended up staying for numerous reasons, even though I know for a fact they wouldn't miss me or notice I was gone. One, I didn't want Alex to feel worse about this than he probably already did; two, I didn't want to seem rude, especially in front of my bosses; and three, I couldn't find an appropriate time to cut into their intense business conversation.

Finally, when the torture was over, Alex insisted on paying the bill and we headed back to our rooms. Well, me back to mine and them to Alex's to discuss further business.

As soon as I get to my room and plop down on the bed my phone dings, signaling a new email.

I'm so sorry! I had no clue they were going to show up. I'll make it up to you, I swear!

I let out a sigh and run my fingers through my hair. How do I respond to that?

You don't have to make up anything to me. Its ok, promise.

It was ok. Even though the dinner was awful, I know it wasn't his fault.

Scouts honor?

He replies, mocking me from when we first met.

If there was a scout's honor hand solute emoji I would totally send it to you right now.

They should get on that. I mean, it would be way more useful than these stupid, useless things.

He replies, attaching the various different sizes of the black and gray square emoji's.

I let out a chuckle and we continue a mindless conversation about emoji's for the rest of the night over email.

The next morning, I end up sleeping in an extra fifteen minutes, deciding to wake up Alex first and then grab breakfast while he gets ready to go to the second day of rehearsals.

Once I'm out of the shower, I decide on a flowy, maroon top with some jeans and sneakers. I was going to wear my white pants, but the incident from yesterday is still too fresh for me to want to attempt to wear them again.

At 7:56 a.m. I grab my phone and room key and go to the door, ready to walk down the hall to wake Alex. When I open my door I nearly have a heart attack because Alex is right there looking like he was about to knock on my door.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I screech, clutching my hand to my chest in attempt to slow my heart rate.

"Sorry!" he says, eyes wide, in shock himself.

"What are you doing here?" I question, letting out a few pants as my heart rate starts to go back to normal.

"I was wondering if you wanted to do breakfast together... you know... to make up for last night," he says, rocking on his feet and cupping his hand around the back of his neck.

"Oh," I say, not expecting that. "Really, you don't have to make anything up to me," I say honestly.

"I know, but I want to. Last night was..." he trails off, trying to find the right word.

"Awful?" I shyly suggest, giving him a small smile to let him know I'm not mad.

"Yeah," he breaths out and gives a small chuckle, pulling his hand from the back of his neck to shove it into his pocket. "Listen, I really am sorry about that. Chris just called and asked where I was. I had no clue they would—"

"It's ok. I know it wasn't your fault," I say, cutting him off.

"I know, but still, I'm sorry."

"Will you quit apologizing?" I laugh.

"Yeah, sorr— I mean, never mind." He chuckles as soon as I give him an exasperated look. "So, would you want to grab breakfast with me? I'll understand though if you hate me and don't want to."

"I guess I can stand having breakfast with you," I tease. "Let me just grab my stuff so we can go straight to the car right after."

He patiently waits in the doorway for me to grab my backpack and backstage pass. When I have everything, I lock the door behind me and we head down to the main floor dining area.

Hardly anyone is in here when we get in line to pick out our breakfast from the buffet. After grabbing what we want, we take a seat at a small table in the back corner.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" I ask him, taking a sip of my coffee that has luckily stayed in my cup this time.

Tomorrow is the big day, the first day of the tour, and the schedule is hectic. I imagine he's used to it, though. He's been through this a number of times, so it's probably a breeze for him by now.

"Yeah, actually," he says with a sigh, nervously running a hand through his hair.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I still get nervous before every show, but the first show is always the worst. I feel like it sets the tone for the whole tour, so if I screw up it's not going to be good. The first day is always the craziest too. I have the most interviews and promo to do before hand, which doesn't ease my nerves at all. Sorry if I'm a nervous wreck tomorrow."

I wasn't expecting that answer at all.

"Wow, I can't believe you still get nervous. How many times have you done this now? Like, a million?" I joke.

"More like a million and one," he jokes back. "What is my schedule like tomorrow?"

"I'm supposed to wake you up at 8:00 a.m. because Chris says you like to do a morning workout. You have two hours to workout and shower to get ready because we have to get to the venue by 10:00. When we get there you have multiple interviews and promo to do until lunch, which will be at 2:00, so be sure to eat breakfast. At 3:00, you have the meet and greet, followed by the sound check and Q&A. After that you have a couple more interviews before its show time," I say, recalling from memory after studying the schedule endlessly last night.

"Got it," he says, no real emotion behind his tone.

There is a silence that settles between us and I can't help but worry if he's ok. I didn't even think about how exhausting and demanding tomorrow is going to be on him, having to prance around and be dragged around like a show pony. Hopefully tomorrow goes well, for the both of us. I know I'm just the one dragging him around, making sure he's on time, but I'm pretty nervous myself so I can't even imagine what it's like for him.

"So," he says, a little more chipper, pulling us from our silence. He rests his elbows and forearms on the table, leaning forward. "What's your favorite color?"

"Um... white," I say, a little confused by his random question.

"White?" he asks, somewhat appalled. "That's not even a color!"

"Yes it is!" I defensively reply back.

"No." He slightly shakes his head, chuckling.

"Well, that's my answer. Take it or leave it. What's your favorite color even, anyway?" I ask, almost as a challenge, crossing my arms over my chest while leaning back in my chair. I know I could probably just Google it, but why not ask in person.

"Blue."

"That's such a boring, normal answer."

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes. "What's your favorite song of all time?"

"What is this, twenty-one questions?" I joke, quirking up a brow.

"Pretty much." He shrugs a shoulder.

I sit here and ponder the thought of playing this game, as well as my answer to his question.

"Probably 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol," I answer after some thought.

I watch his face turn to one of thought, mulling over my answer.

"What's your best memory?" I ask, falling into his game, preparing myself for some wild and crazy tropical or even European adventure story from him.

"Hmm," he hums out, pressing his lips in a firm line and shifting his eyes up and to the right in thought. "Probably cooking and baking with my grandma when I was little," he says, returning his eyes to mine, a small smile etching on his face.

"Really?" I blurt out a little harsher than I intend to. I really wasn't expecting that answer and I'm beginning to wonder if he's joking with me.

"Yeah," he says, smile turning sad. "We were close, but she died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," I say, realizing he's serious.

He gives me a small, closed lipped smile as if to tell me it's ok.

"When I was little, before everything blew up, she would babysit me sometimes and she was the type of lady that was always in the kitchen and that's where I spent a lot of my childhood. Even after I became famous, I made sure to visit her whenever I could and we would just cook all day and it would give me a sense of normalcy again. After I became famous, she was really the only one who still treated me like a normal person and made sure I had as normal of a life as I could, keeping me grounded. She wasn't sure about the whole fame thing, but she made me promise her that I'd always be level headed and never lose myself to all of it. She always used to threaten that she'd beat my ass if I ever ended up on the cover of a magazine getting caught doing drugs or getting into trouble." He laughs and then turns serious again. "But those days before the fame, in the kitchen with her, were my favorite because that was when everything was simple," he says thoughtfully.

"I still love cooking to this day because of her. Of course I don't get much time to do it now, but I always try to whenever I can. I don't know why, but it just gives me a sense of calm and I really do enjoy it." He shrugs.

"That's actually really, really sweet. I have to admit, I was expecting some wild and crazy story that took place somewhere across the globe," I admit with a light chuckle.

"Sadly, no." He laughs as well.

We keep up our little game of twenty one questions, firing some serious and not so serious questions back and forth until its time to catch the car to the venue.