14. Harper
FOURTEEN
Harper
Saturday, February 28
Jonah’s Condo
4:49 PM
Lila’s setback wasn’t something I expected to hear about today, especially after the progress she’d made. Stepping into Jonah’s condo, the familiar space pulls me in, reminding me how fragile recovery can be—and how easily boundaries, once crossed, can change everything.
I’m also reminded of the last time I was here. Two years ago. That night.
My steps falter, just for a second, as the memory rushes in—how we barely made it through the door before everything exploded between us. Hands tugging at clothes, mouths crashing together, the sheer heat of it overwhelming.
The tension that had simmered beneath the surface for years finally snapped the second we were alone. Unspoken boundaries shattered like glass.
The walls feel smaller now, like the air carries remnants of that night—laughter, touches, whispers I hadn’t thought about in months. Or maybe I had, but I’d pushed them down, pretending they didn’t matter.
It’s unsettling how vivid the memory is. How it doesn’t feel as distant as it should.
I shake it off, focusing on the present—on why I’m here. For Lila, I remind myself. Not for Jonah, not for unresolved feelings or long-buried mistakes. We’ve moved past that.
Still, as I move deeper into the condo, the pull of that night lingers in the corners of my mind, no matter how much I try to ignore it.
The space is quiet—like it’s caught in that late-afternoon lull where everything slows down. Jonah is waiting near the kitchen, holding a glass of water.
“She’s resting in the guest room,” he says, motioning toward the hallway. “I think the meds are helping her sleep a little better.”
“Good,” I say, setting the small bouquet of daisies I brought into a makeshift vase Jonah filled with water. "I hate to disturb her if she's finally resting. You can just let her know I came by."
"No, she demanded I let her know when you got here. She's looking forward to it more than the Oxy. Just stick your head in. It will be good for her."
“Hey, Harper,” I hear her call from the bedroom, her voice softer than usual. I walk up to see her in bed. “Nice of you to come check on me. You’re still Birmingham’s Number One Nurse.”
“You’re stuck with me, kid,” I reply with a smile, setting the daisies on her side table. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugs, wincing slightly at the movement. “Been better. Jonah’s playing nurse pretty well, though. He even made me tea earlier. Can you imagine?”
“Tea?” I glance at Jonah, who’s leaning against the wall in the hallway with a mock-offended expression. “What’s next? Knitting her a scarf?”
“Going to the yarn store today,” he quips. “I could probably pull it off.”
Lila laughs weakly, and the sound is enough to ease some of the tension in my chest. But her energy fades quickly. Her eyelids droop as she settles back against the cushions.
“I think that’s my cue,” she murmurs. “I’m gonna crash for a bit. Thank you so much for coming by. When these meds wear off, let's visit longer.”
"Absolutely. Get better so we can go for that jog."
Jonah steps forward, adjusting the blanket around her. “Rest up. Let me know if you need anything.”
She nods, her eyes already slipping closed. Jonah adjusts the blanket around her with quiet precision, checking the small pulse ox he placed on the tip of her finger.
The care in his movements isn’t performative; it’s second nature. Watching him like this, I can’t help but admire the level of sincere care he displays. It's another reminder that beneath all the bravado, Jonah takes care of the people who matter to him.
We walk back towards the front of the condo. Jonah leans against the counter, folding his arms. “Thanks for coming by. I think it helps her, knowing someone’s checking in. Even if she won’t admit it.”
I shrug, offering a small smile. “I wanted to make sure she’s okay. Thanks for letting me know."
“You hungry?” he asks, turning toward me. “Or… thirsty? I was thinking about a drink on the balcony. And I just so happen to have this charcuterie board I picked up at Swig it’s inviting, unpretentious, and just a little bit calming in its own, understated way.
Jonah’s already outside, leaning back in one of the sleek patio chairs. He has a lowball glass sitting in front of him and his hands laced behind his head. He looks as at ease as ever, that easy charm practically woven into his DNA. It’s always been his thing—calm, collected, like nothing ever rattles him. But tonight, there’s something quieter about him, like the edge has softened in a way that draws me in.
“It’s about time,” he says with a smirk as I step out. “I was beginning to think you bailed on me.”
“I had to change,” I reply, settling into the chair across from him. “You can’t expect me to drink in scrubs.”
He chuckles, raising his glass. “Fair point. What’ll it be? I’ve got bourbon, vodka, gin...”
“Surprise me,” I say, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet beneath me.
Jonah disappears inside, and I take a moment to let the week catch up with me. It’s been nonstop—half-shifts that still managed to feel like double shifts, Lila’s health scare after her cracked rib led to a small pneumothorax, and trying to carve out some semblance of normalcy in between.
But despite the busy week, it’s been... better. Easier, somehow, being around Jonah. We’ve found a rhythm again, enough that I don’t feel like I’m walking on eggshells anymore.
He returns a moment later, handing me a glass of white wine. “Didn’t peg you for bourbon,” he says, reclaiming his seat.
“Good call,” I say, taking a sip. “Margarita, now we’re talking. Look at you, Dr. Mixologist.”
“I try,” he teases, and I laugh. “I’m not super picky about my drinks, but I enjoy experimenting and coming up with concoctions.”
“Thanks for inviting me over,” I say after a moment. “It’s nice to just... sit for a while. For some reason, the hospital was a madhouse today.”
“It’s nice having you here,” he replies, and there’s something genuine in his tone that makes me glance at him. His usual charm is still there, but it’s softer now, less practiced. “Especially after the week we’ve had.”
“How’s Lila doing today?” I ask, shifting the conversation.
“She’s better,” Jonah says, swirling the liquid in his glass absently. “Still sore, obviously, but her breathing’s improved a lot. Her doctor thinks she should be back to baseline by next week. Hopefully, this is the last setback.”
“Good,” I say, relieved. “She’s been through a lot.”
“She has,” he agrees. “But leave it to her to bounce back and still find a way to make fun of me for how I fold my laundry.”
I grin. “Wait, you fold your laundry? You're full of surprises.”
“Funny,” he says dryly. “But yeah, apparently, I don’t do it ‘properly.’ Lila’s been trying to school me all week. Says I need to roll my shirts or some nonsense.”
“Sounds like you’ve been dethroned as the most stubborn Bellinger,” I tease.
He smirks. “She’s been good company, though. Even when she’s bossing me around.”
The conversation drifts from Lila to lighter topics—a patient story Jonah shares that has me laughing so hard I nearly spill my wine and a recount of how I accidentally took someone else’s lunch from the staff fridge this week. The easy banter feels familiar, comforting, like slipping into something warm and worn-in.
“This,” Jonah says, his voice softer now, “is nice.”
I glance at him, and for a moment, the humor fades, replaced by something quieter. “Yeah,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “It is.”
Jonah leans back, the dim light from the patio lanterns catching in the amber liquid of his drink. He looks around as if he’s taking it all in and then lands back on me. His expression is soft but searching, as though he’s trying to read between the lines of everything we’ve just said.
“I missed this,” he says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to let the words slip out.
My heart stutters. “What?”
“This,” he repeats, gesturing vaguely between us with his glass. “Talking. Laughing. You not being mad at me.”
I raise an eyebrow, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “You’re lucky I’m not holding a grudge,” I say lightly, setting my margarita on the table beside me. “I could’ve dragged it out and really made you sweat.”
His mouth tilts into a small grin, but there’s something behind it—something more vulnerable. “I probably deserved that.”
“Probably?” I tease, leaning back in my chair and meeting his gaze head-on. “You definitely deserved it.”
He chuckles softly, but the sound fades quickly, leaving us in a quieter moment. His eyes hold mine, steady and serious, and the banter feels like it’s shifted into something deeper without either of us realizing it.
“You know,” I say, my voice softening, “you don’t have to keep trying to prove you’re sorry. I get it.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he replies, his voice low but steady. “I just don’t want to screw this up again.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s the closest Jonah’s come to being truly vulnerable, and it’s disarming. I set my glass down on the small table between us, my fingers suddenly unsteady.
“Jonah,” I start, my voice soft but firm, “you don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he cuts in, his eyes locking onto mine. “You deserve to hear it. I was an idiot, Harper. You’ve always been more to me than I probably even realized back then. And now? I just?—”
His words falter, and before I fully register it, he’s leaning in. Slowly, tentatively, like he’s waiting for me to stop him. But I don’t. I stay rooted to my spot, drawn in by something I can’t quite explain—something in the quiet intensity of his gaze, in the way the tension between us feels charged but not overwhelming. The world around us fades into the background, leaving just us and the unspoken question hanging in the air.
Our lips meet softly at first, testing the waters, but the moment stretches, deepens. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing against my cheek, and I’m lost in the warmth of him, the sheer weight of everything that’s been building between us.
But just as the heat starts to coil low in my stomach, my brain kicks in, loud and insistent. I pull back slightly, breaking the kiss but staying close enough to feel his breath against my lips.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to force some air between us, though my heart is still racing.
Jonah’s hands hover near my waist. His eyes are fixed on mine, searching for something. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, like he’s trying to sort through the chaos in his head. Finally, he exhales, and his rough voice cracks. “I don’t know how to handle this, Harper. I just know I don’t want it to stop.”
There’s something raw in the way he says it, and it makes me hesitate. Not because I don’t believe him, but because I do.
I shake my head slightly, trying to keep myself grounded. “Jonah, I can’t make the same mistake twice. We’re finally rebuilding our friendship, and I can’t risk losing that again.”
He blows out sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I screwed up, Harper. I know that. I said the wrong things, did the wrong things… hell, I’ve made a career out of screwing things up with people who matter.”
I glance back at him, his frustration mirrored in his expression, and for a second, the weight of his words settles between us like a challenge neither of us knows how to meet.
“I should go,” I say finally, stepping back.
“Harper—” His voice is soft, almost pleading, but he doesn’t stop me.
I grab my bag and head for the door as my pulse hammers in my ears. The silence between us is louder than anything he could’ve said. Staying here, in this moment, is no longer possible.
I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and wouldn’t let myself fall into something that would only end with us losing the fragile ground we’ve just started to rebuild. Jonah might think he means those words—might even believe them in the moment—but that doesn’t erase the risk of history repeating itself.