Chapter 15 Harper #2
For a while, I keep getting pulled out of my flow state whenever I catch a glimpse of broad shoulders through the crowd, or a tousled head of dark curls rising above everyone else’s.
It isn’t him, I keep reminding myself. Eventually I sink into focus, attuned to my customers in the way I’ve grown to love.
And for a few hours, I’m blessedly, perfectly distracted.
Until, out of the corner of my eye, I see broad shoulders, a Hawks letter jacket, and a head of brown curls trying to escape a beanie—and I look up to lock eyes with the one person I’ve been trying to forget about all weekend.
Dawson’s standing in front of my booth, holding two paper cups. His cheeks are flushed from the chilly air, and his eyes are fixed on me.
At least he’s wearing a hat today. It’s cold out.
We stare at each other for a minute. Did he turn up here by accident? Is he going to ask me about ignoring his call? Are things going to be super weird between us?
Or, worst of all, will he act like nothing happened and go back to being standoffish and aloof?
My chest is suddenly icy cold at the prospect.
He clears his throat and holds out the cup in his right hand. I grab it reflexively, the warmth heating my slightly numb fingers. Then the scent hits my nose, and I practically pass out from the rich, sweet smell of it. “Is this hot chocolate?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s fucking freezing. Thought you could use something to warm you up.”
“God, thank you. I’ve been trying to grab one since I got here,” I confess, taking a sip. It’s even better than I imagined.
Maybe because Dawson’s the one handing it to you, a tiny, sneaky voice whispers in the back of my mind.
Dawson’s cheeks turn a slightly deeper shade of pink.
His eyes linger on my face as I take another sip.
Then he blinks hard, those thick lashes brushing his cheeks, shaking himself out of some kind of trance.
“I’m looking for some gifts? And I heard there was this super talented jewelry maker here? ”
“Let me know if you find her.”
He doesn’t laugh at my self-deprecating joke, doesn’t look away. As if he’s insisting on me owning this business the way he knows I do on the inside. I never should have told him how much it meant to me—that whole party was a mistake—
But I have to admit, not a lot of people take me as seriously as he does right now. Even the girls at school who liked my stuff before I became public enemy number one always just thought it was cute or whatever. They didn’t respect me as a businesswoman.
I flush under his scrutiny. “Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Your favorites, please,” he says without missing a beat.
I take another sip of hot chocolate in my attempt to not pass out.
Dawson’s here, taking me seriously. Seeking my advice.
From the start, he’s challenged me to show him why what I do matters.
Maybe I used to show him from pure spite, resentful of the attention and resources he got from the rest of the school.
But after the other night, when he started listening to my rants, I don’t feel like I’m trying to prove him wrong anymore.
Now, it’s more like I’m trying to prove us both right.
“Well, this line of necklaces is new… but I’m proud of this series, it’s a bestseller….”
He follows me around the booth as I point out each of my selections. I’m hyperaware of him peering over my shoulder, so close heat radiates off him like the gigantic furnace of a hockey player he is. This close together, that musky, spicy boy scent of him envelops me like a cloud.
What is it they say about scent? That it’s the most strongly connected to memory?
I would’ve bet money that it was the sight of him—broad shouldered in a stupidly attractive peacoat, hair spilling out from beneath his beanie, tiny smile on his lips—but nope, that scent takes me right back to the fridge, the couch.
That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
My cheeks are aflame, the combination of the mortifying memory and the unexpected presence of him way too much for my poor nervous system. I can only hope he blames it on the cold, because I’m not sure I’m going to survive this interaction.
Dawson grabs one of my birthstone necklaces, seemingly oblivious to my inner panic. “You think Lindsey would like this?”
I nod, grateful for the distraction. “Oh, yes. The garnet will be nice with her coloring too.”
He casts me a smirky sideways glance. “Are you just saying that because you want to make a sale?”
I smirk back. “Does it matter? Be honest, you have no idea what you’re looking for. You’d follow my recommendation no matter what I said.”
Something in his expression shifts, and he takes half a step forward. “You’re right. I know when I’m out of my depth.”
Suddenly the air between us is thick with tension.
He doesn’t seem to be mad at me for ignoring his call.
What does that mean? Did Friday night mean anything to him?
Has he been thinking about me at all? Surely him randomly showing up here is a sign that he has been.
My pulse suddenly races, my hands turning clammy around my cup of hot chocolate.
This is Luke Dawson, and I’m… me! Harper Braedon, public enemy number one, hockey hater, occupier of the social outskirts.
Somewhere deep down, I know I should just talk to him. It’s not so hard to ask a simple question, and I’ve never exactly been shy and scared.
But what if I got it all wrong and embarrass myself by bringing it up? Being on the outskirts is fine as long as I don’t dare to expect more. That would be too humiliating.
I clear my throat and take a half step back.
“Do you have Venmo?”
Dawson opens and closes his mouth a few times before pulling out his phone wordlessly.
I fumble with my QR code, my face surely turning an even deeper beet red as I try to human my way through this simple interaction.
I wrap his purchase up as slowly as possible, getting the ribbon curled perfectly to buy myself a few more minutes with him in my booth.
Finally, I hand over the gift, feeling more like an NPC than I ever have in my life. Our fingers brush and my breath catches. My head snaps up and our eyes lock, and dear God, for a minute all I want is to reach for him and pull him closer.
He takes a deep breath. “I’d like to leave a good review,” he says. His voice sounds almost a little… shaky?
“What?” I blink a few times to clear my head.
“On your site?”
Oh. “I took it down.” I wince. “So… you can’t. Sorry.”
When did I become such an awkward idiot around this guy?
“Because of the bad reviews?” I nod, and he frowns. “Yeah. About those. I’m going to talk to the team about it.”
My eyes widen. A muscle in his jaw flexes, like he’s suppressing frustration. He seems serious. But still, I have to ask. “Really?”
“Yeah. Especially one member of the team. I have a feeling I know who did it.”
The corner of my mouth quirks up in a half smile. “Does his name start with an N and rhyme with oah?”
Dawson’s lips curl in an answering smile, but his eyes still promise murder. It’s kind of hot. “He may be my captain, but I don’t have to have his back on everything. Especially not if he insists on having his head up his ass. Trust me. Put your site back up, and I’ll take care of it.”
The ember of anger smoldering behind his gaze is definitely hot.
Okay, I get the hockey player hype now.
“Thanks,” I manage. “That means a lot.”
He takes a step forward, and I hold my breath, tilting my head up even more to hold his gaze.
“You don’t need to thank me for doing the right thing. I couldn’t ignore it after our conversation Friday.”
And there it is. The elephant in the room, standing in the tiny booth with us, sucking up all the air.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Our conversation… Friday.”
A furrow appears between his dark eyebrows. “You took off pretty early yesterday. I tried to call.”
“I was kind of overwhelmed.” I bite my lip.
His smile widens, though he’s clearly trying to suppress it. A dimple winks in his cheek. A dimple. This boy has a dimple? Whoever hands out attributes at birth is not fair at all. “Overwhelmed? By me?”
Dear Lord, I’m short-circuiting. “Maybe,” I breathe.
“Good,” he says. His voice is husky and low, and all the sounds of the fair around us fade so I can tune into the specific frequency of his vocal cords. “Because it’s mutual.”
My heart thuds hard in my chest, skipping a beat, tripping over itself. I’m short of breath, staring at the wide ring of brown in Dawson’s eyes, unable to think a single thought, to speak a single word over the echo of mutual.
Then he says, “Would you want to go to Skate Night together?”
I blink. “What?”
“Friday night. The rink is open to everyone. It’s fun. As long as you don’t run off again?”
My cheeks flood with warmth. Dawson wants to go to Skate Night with me. He’s looking at me like he means it. Like he’s been thinking about this. Like he came here on purpose. Part of me can’t quite believe it. I want to say yes, but I’m terrified, too.
I’m frozen, unable to answer for a long moment, my mouth agape. Before I can say anything, a voice calls, “Um, can I help you?”
We both wheel to face Marissa, who’s standing mere feet away. She looks like a cartoon character in her lavender coat and matching beret. A cartoon character who’s considering physical violence.
Her hands are on her hips, and her glasses glint angrily as she looks from Dawson to me. “Is he bothering you, Harper?”
I glance at Dawson, just a few inches from me. Marissa doesn’t know anything about our unexpected connection this weekend. She still thinks he’s the enemy. If I didn’t know better, I’d read the closeness between us as aggressive too.
“I’m fine,” I say, taking a big step back to put some distance between us. Something like hurt flashes across Dawson’s face, but I’ll deal with that later. Right now I have best friend triage to do. “And sorry I didn’t text you, I got really—”
“Busy with this,” she says, finishing my sentence with a nod. “I know, I get it. That’s why I stopped by for support.”
Her instant and unearned understanding just makes the guilt churn faster. I gotta come clean soon.
But then she turns back to Dawson. “Did you get what you need? Haven’t you and your team done enough damage to this business?”
Dawson’s eyes flick back and forth between us. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to explain.
“Actually, Dawson was just—”
“Bro! There you are!”
“We circled this place, like, a dozen times looking for you.”
“Would’ve gone a lot faster on skates.”
Alex and Ryan are piling on Dawson with excessive back patting and ruffling of hair. They’re well into a noogie before they notice Marissa and me.
A broad smile stretches across Alex’s face. “Hey, Harper. How you feeling?”
“Fine! Early morning to set this up, but there’s been a nice turnout!” I hurry to say. The last thing I need is Marissa asking why Alex would be inquiring after my health.
“Ryan,” Dawson says, nodding at one of my charm bracelets. “You think your mom would like that?”
I rush over. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“That shit sparkles,” Ryan says, eyes widening in awe. “Yeah, I’ll take two. One for my mom, and one for whoever’s lucky enough to receive it.” When Marissa rolls her eyes, he waggles an eyebrow her way. “Which one would you pick? Just, you know. Theoretically speaking.”
But before I can tell him he’d have better luck charming a fence post, Dawson elbows him in the side. “Then you should definitely get some soap from that stall next door too. When was the last time you showered? That’s the better gift to your—ahem—lucky partner.”
Ryan props his hands on his hips in mock outrage. “Hey, I always smell good for my fans!”
As if summoned, a group of giggling groupies follows the guys over to the stall. Alex notices with a twinkle in his eye. Pitching his voice loud enough to carry, he says, “Wow! This is the best jewelry I’ve ever seen!”
Under her breath, Marissa says, “Don’t try out for the school play anytime soon.”
Dawson almost smiles again, and I catch his eye gratefully.
He’s doing his best to make up for the hit my business took.
Even if Dawson is wrong about Noah, I can’t believe Alex and Ryan are behind the bad reviews—it’s true, they’re not good enough actors to lie to my face.
Plus, here they are, pitching in to do their share. I’m convinced they have good hearts.
I want to accept Dawson’s invitation, but it’s too awkward, staring at him with Marissa right there. That little furrow appears between his eyebrows, as if he’s catching the vibe. I want to reach over to smooth it out, but he’s already taking a step away, back into the square. My stomach clenches.
Before he goes, his lips curl up into a small, secret smile. “I’ll see you around, Braedon.”
Braedon. The first time he’s called me by my last name. Like I’m on his team at last.
A thousand words tangle in my throat, but I don’t know how to organize my thoughts when Marissa’s watching us and I have so much to explain.
Guilt curdles in my stomach. I’ve fallen so hard, so fast, and the rest of my life hasn’t caught up yet.
Do I need to explain everything to Marissa before going out with Dawson?
Can I? How do I make her understand, when hating him and his team has been the glue binding our friendship together for as long as I can remember?
So I just raise my hand and wave as he leaves, feeling like I’ve mishandled the whole situation.
I take a last sip of my now-cold hot chocolate. Then I crumple the cup and toss it in the trash.