CHAPTER 27
Aiden
“Surprise!”
I make some sort of sound in reply. A grunt, I think? I’m startled half to death.
I expected the usuals to be waiting inside for me. I thought Harper would write a birthday note on my cup, maybe stick a candle in one of the chocolate croissants I love.
I did not expect…this.
There’s a banner strung over the register, balloons, a bigger flower arrangement than usual and party blowers making quite the ruckus.
“It’s 7AM…” I mutter.
“Yeah, well, we’re early risers,” Maxine says.
“Speak for yourself,” Steven yawns. “I was promised free donuts.” I look over and he throws up his hands, “Harper said it was a private party here at the bakery!”
“That’s right, no one’s paying this morning! Happy Birthday!” She says, looking…
Wow.
She looks as adorable as always. Smudge of chocolate on her forehead I think. Hair askew, bandanna covered in toucans today. But she’s smiling, wholly, fully, blindingly. At me.
Everyone chimes in cheering and saying happy birthday. To me.
Harper must’ve gotten up even earlier than her usual ass-crack of dawn to pull this off. For me. I…this…
The angel herself lifts the partition to come out from behind the counter and hands me…
A Christmas ornament? Yes, an ornament of a tiny inflatable swan with a red ribbon tied around its neck. Or maybe just a normal swan, but it looks exactly like the one that almost bested me in that absurd race.
“Doesn’t it look just like it?” Harper squeaks, excited.
“Mhm,” I murmur.
“Tyrone saw it in a shop and sent it in the group text,” she explains further.
“It’s brilliant, thank you,” I say with a tight throat. There is a group text where they talked about a gift for me. The town I thought was secretly cold and horrible underneath, keeps proving itself to be sweeter and warmer than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I feel my cheeks burn. This is bloody weird. And why is my nose burning? Am I having an allergic reaction to something?
“Hey,” Harper says, shifting until my eyes lock with hers, “Are you all right?”
“What? Yes, of course, I just…why would you all…do this?” I ask.
A chorus of answers fill the room about how I’m a regular townie now, something about selling records and how I’m at least giving them until July.
At which point I’ll be leveling half your businesses.
I don’t say it aloud as Harper leads me by the elbow past the register and through the kitchen. I’ve been here once before yet again, a thrill runs through me. Only those close to her get to venture behind the counter.
“Steven, a little help?” She calls out before she hands me my coffee—Happy Birthday to Our Rich Asshole written on it—and pulls me down the hall. “What’s wrong?” She asks when we’re in the tiny space she calls a back office.
“Hm?” I ask, not following.
“Is it the crowd? Or the surprise? Not everyone likes surprise parties but I thought—”
“No, no,” I say, reaching out a hand to hold her arm. “I appreciate it, thank you.”
She studies me, unconvinced and says, “You look weird. Even grumpier than usual.”
“I…I don’t know, that’s, uh, new,” I pull at my collar, suddenly hot, and gesture to the crowd a few feet down the hall.
She looks past me, then back up at my face. Her eyes widen as she says, “You’ve never had a surprise birthday party before.”
“I’ve never had any birthday party, actually.”
“W-what?” She exclaims the question.
I wince, “That’s weird, isn’t it? I forget sometimes, how strange my family is.”
“You mean as an adult,” Harper says slowly, “You mean like not since you were little?”
I chuckle, “No, I always mean exactly what I say, you know that.”
“Your parents didn’t throw you a birthday party!” She yells the statement in dismay.
I shrug, “When I asked for one in primary school my mother said, ‘why would we do that?’ And I never asked again. My parents…”
“Sucked,” Harper finishes for me. She’s flushed and fiery, angry on my behalf. Makes my nose start to sting all over again.
I let out another small laugh, “They just…had better things to do.”
“Than throw their little boy a party?”
“Than raise me, I suppose.”
Harper paces away from me and back again, “Wow, I was way off.” I frown and cock my head as she goes on, “I thought you were the golden boy, only son, always got whatever you wanted.”
“The last bit is true, but not from them. I was young when I realized they weren’t coming ‘round. It was my job to look after myself.”
“Like the pony,” she says just above a whisper.
I truly laugh, “Sure, but, buying myself a horse was no hardship. It was for polo. I wanted to play, so I did.”
“I don’t get it, what was more important than your freaking birthday?”
“Oh, a whole host of things, appearances, meetings, travel, fund raising, the businesses. They were always very busy. Still are, actually.”
“Did they at least come to your games? I mean polo is fancy, isn’t it?”
“They’re called matches. And not usually. I think mum came to a few when there weren’t any better options.”
“Huh,” Harper says absently as she makes her way slowly toward the door, then stops. “What about your friends? Or Marion?”
“Worthington Prep didn’t allow parties. And Marion was too busy sneaking off to shag my roommate,” I say.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she shakes her adorable head, curls flying under the bandanna. “That’s not what you said, you said she wanted to settle down in London.”
“That’s right, she did, and I asked her to travel abroad with me instead. She said yes, then started up with Harry. Married him soon after and they settled down in London, just like she wanted. ”
“Wow. I’m sorry,” she says, looking stunned.
“It’s all right, Harper, really. She made her choice and I made mine,” I put my hand up on her delicate shoulder and squeeze.
She’s fierce when she looks up, “It’s not all right. It’s a lot like me, actually.”
“How’d’you mean?”
“Your parents should have chosen you,” she says. She’s angry at them for a beat and then she relaxes and sighs, “I get it. I was almost an adult when my mom left but it still hurt. Then everyone else, well, you know.” She shrugs and walks away, “No one ever chooses me either.”
It kills me, the way she says it. Not bitter or angry or self-pitying. Just resigned. As if everyone always leaving her behind is a simple fact of life, as plain as gravity or the passage of time.
“Harper!” I say and before she can protest I grab hold of her and cling her to me.
I hold her head to my chest and wrap an arm around her back like a wall.
Like a protective barrier against all the bastards who should have done better to her and for her.
“Thank you,” I say into her hair. “For the swan and the party.”
I want to kiss the top of her head. I want to pull back and tip up her chin and take her mouth. She’s so warm and soft I want to slide my hand down and grab hold of her perfect ass. Hell, I want to slide both hands around and grab everywhere.
But I pull away.
Harper Brown is possibly the sweetest girl in the entire world. I was wrong about her before. There’s no malice underneath, unless you come after one of her friends. Which is what I’ve become to her. What she wants me to be. Her friend. A friend worth throwing a surprise party for.
And so, with herculean restraint, a new habit I am not at all fond of, I let her go and watch her walk down the hall, her face flushed.
I want her, badly. But for the first time in my life I suppose I just won’t get what I want.
Instead, I will rein myself in. Compromise. Settle.
And simply be her friend.