30. Harper
THIRTY
Harper
Renaissance Ross Bridge Golf Resort & Spa
4000 Grand Avenue, Hoover
2:07 PM
When I pull into the drive at the resort, I’m immediately struck by the grandeur of the place. The sprawling estate is perched on a hill, and its white columns gleam in the afternoon sun. Gardens filled with roses and hydrangeas stretch out on either side. The faint hum of a fountain completes the picture of elegance.
I find Mason on the terrace overlooking the manicured grounds. He’s seated at a wrought-iron table with a stunning arrangement of leftover treats spread out before him: flutes of sparkling champagne cocktails, colorful macaroons, and tiny, beautifully decorated petit fours.
"This looks like your throne if I've ever seen one. Now I know why you picked this as your career. I can't imagine anything more perfect for you," I say to him as I walk up. He hasn't seen me yet because he is focused on whatever is on his tablet.
He looks up as I approach. His signature sunglasses are perched on his nose, and a smirk is already on his lips. “There she is! The busiest bee in Birmingham. Come, sit, and tell me everything while we gorge on sugar and bubbles. I'm finally done with the heavy lifting. Now, I get to sit and relax while everyone else finishes up.”
I laugh, slipping into the chair opposite him. “I don’t think I can compete with this view, Mason. Seriously, how do you make cleaning up after a wedding look so glamorous?”
He waves a hand dramatically. “It’s a gift, darling. But enough about me. What’s got you texting me on a Sunday like you’re grasping for a lifeline?”
The terrace is shaded by a pergola wrapped in wisteria, the scent of the blooms mingling with the faint effervescence of the champagne. The day is warm but not too hot, with a soft breeze rustling through the nearby hedges. A few of Mason’s staff move efficiently in the background, breaking down tables and packing up florals, but the chaos feels miles away from where we’re seated.
"First, champagne. You know I don't like to make you drink alone."
"How rude of me. Of course," he says with a smile. He stands up to pull the bottle out of the ice-filled bucket and pours a glass.
I take a sip, and instantly, my chest warms. It’s light, citrusy, and just what I need. “Okay,” I start, setting the glass down. “I need your advice."
"You've come to the right queen. I'm ready."
"I got an email yesterday about a travel assignment. Hawaii. Six months. It’s... kind of a dream job.”
Mason’s brows lift above his sunglasses. “Hawaii? Six months? Harper Gray, are you trying to kill me with envy?”
I laugh softly but quickly shake my head. “It’s not that simple. It would mean cutting my time at UAB short by a month. And six months is a long time. Plus, Jonah…”
Mason leans back in his chair, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head. “Ah, there it is. The Jonah Factor. So, what’s the issue? Does he want to join you in paradise, or is he making you second-guess it?”
“He doesn’t know,” I admit, fidgeting with the edge of my napkin. “I haven’t told him yet. I don’t even know how to bring it up. He’s got so much going on with his family and his work—it feels selfish to drop this on him right now.”
Mason leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Selfish? Harper, this is your career. Your life. And correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Jonah the one preaching about ‘living in the moment not too long ago?”
I bite my lip, nodding slowly. “He was. But what if this is more than a moment? What if I leave and it ruins everything?”
Mason reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine. “Listen to me. If Jonah Bellinger is as into you as I think he is—and, darling, he’s giving me serious ‘boyfriend vibes’—then he’ll support you. It might sting, sure, but real relationships can weather things like this. And if he can’t? Well, then maybe that’s something you need to know before you start rearranging your life for him.”
His words are always a bit blunt and usually come with advice I think I already know but I'm not willing to admit. Still, hearing his clear directive is a shock to my soul.
I take another sip of my drink. The bubbles fizz against my tongue as I stare out at the garden. Mason’s right, of course, but the thought of leaving—of potentially risking what Jonah and I have been building—feels like stepping off a cliff.
“You always know how to cut through my bullshit,” I say finally, managing a small smile. "I love you, and I hate you for it."
“It’s what makes me so damn lovable,” Mason replies, lifting his glass in a toast. “To Hawaii, to hard decisions, and to Harper Gray being the badass I know she is. Now, eat a macaron. You’ll thank me later.”
I can’t help but laugh, reaching for a pastel pink one. “Thanks, Mason.”
“Always, darling.” He winks, and for the first time since I got that email, the weight on my chest feels just a little lighter.
Harper’s Pool House
4:56 PM
The kettle whistles sharply and pulls me out of my thoughts as I pour steaming water over a teabag. I stir absentmindedly as Mason’s words echo in my head: If Jonah can’t handle this, maybe that’s something you need to know before you start rearranging your life for him.
Before I can get too far down the rabbit hole, my phone beeps from my back pocket. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel and pull it out. It puts a smile on my face when I see Jonah’s name.
Still alive. Barely. Scrubs are dinner-appropriate, right? Meet me for dinner? I have to tell you the latest about Lila.
Let's be honest. I really just want to see you.
And eat.
You.
My smile widens. Even through text, I can sense his exhaustion. I tap out a quick reply.
Where are you thinking?
Also, I'd meet you anywhere, no matter what you're wearing.
The grease at Jimbo's Diner should keep me awake for another hour. Can you make it?
I’ll meet you there in twenty. Try not to fall asleep in your fries before I get there.
Jimbo’s Diner
2600 10th Avenue S, Birmingham
5:29 PM
The warm scent of grilled burgers and fried onions greets me as I step into the nostalgic diner. It’s a far cry from the sleek wedding venue of Mason's latest masterpiece, but there’s a charm to the place—checkered floors, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox that hasn’t worked in decades.
Jonah is already here, slouched in a booth with his long legs stretched out under the table. His head is tossed back, resting on the back of the booth. His scrubs are wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and he still looks like a million bucks.
"No sleeping in the booth, Sir," I announce as I walk up.
His tired smile lights up when he pulls his head up and sees me.
“Hey,” he says, scooting over to make room for me.
“Hey, yourself,” I reply, sliding into the booth. “You look like you’ve been through it.”
“You could say that,” he mutters, glancing at the laminated menu, even though I know he’s probably memorized it by now. “Man, Harper, it was a day today. Be glad you weren't on duty.”
A waitress in her sixties with a name tag reading “Patty” stops by with a pot of coffee. “What can I get you two?”
Jonah doesn’t hesitate. “Cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Please, and thank you.”
I smirk as I glance at the menu. “I’ll have the turkey club, side salad, and an iced tea, please.”
Patty jots down the order and gives Jonah a pointed look. “You sure you don't want a coffee? You're still as handsome as ever, but you look tired."
"Oh, Patty, you always deliver your sound advice in a love sandwich. That's why I keep coming back! Coffee sounds good. Thank you for the suggestion.”
"Decaf?"
Jonah grins, leaning back in the booth. “Where’s the fun in that, Patty?”
Even after an exhausting day, he has the stamina to still charm the pants off everyone around him. How could you not love this guy?
As soon as she’s gone, Jonah leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “So, Lila’s officially going to rehab,” he starts. “They found a program just outside Charlotte. She leaves in three days.”
“Wow. That is quite the progress. That’s great,” I say, meaning it. “How’s she feeling about it?”
He lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Nervous. But she’s committed. She said she wants to prove she can stick with it this time. And I think this could be the one.”
“And your parents?” I ask gently.
His lips quirk into a humorless smile. “They’re still stepping up. I continue to be impressed. My dad took out a HELOC to cover her debt. Lila’s agreed to make the payments once she’s out and working.”
“Well, hot damn,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That’s a big weight off of you, I know. I think it is the right course of action for all of you. It all sounds so wonderful, Jonah.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, tell me about it. I don’t know if it’s guilt, a midlife crisis, or what, but they’re trying. It’s weird.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s not that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just hard to believe it. Let's say I'm cautiously optimistic. Maybe this time will be different.”
Patty returns with our food, and for a while, we eat in comfortable silence. Jonah devours his burger like he hasn’t eaten all day, and I steal a few of his fries when he’s not looking.
“So,” I say, popping a fry into my mouth, “what’s it like being the golden child of the Bellinger family now that your parents are stepping up for Lila?”
He chuckles, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Golden child? Nah. More like the guy who thought he had to fix everything for everyone.” He pauses, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t even realize how much of a weight that was until recently.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “And now?”
He meets my eyes, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Now, it’s nice to feel like it’s not all on me. Like I can help without being the one to carry the whole damn load. And... you were right. I hate admitting that,” he adds with a smirk, his tone lightening, “but you were.”
“Right about what?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“You don’t need to rub it in,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But yeah, letting Lila handle her own shit—with support, not me swooping in and solving it—was the right move. It’s better for her, and honestly, it’s better for me.”
I smile, reaching across the table to touch his hand briefly. “I think they call that growth, Jonah.”
He shrugs, though his expression softens. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to me giving you credit. I’m not in the business of personal growth,” he says with a genuine laugh. “I’m a surgeon, hear me roar.”
“Ah, the glue,” I tease. “Holding everything together with sheer willpower and a steady diet of greasy diner food.”
“Don’t knock it,” he replies, grinning. “Caffeine, adrenaline, and bacon cheeseburgers—it’s a flawless system.”
“For now,” I counter, raising an eyebrow. “But one day, your body’s going to stage a full rebellion, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
He smirks, leaning back in the booth. “You offering to nurse me back to health when that happens?”
“Depends,” I say with a smirk of my own. “I demand excellent bedside manner.”
“I've got more bedside manner than you can handle, Missy,” he says, raising his milkshake like a toast.
After we finish our meal, Jonah walks me to my car. His hand brushes against mine as we walk, and I feel a true connection with him that seems to strengthen every time we are together..
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says, his voice low. “I needed this: food and your company. These two things are my fuel.”
“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it.
With that, he closes the distance between us. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin as he tilts my face toward his. When his lips meet mine, it’s not rushed or tentative—it’s deep, purposeful, and filled with everything we haven’t said out loud.
I melt into him, and the world fades away until it’s just us in the dim glow of the parking lot. His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, and I grip his shirt to steady myself, my heart pounding in my chest.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes search mine, a quiet intensity in them that makes my breath catch. “I need to go by my place to grab a few,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. "Are you okay if I come back to yours afterward? I want to hold you tonight."
“Absolutely,” I manage, my voice softer than I intended. "I would be offended if you didn't."
As I watch him walk to his car, my lips tingle from the kiss. Crippling anxiety steals the joy, though, as my mind circles back to the Hawaii offer and Mason’s words.
Fuck. Why does he have to be so perfect?