13. Jonah
THIRTEEN
Jonah
5:17 PM
The tires crunch over the gravel driveway as I pull up in front of Harper’s place. The ride back had been easy enough—light banter, a few laughs—but now, as I kill the engine, the quiet between us feels heavier, like something unsaid is hanging in the air.
The sun is starting to dip, so an orange glow catches on the edges of the house, highlighting its charm. It’s small but polished, tucked neatly behind a larger estate. “This is where you're living while you're here?” I ask, leaning forward to get a better look. “Not bad, Nurse Gray. Got yourself a nice little setup here.”
She smirks as she unbuckles her seatbelt. “Jealous?”
“Maybe a little,” I admit, glancing at her. “I’ve got to know—who did you sweet-talk to land this?”
“Just some hospital magic,” she says, stepping out gracefully and reaching for her gym bag. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime.” My hand lingers on the steering wheel as I watch her. Even in the late afternoon gray, after a workout and a long day, she carries herself like she has nothing to prove to anyone. It’s a disarming kind of confidence, and I feel it tug at something deep inside.
She pauses halfway to the door and looks back at me. “You want to come in and see it? It’s not much, but the view of the pool and manicured lawn is pretty spectacular.”
I hesitate. Part of me knows it’s not the best idea—whatever this is, we’re still feeling it out. But the invitation, casual as it seems, is an offer I don’t want to turn down.
“Sure,” I say, stepping out of the car. “But don’t blame me if I rearrange your bookshelves. You know I have a flair for design.”
“Well, dodo, this is a pool house, so there are no bookshelves here,” she shoots back, unlocking the door and motioning me inside.
Inside, the cottage is unexpectedly cheerful and roomy. Warm, cozy, and distinctly Harper. The walls are painted a soft, creamy white, and the furniture is a mix of modern and vintage pieces, each one with character.
There’s a small kitchen with open shelving, and the couch has a throw blanket draped over the back, hinting at her love for comfort. A few personal touches—a stack of books, a pair of running shoes near the door, a vase of fresh flowers—make the space feel lived-in and welcoming.
“Well?” Harper asks, setting her bag down near the couch and turning to face me. “What’s the verdict?”
I shrug, walking further in and taking it all in. “I did notice some books. Should I arrange them?"
"Funny. Sure. But no bookshelves, they have to stay stacked."
"Noted. It's not bad at all. I like it.”
Her eyes narrow slightly into something that resembles amusement dancing in them. “You sound surprised.”
“Not surprised. Just… impressed. It suits you. It seems like a nice place for you while you're here. I imagine traveling and having a new home everywhere you go for however long gets old. Having somewhere nice to put your head at night must be nice.”
"How insightful of you, Dr. Bellinger. That is probably the hardest thing about traveling. I love switching it up, meeting new people, and trading them before they start getting on my nerves. But not having my own home, feeling like I’m always a visitor, that part is hard."
Her expression softens, and for a moment, the air between us shifts. There’s something there, unspoken but heavy, and it makes my pulse tick faster. I glance away, pretending to study the bright artwork hanging on the wall.
“Did you always know how to make a place feel like home?” I ask, running a finger along the edge of the cabinet where a large flat-screened television sits.
“Not really,” she says, moving to the kitchen. “But when you’re always on the go, you learn to make the most of wherever you land. It’s the little things that matter.”
“Like a vase of flowers?”
“Exactly.” She pulls a couple of glasses from the cabinet. “Tap water okay? Or you doing sparkling only?”
“Tap water’s fine, nerd,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I'm not that fancy, yet.”
She hands me a glass, and our fingers brush briefly. It’s nothing, just a moment, but it feels like more. I take a sip, needing the distraction.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding toward the glass. “So, is this your way of making me feel bad about my bachelor pad?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Your place probably has twice the square footage of this one.”
“Twice the space, half the personality,” I admit, setting my glass down. “Guess I’m not great at the whole making-a-house-a-home thing.”
“Shocker,” she teases, her voice light but her eyes warm.
Silence falls for a moment, comfortable but charged. I’m not sure what I expected when I stepped inside. But this feels better than I anticipated.
The silence between us settles, not uncomfortable, but unmistakable. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m standing in Harper’s space for the first time in what feels like forever, and it suits her perfectly. Warm, inviting, put-together without trying too hard—kind of like her.
There’s something in the air tonight—a shift. Not a resolution, not yet, but maybe the start of one. I'm just grateful to be able to hang out again, so I wouldn’t want to overanalyze it. But, it's a good day.
“Thanks for letting me check out your place,” I say eventually, straightening. I wish I could stay, but I think it would be awkward if I plop down on the sofa and start scrolling her Netflix.
“Glad you approve,” she says, walking me to the door. “And thanks for the ride. I'll think about the gym thing. I do need a good outlet while I'm here. I'll call to see if I can do a temporary thing.”
“Anytime,” I reply, stepping outside. "I told you you don't have to, but whatever you want. I'd love to have a workout partner."
The cool night air clears my head. I glance back over my shoulder—Harper’s still standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. Her expression is calm, but there’s something in her eyes I can’t quite place.
“Harper,” I say, stopping mid-step as I turn to face her. She lifts an eyebrow, waiting.
I hesitate for a beat, then offer a lopsided grin. “Thanks for kicking my ass in racquetball. You've always been good at bringing me down a notch. I need you in my life.”
I want to thank her for giving our friendship another chance, but I can't be that cheesy. She will probably get my point.
Her lips twitch, the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re welcome.”
I nod, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Hasta la vista.”
“Nerd.”
As I walk to my car, I don’t feel the weight I usually carry after these encounters. Instead, there’s a faint buzz in my chest—nothing big, but enough to notice.
Saturday, February 21
Ruby’s Table
10:48 AM
The familiar chime of the bell over Rudy’s door greets us as I hold it open for Lila. She steps in slowly, her movements still cautious but noticeably steadier than they were a few days ago. A week ago, we sat here having breakfast, and I didn’t realize it’d be the last time I’d see her before she disappeared and everything went sideways.
“This feels weird,” she says, glancing around. “But also… kind of good.”
“Weird how?” I ask, guiding her toward the same corner booth we sat in last week.
“Like I’m finally facing it, I guess.” She shrugs, settling into the seat with a wince. “But don’t get too proud of me. I mostly came for the pancakes.”
“Sure, you did,” I smirk, sliding into the booth across from her. “You’re doing good, Lila. Better than I expected, honestly.”
“Don’t act so surprised.” She picks up a menu, even though I know she’s already decided on pancakes. “I’ve been doing some research, by the way. Found a rehab center that takes insurance. I think it’s time to deal with my shit.”
I pause. The coffee mug I just picked up is now hovering in midair. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” She looks up, meeting my eyes with a confidence I haven’t seen in years. “I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, but… I want to try. Next week, I’ll call and see what I need to do to get in.”
“That’s huge, Lila.” My voice softens as I set the mug down. “I’m proud of you.”
She waves me off, but her cheeks flush slightly. “Don’t get all mushy on me, big brother.”
The waitress swings by to take our order, and we fall into an easy rhythm of conversation—her teasing me about how predictable I am with my omelet and black coffee, me poking fun at her obsession with whipped cream on everything. It feels normal. Almost all that has gone down in the last seven days didn't upend both of our lives.
But as the waitress clears our plates, Lila leans back, her eyes narrowing playfully. “So, speaking of chaos…”
I raise an eyebrow. “Who said anything about chaos?"
"Well, I didn't bring the calm to your doorstep a week ago yesterday."
"Uh-oh. What now?”
“I couldn’t help but notice how often Harper’s name has come up this week.” She smirks, and I know exactly where this is going. “Anything you want to share?”
“She took amazing care of you,” I say, deflecting. “And she’s a good friend. That’s all.”
Lila snorts. “Jonah, you’ve said her name more than you’ve said any other word. I've counted. Let's hear the real story. I can tell something went down or is going down with you two just by how you looked at each other at the hospital. And then, with you constantly bringing her up, I know. Call it sister's intuition.”
I roll my eyes, leaning back in the booth. “I'm serious, it's nothing. We hooked up once a couple of years ago. Then, she moved away. She's only been back in town a couple of weeks. Not even, I don't think."
"Ahh. So, I was right. There is something. Clearly, it isn't done being done, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, don't worry. My dumb ass made sure I put the done in the done. There's nothing there, trust me."
"What does that even mean?"
“I was an idiot about it—made a joke that hurt her, even though I didn’t mean to. Since then, it’s been… complicated.”
Lila raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to go on.
“She’s the kind of person who actually cares, you know?” I continue, my voice quieter. “About her patients, her friends… me. I was immature and treated her like just another girl. Mistake number one. Making a joke about it, mistake number two.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Lila says, crossing her arms. “You think you’re the only one with baggage? Newsflash: Everyone’s got something. But she sees through your bullshit, right? That’s worth more than you realize.”
“Yeah, well, I think I might’ve screwed up any chance of fixing things.”
Lila leans forward, her expression softening. “Jonah, you’re a lot of things—some of them questionable—but you’re not a quitter. If you want to fix this, do it. Apologize. Be honest. And maybe, I don’t know, stop being such a coward.”
"Easy, tiger," I urge her. I didn't intend to get advice from my little sister who can't seem to get her shit together.
Lila leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. Her expression shifts, losing its teasing edge. “Jonah, let me give you some sisterly advice: You need to make a move.”
“I already apologized,” I say, exhaling sharply. “I told her I was an idiot for what I said, and we’re…better now, I think. Back on good terms. Sort of.”
“Apologizing is great,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Gold star for you. But if you’re serious about Harper, you’ve got to show her she’s not just another one-night thing. She needs to know she’s different.”
I pause, fiddling with the edge of my coffee cup. “What if I’m not ready for that? I never said I wanted to get serious with her or anyone.”
"You didn't have to."
"I don't know what I want."
Lila tilts her head, studying me. “Then you need to decide what that is, Jonah. You don’t get to keep your foot in both lanes. If you want to keep being a player, fine—stay in your lane and own it. But if you want someone like Harper, you’ve got to step up. That means commitment, effort, and a lot less running away when things get messy.”
Her words are like a thousand-pound weight on my chest. “And what if she wouldn't be interested in a guy like me? She knows my history. Our history. What if I blew my shot?”
Lila leans back, her smirk returning. “You’ll never know unless you ask. But don’t half-ass it. Talk to her. Be real with her. And stop being so scared of what might happen or that she might say no. That is entirely possible, but you won't know until you broach it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re not the one who has to risk making an idiot out of yourself.”
“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “If I can face down debt collectors and admit I need rehab, you can ask a girl where she stands.”
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “You really know how to drive the point home.”
“That’s why I’m the smarter sibling,” she says, her grin widening. “But seriously, Jonah. She’s worth it. I personally love her. Don’t be too scared to find out if this thing with her could be something real.”
I sit back, letting her words settle. Lila’s not wrong—about Harper or me. I’ve spent years keeping things easy, avoiding the risk of getting too close, but maybe it’s time to stop running.
“Alright,” I say finally, tossing some cash on the table for the check. “Let’s get out of here.”
As we head for the door, Lila nudges me with her elbow. “You’re really going to do it, huh?”
I glance at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “We’ll see.”
“Don’t ‘we’ll see’ me, Jonah,” she says, laughing. “Shit or get off the pot.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I push open the door. For the first time in a long time, I’m thinking about what might happen if I stop holding back—and the thought doesn’t terrify me as much as it used to.