Chapter 32 Harlow
HARLOW
By six-fifteen, Wren has commandeered my tiny dorm bathroom like it’s a war zone and she’s the general.
“Sit,” she orders, shoving me onto the edge of the bed.
“I can do my own makeup,” I protest.
Wren makes a face. “Not today. Today, I’m being your fairy godmother.”
I blink. “You’re wearing overalls.”
Wren shrugs. “A fairy godmother with range.”
She does my eyeliner with surgical precision and tells me a story about a British bartender who tried to flirt with her by quoting Pride and Prejudice and how she had to pretend she was impressed when she’d never read it.
“You’re a menace,” I tell her.
“I’m a delight,” she corrects.
When she’s done, she steps back and studies me like she’s taking in a painting.
“Okay,” she says softly, and something shifts in her expression. “You look fucking fantastic, babes.”
My chest tightens. “Do I?”
Wren nods once. “Uh, hell yeah.”
I look away because being seen is still a thing my body doesn’t fully trust.
“Okay,” I say, my voice sounding small.
Wren grabs my hands. “Also, if this Grayson guy ever hurts you again, all bets are off, and I will—”
“I know,” I cut in. “You’ll commit crimes.”
Wren grins. “Exactly. I’ll need you to put up the bail money.”
There’s a knock at my door before I have a chance to reply, and my heart trips over itself.
Wren’s eyes sparkle. “Speak of the devil.”
I glare. “Stop.”
Wren bounces to the door before I can stop her and swings it open.
Grayson stands there in dark jeans and a black sweater that makes him look unfairly good.
Hair is actually dry for once, like he took the time.
Jaw clean-shaven. Eyes tired but bright.
He holds a small bouquet of daisies in one hand and a bag in the other.
When he sees Wren, he pauses. Wren grins like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.
“You must be Grayson,” she says brightly.
Grayson blinks, then recovers, because he’s Grayson. “Yeah.”
Wren steps forward and holds out her hand. “Wren.”
Grayson shakes it cautiously. “Nice to meet you.”
Wren’s gaze skims over him, assessing with the precision of a girl who has protected me through too many dark seasons. Then her smile softens.
“Nice to meet you too,” she says. “Be nice to her. I’m too pretty for jail.”
Grayson’s eyes flick past Wren to me, standing behind her with my heart in my throat. His gaze changes when it finds mine. Soft. Steady. Like he’s not here to take anything. He’s here to show up.
“I will,” he says simply.
Wren beams, satisfied. “Great. Okay. I’m leaving before I get emotionally invested in this.”
“Wren—” I start.
She grabs her bag and points at me. “Text me later. Details. All of them.”
I choke. “Wren!”
She winks at Grayson. “Good luck.”
Then she’s gone, bouncing down the hall like she didn’t just crack open a door that has been closed for years.
He holds out the daisies. “These are for you.”
My throat tightens so fast it hurts.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he says softly. “I wanted to.”
My fingers brush his when I take the flowers. And my whole body goes hyperaware again, like my skin is always waiting for him now.
I roll my eyes, but it comes out soft because I can’t help it.
Grayson steps closer, just enough that I can smell him.
Clean soap and that faint hint of mint that makes me think he’s always trying to stay awake.
His eyes flick over my face like he’s memorizing, then land on my mouth for half a second before he looks away like he’s being good on purpose.
My stomach flips.
He clears his throat. “You ready?”
I start to nod, then I hesitate because something in my chest tightens unexpectedly.
“Kai…” I start.
Grayson’s gaze sharpens. “Yeah?”
“He—he saw Wren,” I say, and the sentence feels like a rock dropping into water.
Grayson’s brows knit. “And?”
“And he bolted,” I say.
Grayson exhales through his nose, sympathetic. “That tracks. There’s a lot of history there.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “It’s going to be…a thing.”
Grayson nods once. “Let’s not worry about it tonight. It’ll still be there to overanalyze tomorrow.”
The simple sentence makes my lungs loosen.
Not tonight.
Tonight is my birthday. Tonight, I get to exist without fixing everyone.
Grayson offers his hand, palm up, not grabbing. Just offering. I stare at it for half a second—my choice again.
Then I place my hand in his.
Warm. Rough. Real.
His fingers curl around mine gently. Not claiming. Just holding. And my body responds like it recognizes this kind of safety.
Grayson’s voice is quiet. “Let’s go.”
Dinner is exactly what he promised. Not loud. Not crowded. A small place off campus with warm lighting and booths that feel like hiding without being hidden. He picks a corner table. My back to the wall. Exit visible.
No comment.
Just…considered.
My chest aches in that stupid grateful way.
We talk.
Really talk.
Not just jokes.
He asks about Wren—careful and curious—not pushing for the messy parts, but not avoiding them either. I tell him small things. The internship. The way Wren always comes back like sunlight. The way she can make me laugh, even when I’m trying not to.
He tells me about Owen without getting too heavy. Just the shape of him. The way he used to pick a show on his birthday and declare it a family hostage situation.
“The Office?” I repeat, laughing. “That’s criminal.”
Grayson’s mouth quirks. “He did voices.”
I choke. “No.”
“He did,” Grayson insists. “He’d do Dwight in the grocery store just to embarrass my mom.”
I laugh—a real, full laugh—and Grayson watches it like he’s collecting it. Like my laughter is a souvenir.
Halfway through dinner, my phone buzzes.
A text from Kai.
Kai: u good?
I stare at it.
Grayson doesn’t look at my phone. Doesn’t ask. He just lifts his brows slightly, a silent question.
I exhale and type back.
Harlow: Yeah. I’m good.
Kai: happy bday, harls.
My throat tightens.
I swallow hard and set my phone down.
Grayson’s voice is soft. “He loves you.”
I nod. “I know.”
Grayson holds my gaze. “He’s learning, or trying to learn, that loving you doesn’t mean he has to hold you so tight that you feel like you can’t breathe.”
I exhale slowly. “I know he’s trying, and I also know that it’ll take time for him to adjust. For both of us to adjust.”
Grayson’s eyes soften. “You’re doing good.”
“You know you don’t always have to say that, right?”
He smiles. “I do know, but I also know I like hearing it when I’m working hard at something, so I thought you would too.”
He might just be perfect.
By the time he drives me back to campus, the sun is long gone, and small stars are speckled across the night sky.
When we reach my dorm, Grayson parks in the lot, turns the engine off, and the silence inside the car is thick.
My pulse trips, because in my mind, I know what I want to come next.
Grayson turns toward me slowly and his gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes like he’s asking without words.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For making today a really great day,” I continue, and my voice trembles. “Even when I know it was hard for you.”
Something shifts in his face. His throat bobs. He looks away for half a second like he’s trying to get his breathing under control. Then he looks back at me.
“You made today a lot more bearable for me,” he says, voice rough. “I feel like I should be the one thanking you.”
My eyes sting. I blink fast, refusing to let the tears spill free.
He gets out of the truck, giving me a moment to myself, before coming to my side and opening my door, offering his hand to help me out.
We stand there in the parking lot, neither of us too sure about what comes next, but also not wanting the night to end.
Grayson finally moves first. He lifts his hand slowly, catching a strand of my hair that’s gone rogue, and tucks it back behind my ear. My whole body sparks under his touch, and I’m struck again by just how reactive I am to such a simple contact.
My breath stutters when he cradles my face. He just caresses my cheek with his thumb like he’s holding the most important thing in the world. Something that’s treasured.
My voice comes out small. “Grayson…”
He leans in slowly, deliberately, giving me the choice all the way to the last inch. I meet him halfway. The kiss is not gentle but controlled. I can tell he’s holding himself back but starting to lose the fight.
His mouth moves against mine, like he’s been starving, and I can’t pretend that I haven’t been.
I make a sound I don’t mean to, and his breathing turns more ragged immediately.
His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, thumb under my ear like he’s memorizing the exact place my pulse lives and reveling in the fact that he’s the reason for the erratic rate.
Heat floods my stomach so fast it makes me lightheaded.
I press closer to him, not caring if anyone can see us, fingers gripping the front of his sweater like I need something solid or my knees will give out on me.
Grayson groans against my mouth, and it goes straight through me, causing a throb between my legs.
He breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, mouth brushing my jaw, my cheek, my ear.
“Harlow,” he whispers, and my name on his lips sounds like a prayer he doesn’t know which god to send to.
I bring his mouth back to mine and kiss him again, because the space between us feels unbearable. Grayson answers immediately, like my unspoken yes cut the rope holding him back. His hand slides to my waist, anchoring me.
After another minute, or maybe a few, I really have no idea, I pull back just enough to breathe, forehead leaning against his, our breath mixing between us.
“Gray,” I whisper.
His eyes search mine. “Yeah?”
I swallow hard. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to do something stupid.”
His mouth twitches. “Define stupid.”
I glare, but it’s weak because my lips are swollen, and my head is spinning.
Grayson exhales slowly, then presses his mouth to mine one more time, softer now, like he’s trying to calm my nervous system instead of setting it on fire. When he pulls back, his breathing is still uneven. His voice is a rough murmur against my cheek. “I’m going to walk you to your door.”
I can’t control the disappointment I feel about him leaving soon. “Okay.”
He steps back and holds his hand out, like he’s trying to shift back into a gentleman and not the boy who just made me see stars with a simple kiss.
I slide my fingers through his, and we quietly walk to my dorm.
Grayson stops under the overhang, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not touching me outside of where my hand is still wrapped in his. His eyes flick to my mouth again. Then he forces himself to look at my eyes.
“Happy birthday,” he says softly, like he needs to say it one last time now that we’re here.
“Thank you for making it great.” My throat tightens. “It might just be my new favorite.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead before giving my hand a final squeeze and taking a step back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs.
My chest aches with the word tomorrow.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He steps back, hands sliding into his pockets like he can hide how much he wants to stay. Then he turns and walks away, looking over his shoulder once like he can’t help himself.
I unlock my door and step inside, close it, then press my back against the hard wood and close my eyes.
My mouth still tastes like him. I can still feel the warmth of his body pressed into mine.
I bring my fingers to my lips, like I’m checking whether it was real. It was. Tomorrow.
I exhale a shaky breath.
Tomorrow is too far away.
I grab my phone.
Harlow: I’m inside.
He replies immediately.
Gray: good.
Gray: i’m trying so hard to be respectful right now.
Heat floods my face.
Harlow: What if I don’t want you to be?
Gray: harlow.
I stare at the screen until the letters blur.
My body is still buzzing—mouth swollen, thighs heavy, skin too aware of itself. The hallway outside my door is quiet, but my room feels like it’s vibrating with the energy flowing through me.
I tell myself I’m fine.
My thumb hovers.
Because this is the part where I go to bed alone and replay it until my brain turns it into a threat. And I don’t want that.
Not tonight.
Not on my birthday.
I type before I can talk myself out of it.
Harlow: Come back?
My pulse slams so hard it feels like it rattles my teeth.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Gray: i don’t think that’s the best idea.
My stomach flips.
Harlow: I’m serious.
Harlow: Unless you don’t want to.
The dots appear instantly this time.
Gray: i want to.
Gray: i’m just trying not to be the guy who takes more than you mean to give.
A small smile tugs on my lips, because, of course, that’s where his head goes. Because he’s him.
I swallow and press my forehead to the door.
Harlow: I know what I want. And that’s you.
There’s a pause—long enough to feel like a held breath.
Gray: unlock your door
My fingers are shaking when I slide the lock. I barely get my hand off it before there’s a soft, careful knock. I open the door. Grayson stands there in the dim hallway, hair messier than it was ten minutes ago, eyes dark and wide and too controlled for how disheveled he looks.
He doesn’t step in.
Not yet.
He waits for me.
My chest tightens.
I reach out, hook two fingers in the front of his sweater, and tug.
Grayson’s breath stutters as he steps over the threshold slowly, like crossing it matters.
Like this is a line. I close the door behind him, and the click is quiet.
But it lands heavy. Grayson looks at me—really looks—as if he’s making sure I mean the words I’ve said. The permissions I’ve given him.
“You sure?” he asks in a low voice.
I nod. “Very.”
His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second, and he exhales like he’s in pain. Then he steps closer, hands still at his sides, and I see him flexing them again. Trying to keep himself in check.
But I don’t want him to hold back.
He stops inches away. Close enough that my skin heats on instinct.
“You can tell me to stop at any time,” he murmurs. “If you change your mind…”
“I won’t,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve said all day.
Grayson lifts his hand slowly, like he’s still offering the choice, and cups my jaw again.
His thumb brushes my cheek once. Gentle.
Grounding. Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me deeper than before, hungrier, like my boldness to ask him to come back took his earlier restraint and turned it into a burning need.
A moan escapes me as I melt into the kiss, eliciting a groan from him, the vibration going straight through me.
My hands go to his shoulders, slide down his chest, to his waist, pulling him even closer. Anywhere I can touch.
I pull back, just enough where I can see his eyes clearly, and tell him exactly what I’ve been thinking all day.
“I want you.”