19. Jonah
NINETEEN
Jonah
The Essential
8:01 AM
The coffee shop is tucked into a quiet corner of downtown. It's all exposed brick and warm wooden tables. The kind of place Harper would like—cozy but not trying too hard. I figured neutral territory might be best, considering how our morning has unfolded.
She sits across from me, her hands wrapped around her cup, the steam curling lazily upward. She hasn’t taken a sip of her chai tea yet. She stares into the dark liquid like it might hold the answers to everything.
I watch her for a moment, the sunlight catching on the loose strands of her hair. There’s tension in her shoulders, a hesitance that wasn’t there last night, and it twists something in my chest.
“So,” I start, leaning back in my chair. “Were you trying to ghost me this morning?”
Her head snaps up, her eyes widening slightly before narrowing with a mix of guilt and annoyance. “What? No. I wasn’t—okay, maybe. But I wasn’t ghosting. I just needed some air. And, honestly, I wanted to get out of there before your sister woke up.”
“Air?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Nice try. And, Lila's harmless. You could totally take her—she still has a cracked rib.”
She sighs, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I wasn’t running, Jonah. Not really. I just...needed to think.” Not in the mood for joking, I see. Got it.
“Think about what?” I ask, my voice softer now. I don’t want her to shut down, but I also need to know what’s going on in her head.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, she looks like she’s weighing her words carefully. “About what this is,” she says finally, gesturing vaguely between us. “What we’re doing. What it means.”
I blink, her honesty hitting me square in the chest. Harper’s never been one to sugarcoat things, but hearing her lay it out like this feels different—like she’s letting me in, trusting me not to screw it up. And damn, that’s a little terrifying.
“I mean, last night, neither of us seemed too unclear about what this," I gesture between her and me, “means”. I force a grin to keep it light. But the second the words leave my mouth, a pang of regret follows. Too casual? Too much like last time? Too focused on the physical and not getting deeper?
I glance at her, waiting for the fallout, half-expecting her to roll her eyes or shut me down completely. Instead, her lips twitch like she’s deciding whether to laugh or strangle me. Maybe both.
“Look, Harper. I don’t know what it means,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “But I know I don’t regret it. And I know I want more of it.”
“That’s not exactly an answer,” she says, her lips quirking in a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’m not great at this,” I say, leaning forward, resting my arms on the table. “Talking about feelings, defining...things. But I know I want this. I want you.”
“For what? Two months?” she asks, her voice quieter now. “And then what, Jonah? I leave. What happens then?”
I take a deep breath, considering her words. She’s right—she’s always been practical and grounded. I can’t blame her for thinking ahead. But I’ve never been that guy. I’ve always lived in the moment, never planning too far ahead because planning feels like a trap.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’m not trying to make promises I can’t keep. But I know that for the next eight weeks, or nine, or however long we’ve got, I want to be with you. And if, at the end of that, you’re done with me...then you’re done with me. But if you’re not—” I stop, unsure of how to finish that sentence.
Harper studies me for a moment, her gaze searching. “That’s...not exactly reassuring,” she says, her voice light but tinged with something I can’t quite name.
“I’m not trying to be reassuring,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m just trying to be honest.”
She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I appreciate it. I'm not sure what I'm even saying.”
“Who does?” I protest, holding my hands up in mock surrender. “That is the story of my life.”
Her laugh softens into a smile, and the tension between us melts a little. “Okay,” she says, swirling her coffee absentmindedly. “So, if we’re doing this...”
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Doing what?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “This... thing. Whatever it is. I guess I just want it to feel more like... I don’t know, like we’re not winging it entirely?”
I smirk. “Harper, winging it is my specialty.”
She snorts softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. But seriously, Jonah, I realized something this week—between Lila and...everything else. There’s so much about you I don’t know. And it’s not like I need to know every deep, dark secret,” she adds quickly, her tone light but sincere. “I just want to know more about you. The real stuff.”
Her words hang in the air for a beat, and I lean back, studying her. “What brought this on? Is my karaoke that bad?”
“It’s not about that,” she says, smiling faintly. “Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, I guess... I don’t want this to just feel like a... detour."
"I hear you," I say, as I try to understand where she is going here. I tend to joke when things feel heavy, so I'm resisting that urge right now because it feels like she is going there.
“It’s not that deep,” her smile tilts into something teasing. “I guess I’m just realizing how little I know about you, which is weird considering how much time we’ve spent together over the years.”
I lean back, raising an eyebrow. “Gotta keep some mystery alive. Keeps me interesting.”
She rolls her eyes, but her grin doesn’t waver. “Oh, please. You thrive on attention, not mystery.”
I chuckle, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “Fair point. But hey, if you’re saying we need to shake things up, I’m game. Just say the word.”
She pauses, swirling her coffee. “Seriously, though. I know your M.O., Jonah Bellinger. If this is going to be different—if we’re going there—maybe we scratch a little below the surface.”
Her words are light, but there’s weight beneath them, and it hits me harder than I expect. “Alright,” I say, leaning forward, resting my arms on the table. “I’m in. But only if we make it fair. You go first.”
Her eyebrow arches, skeptical and amused. “Oh, do I?”
“Absolutely,” I say, my smirk returning. “What’s your deepest, darkest secret? What’s your most embarrassing story? Favorite color, shoe size—I want the whole Harper Gray handbook.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Right, because those are totally in the same league.”
“Hey, you said you wanted to shake things up.” I lean back, crossing my arms. “Your turn. Impress me.”
“Deal,” she says, and for the first time all morning, the smile she gives me feels real. “But just so you know, I’ve got some stories that’ll knock you off your pedestal.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, raising my cup in a mock toast with a grin tugging at my lips.
As we fall back into the kind of easy rhythm that’s always come naturally to us, I can’t help but notice how different this feels—not in a bad way, though. Harper’s always been someone who keeps me on my toes, someone who challenges me without even trying.
Instead of it being something I’d usually avoid, it feels oddly right. Like maybe, for once, I don’t mind the accountability—or the effort.
UAB Hospital
1:18 PM
Clinic days are supposed to be predictable—a steady stream of patients, the same questions, the same answers. It’s a grind, but usually, I can get into a rhythm and knock it out without much thought. Today, though? My focus is shot, and the minutes are dragging by like I’m stuck in some endless loop.
Mrs. Wentworth, one of my regulars, sits across from me, rattling off her latest list of symptoms—persistent dizziness, occasional shortness of breath. We’ve run every test under the sun, clinical and diagnostic, and nothing ever comes back abnormal.
I nod along, jotting down notes, but my brain is split between the present and Harper. Specifically, Harper in a bikini, waiting for me by her pool tonight.
“Dr. Bellinger?” Mrs. Wentworth’s voice cuts through my fog.
I look up, offering her my most professional smile. “Sorry, Mrs. Wentworth. You were saying the dizziness came back about two weeks ago?”
She narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Two months ago.”
“Right. Got it.” I scribble something onto her chart, internally cursing myself for being distracted. Pull it together, Jonah. This is exactly why I don’t mix personal and professional—it gets messy.
After finishing the consultation, I send her off with a referral to cardiology, then lean back in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. My phone suddenly belts out, "I'm Sexy And I Know It." Shit! I forgot to put it on silent. Thank goodness that didn't happen while I was with Mrs. Wentworth.
Carly put that in as my ringtone months ago to be funny, and I keep forgetting to change it.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see a text from Harper.
Pool’s heated and ready whenever you are. Norrises are out of town for the week.
A grin tugs at my lips before I can stop it. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, but before I can reply, the door swings open, and Carly struts in, a smirk plastered across her face.
“Why do you look like you’ve been caught sneaking cookies from the jar?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe with a coffee cup in hand. Her scrubs are rumpled, and her badge dangles on a retractable clip, as always.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, tucking my phone back into my pocket.
Carly raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You're the worst poker player, Bellinger. Who’s got you grinning like an idiot?”
“Grinning like an idiot is my default state,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’m a naturally cheerful guy.”
“True. But this is different. Don't act like I don't know you.” She shuts the door behind her and plops down in the chair Mrs. Wentworth just vacated. “Come on, don’t make me drag it out of you. Is this about Harper?”
My stomach does a somersault at the mention of her name, but I keep my expression neutral. “Why would it be about Harper?”
Carly arches an eyebrow. “Because I know you. And because the last time we talked about her, you had that same deer-in-the-headlights expression. Call it a hunch. So, what’s the deal? Did you kiss her again? Or maybe accidentally propose tickling her g-spot this time?”
I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “God, you're the most crass woman I know. And I love you for it, by the way. But, yes, and yes, to answer your questions.”
Carly lets out an exaggerated gasp, clutching her chest like she’s on stage. “Shut the front door. Jonah Bellinger, you hooked up with her again? After all of that hemming and hawing last week about what happened after last time?”
“Yup,” I say, though I can feel a flicker of heat creeping up my neck. “Turns out I couldn't help myself.”
Carly leans in, her grin widening. “You're asking for trouble. Don't come crying to me when she cuts you off.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You know, for someone so small, you have a way of taking up a lot of space.”
She waves me off. “I take great pride in that notion.”
I lean back in my chair, trying to find the right words. “It’s just different with Harper. I don’t know how else to explain it. She’s not some random hookup, okay? It’s not like I’m going into this with some grand plan, but I’m not trying to screw it up either.”
Carly tilts her head, her teasing expression softening. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s different about her?”
I shrug, trying to play it off, but the truth slips out anyway. “I like her. A lot. I always have. She’s sharp, she doesn’t take my crap, and she’s not afraid to call me out when I’m being an idiot. I don’t know. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment.”
Carly stares at me for a beat, then smirks. “You’re such a goner.”
I glare at her, but she just laughs, leaning back in the chair like she’s settling in for a show. “Jonah Bellinger, charmer of the century, finally falls for someone. You better be careful, or you’ll ruin your streak.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I’m serious, though. It’s not like I’m trying to lock this down or put a label on it. I'm just enjoying the ride. No pun intended.”
Carly raises an eyebrow, her grin turning knowing. “Translation: You want to see where it goes because you care. Look, Jonah, I get it. Harper’s not the kind of woman you mess around with lightly. If you’re in this, you’ve gotta treat it differently. No halfway, no Jonah-ing your way through it.”
“Jonah-ing my way through it?” I repeat, frowning.
“You know, charming your way out of accountability and hoping no one notices,” she says, smirking. "Harper will notice, and she isn't some wet rag."
I groan, but her words hit close enough to home that I can’t argue. “I’m not trying to do that. We're just having fun right now.”
Carly nods, standing and grabbing her coffee. “Look, this conversation isn't over. I have to go take vitals. Don't fuck this up in the meantime.”
“Got it, Coach,” I say, giving her a mock salute.
She pauses in the doorway, her expression softening just a little. “For what it’s worth, I think you two could be good together. Do what you do best—show up and make her laugh. And don't be a dick.”
So eloquent.
As the door swings shut behind her, I pull out my phone again, staring at Harper’s text. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I might know what I want. And that’s terrifying.
I type out a quick reply.
Stopping by the gym after work, and then I’ll be by. Try not to drown before I get there.
Carly’s words rattle around in my head—not in a way that feels heavy, but just enough to make me pause. I’m not the kind of guy who plans five steps ahead when it comes to women. Hell, I’m barely the kind of guy who plans two. But with Harper? I don’t hate the idea of having something to look forward to.
Swimming. Burgers. More time with her. Simple. Easy. Feels like enough for right now.
And maybe that’s what’s different. Usually, I’m already thinking about the exit strategy before the dust settles. With her, I’m thinking about how I don’t want this to end. Not yet, anyway.
Shit. I hope Carly doesn’t start thinking she’s a genius because she’s right.