4. Harper
FOUR
Harper
Wednesday, February 4
The Essential
2018 Morris Avenue, Birmingham
9:47 AM
The morning sun streams through the coffee shop windows, making the last dregs of my latte look a little like pluff mud at low tide. I yawn and stretch, feeling the exhaustion from last night’s shift pulling at me like a weighted blanket.
My phone dings as it sits on the table beside my mug. I glance at it to see a text from my best friend, Mason.
Babe, brunch. Now. Don’t make me come find you.
I smile and roll my eyes, typing back quickly.
I’m already here, nerd. Where are you? I got us your favorite window seat. Hurry before I fall asleep.
Within moments, Mason breezes in. As are all of his entrances, it is accompanied by a whirlwind of patterned silk and expensive cologne. His hair is perfectly styled without a strand out of place, and he’s wearing sunglasses big enough to qualify as a disguise.
“Thank God you look as tired as I feel,” he says, sliding into the chair across from me. “Misery loves company, darling.”
“Misery should try working a double shift in the ER,” I reply, pushing my empty mug aside. “Pretty sure I aged five years last night. Welcome back to Birmingham, right?”
He snorts, taking off his sunglasses and setting them carefully on the table. “Please, you thrive on chaos. Tell me everything about everyone. I'm certain you got some good juice first night back on the floor.”
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Let’s see. There was a gun, a bleeding teenager, and Jonah Bellinger swooping in like some kind of unflappable superhero. That about covers it.”
Mason freezes mid-reach for the menu, and his eyes narrow. “Jonah Bellinger? As in the Jonah? Tall cup of tattooed deliciousness and emotionally unavailable Jonah?”
I grimace. “Do you know another Jonah that works at UAB?”
Mason leans back dramatically, his hand over his heart. “I had to be dramatic because I figured you'd have a run-in with him. I guess I just wasn't prepared yet. So, tell me— is he still as hot and uncommitted as ever?”
“Hot, yes,” I say, laughing softly as I pick at the edge of my napkin. “And judging by the lack of a ring, I’d say his dating habits haven’t changed much either. But we didn’t go there, so I can’t say for sure.”
Mason arches an eyebrow as his lips curve into a smirk. “Well, he’s obvi just waiting for you.”
“No, thank you,” I say quickly, shaking my head. "Been there, done that."
He studies me for a moment, the smirk fading into something softer. “You’re really not hoping you can turn him into a monogamous boy toy? No lingering feelings for Mr. Hot Mess?”
I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing to be over, Mason. We’re friends. That’s it. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I..."
Mason bursts out laughing, drawing the attention of a couple at the next table. “When you snacked on that wedding cake of a man,” he finishes for me.
"You're disgusting."
"Oh my God, you totally did !” he says, practically cackling. “You knew he was frosted on the outside but stale in the middle, and you still took a bite. Harper, babe, no one blames you for trying. There are a long line of women, and probably a few men, who dreamed of being Mrs. Jonah Bellinger.”
I shrug, brushing crumbs off my fingers. “Maybe for half a second. But hey, I’m human. I made a choice, and it didn’t pan out. No harm, no foul.”
Mason sobers slightly, his tone softening. “Just don’t forget how far you’ve come. You’re way too good for someone who is Peter Pan when it comes to romance.”
“I’m not forgetting,” I say firmly, meeting his gaze. “That’s why I left Birmingham in the first place. And it worked out, didn’t it? I’m here, I’m happy, and I’m not losing sleep over any man.”
“Good,” he says, raising his coffee cup like a toast. “Because you deserve someone who brings you the whole damn lavish wedding—not just a slice of cake.”
I can’t help but smile, tapping my cup against his. “Agreed. Now, can we stop talking about your obsession with him and get back to my crazy night back at UAB?”
Mason’s eyes widen dramatically. “Oh, yes, do tell. Guns and blood? Please say it involved a dramatic faint. Preferably yours.”
“Not a chance,” I say, smirking. “But yes, guns, blood, and chaos. Listen to this: A guy storms into the ER, into the triage room I was cleaning up, pushing his brother in a wheelchair. There was blood everywhere, and he was waving a gun around like he’s in a bad action movie.”
Mason’s eyes go wide. “Guns and a wheelchair? Oh, darling, that’s drama. Please tell me there was fainting.”
“Not unless you consider the guy bleeding out in the wheelchair, barely hanging onto life. He was bleeding out—gunshot to the abdomen. The older man grabs me, shoves the gun in my face, and demands I save him.”
Mason gasps, clutching his chest like he’s physically wounded. “The audacity! Grabbing my Harper like that? I hope you gave him a piece of your mind.”
“Ha. Funny. Not exactly,” I reply, shaking my head. “I didn’t really have time to lecture him while trying to stay alive and keep his brother from dying. I stalled, kept him calm, and ended up calling our friend Jonah to save the day. Somehow, Jonah managed to convince him to let us wheel the kid to surgery without shooting anyone.”
Mason leans forward, enthralled. “Oh, my bejesus! That is intense. I'm so glad you're okay! Where are they now?”
“As soon as we got the brother to the OR, the gunman took off. The cops showed up, of course, but by then, he was long gone. I'm guessing the younger one is handcuffed to a hospital bed in the ICU.”
He lets out a low whistle. “So, I guess he made it?”
I nod. “He’s alive. For now, at least. We got the bullet out and stopped the bleeding, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”
Mason shakes his head slowly, his tone a mix of awe and disbelief. “You really know how to make a splash, don’t you? Your first night back at UAB. Damn, Shazam, I like how you roll.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yeah, not exactly the warm welcome I was hoping for.”
“Well,” he says, raising his coffee cup, “here’s to you, my brave, badass bestie. May the rest of your time here be slightly less... eventful. ”
I clink my cup against his, smiling. “I’ll drink to that.”
"I hate to do this, but I actually can't stay to eat today. I have a gym date with a new hottie. He didn't text me until right before I was heading out. I'm sure you understand!"
"Of course. I'll be here for at least three months. But you have to give me all the deets. And try to get a pic of him at the gym for me."
He drains his coffee and checks his phone.
Mine dings, and I pick it up to see a text from Jonah.
If you’re up for it, let’s meet for a walk later. You still owe me for not telling me you were back in town. And I owe you a coffee.
Mason’s eyes flick to the screen because, of course, he’s nosy like that. “And there he is. Serendipity, much?”
“Stop,” I mutter, typing back quickly.
I could use some fresh air and I'm hungry. How about a walk and an early lunch? On you.
Mason hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re playing with fire, Harper.”
“I’m managing a situation,” I correct. “And I’m getting a free meal out of it.”
“Sure, babe,” he says, winking. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Chez Fonfon
2007 11th Avenue South
12:02 PM
The server clears the last of the plates, and Jonah leans back in his chair, stretching lazily. “A walk, a full stomach, and the perfect weather,” he says, his voice dripping with ease. “Feels like the ideal setup for a nap. Care to join me?”
I narrow my eyes at him over my iced tea. “In your dreams.”
“Every night,” he quips, flashing that infuriating grin.
I roll my eyes but can’t help the corner of my mouth twitching. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Only when I know it’s worth it,” he says, winking like it’s an Olympic sport. “But fine, I’ll let you off the hook—this time.”
I shake my head, letting the banter roll off me. It’s always been like this with Jonah: charming, playful, and just detached enough to make sure nothing ever gets too serious. But there’s a part of me, the stubborn part, that wants to remind him he doesn’t have that same pull with me anymore.
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” I say, smirking. “We both know your afternoon nap doesn’t involve anyone but you and ESPN.”
“Touché,” he says, raising his glass in mock surrender. “I’ll have you know, though, that my afternoons are very eventful.”
“Sure they are,” I deadpan. “And I’m the Tooth Fairy.”
“More like Tinker Bell,” he teases, his grin widening. "But, seriously, you haven't seen my new place. I've moved since you left. I've done a lot of growing up in two years."
"I'm sure the core elements are still in place: pizza for dinner, no plants because you can’t commit, and your last date was probably ghosted before dessert.”
He laughs, unbothered. “Wow. That’s such a supportive tone for someone who’s allegedly my friend.”
“Exactly, I'm a real friend,” I shoot back, smirking. “I tell it to you like it is.”
His grin widens as he grabs a fry from my plate. “See, this is why I keep you around. Grounding influence.”
“Sure,” I say, snatching the fry back before he can eat it. “I’m also the only one who will call you out on your crap.”
Jonah clutches his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Harper, you crush me. I’m a hardworking, respectable surgeon.”
I roll my eyes. “You are a good surgeon, I'll give you that. But you still need a good ass-kicking.”
For a moment, it feels like old times—back when our banter was easy and untainted by anything deeper. We’ve always had this rhythm, a give-and-take that never took itself too seriously. It’s the part of Jonah I don’t mind. The part that made being friends with him easy.
But then he tilts his head, his grin turning just a little sharper, a little too knowing. “You know, since you’re back for a few months, maybe we should revisit that ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement. Strictly casual, of course. No pressure.”
The words hit me like a slap, sucking the air from the playful ease of the moment. “Excuse me? We never had an arrangement , Jonah.”
His grin falters slightly, though his tone remains annoyingly flippant. “I mean, it worked before, didn’t it? No strings, no expectations. Just... fun.”
My stomach turns as I set my drink down with deliberate precision. “Wow. Jonah, I don’t even know where to start with how offensive that is.”
He leans forward, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Harper, come on. It’s not?—”
“Not what?” I interrupt, my voice low and sharp. “Not dismissive? Not completely self-centered and immature? Because it feels pretty familiar.”
Heat rises up my neck as I sit there and look at his shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. These are his two secret weapons that allow him to do whatever he wants with women and have no repercussions.
I can't believe he has the audacity to say that to me. We never had an arrangement, and I never slept with him thinking I was just another one of his conquests. It was one time, and as soon as I saw he had no intention of treating me with respect, I accepted the travel nurse job to get the fuck out of this town.
He blinks, clearly taken aback, and for once, I think I see a crack in his confident facade. But I don’t give him the chance to respond. I stand, grabbing my bag, the sudden weight of disappointment pressing against my chest.
“Thanks for lunch,” I say curtly. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I walk away, leaving him at the table, his easy charm finally faltering in my wake.