Chapter 20
Twenty
Leo
I look at my phone for the hundredth time in the last almost twenty-four hours and sigh.
Because I’ve been fighting an inner battle I know I won’t win.
Which is why I’m here, parked in one of the guest spots in front of Harper’s apartment, food sitting in the passenger’s seat slowly getting cold.
And being a chicken shit, too scared to knock on her door.
All because Smitty mentioned—okay, he’d texted and told me to get my head out of my ass and bring Harper dinner because she’d mentioned she’d been craving Chinese food for the last couple of days.
I was looking for an excuse to see her.
So, I picked some up.
Even though she didn’t text me back last night.
A pretty clear message to keep my distance, I figure.
Hence me being a chicken shit who’s hiding in my car.
A flicker of movement catches my focus and I look up just in time to see Harper come out her front door, hitching her purse over her shoulder. She has her planner tucked under her other arm and she turns toward her car, the lights flashing as she unlocks it.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing the bag then popping my door and getting out. “Harper!”
She jerks to a halt, her planner falling to the ground.
“Shit,” I mutter again, hurrying over to her. I pick it up, hand it to her.
She takes it wordlessly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What are you doing here?” Her question is a little suspicious.
“I brought Chinese.” I hold up the bag.
Her eyes flick down then back up to mine. “I was just going out to grab some from Lotus. How did you know I—?” A shake of her head, her mouth curving. “Smitty.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “He might have mentioned you had a craving.”
“Right,” she says quietly. “I, uh, well, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.” I hitch my head toward the building. “I’ll carry it inside for you then leave you to your night.”
She studies me for several moments then nods. “Okay.”
Disappointment lashes through me—I bought enough food for both of us (and was hoping she would invite me to stay and eat with her)—but I just follow her into the apartment.
She sets her stuff on the counter, takes the bag from me, places it beside her planner, then tears open the top and starts unloading the contents. “This smells amazing.”
“You shouldn’t wait too long to eat that,” I tell her. “You don’t want it to get cold.”
Her mouth curves into a ghost of a smile. “No. I definitely wouldn’t want that.”
“Right,” I say into the silence that falls. “Well”—I hitch my thumb over my shoulder—“I should go.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
But I don’t move to the door.
And she doesn’t shift away from the counter.
We just…stare at each other.
“Do you, uh, want to—”
“Yes,” I blurt.
We both freeze again and fall silent.
“I didn’t even finish the question,” she says quietly.
“It’s still a yes,” I reply just as quietly.
She inhales sharply.
Then exhales slowly, seeming to war with herself. Eventually, a decision is made and she tilts her head to the far side of the room. “Plates are in that cabinet.” A beat. “Do you want a beer?”
“Sure,” I say, snagging the plates as she moves to the fridge. “As long as you don’t mind me drinking when you can’t.”
“It’s fine. I don’t really like beer all that much, anyway. This is left over from the last time I hosted Game Night, so you’re doing me a favor by drinking them.” She shrugs one slender shoulder. “They’re just taking up space in my fridge.”
I chuckle as I take the bottle. “Well then I’ll do my part in clearing out the fridge.” I jut my chin toward the food. “You first, Harp.”
“That’s okay—”
“You’re growing a human. That means first dibs for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m not going to argue that,” she says with a smile.
“Good.”
She serves herself and I do the same, making sure to leave plenty for her if she wants seconds, then bringing my plate to the stools at the counter and sitting next to her.
This is playing with fire.
But we have to find a way to coexist peacefully.
Even as I’m thinking that, my brain is blazing with warning.
Because that’s not why I’m here—even if I don’t want to admit it.
“What’d you do today?” I ask once she’s made a dent in her plate. “Aside from giving Smitty every detail of your life.”
Her mouth curves. “Smitty did demand some details, but he was mostly his normal sweet self.”
“I don’t think that Smitty is often described as sweet.”
“Maybe not.” She forks in some rice. “Well, with anyone aside from Kailey, that is.”
“That’s true enough.”
Though, I have seen the man go soft with all the women he considers his.
Including Harper.
Fuck, but I want the freedom to do that.
My phone buzzes and I exhale, pull it out of my pocket.
MOM: You need to call me. Immediately. Your father is being impossible.
Christ, if that’s not the universe reminding me exactly why I can’t do this shit…
“Harp,” I say, pushing my half-eaten plate away from me. “I should—”
“The onesie is super cute. I should have told you earlier. Thank you.”
“You did thank me.” I set my phone down. “And I know it’s dorky, but I wanted him to have Grizzlies merch for his first item of clothing.”
“His?” she asks archly. “Why do you think it’s a boy?”
“Why do you think it’s a girl?”
“Because girls are better than boys.” She pushes to her feet and reloads her plate. “Obviously.”
I chuckle, and even though I should get up and go, I don’t.
I stay on the stool and watch her like a greedy little goblin, soaking up every moment and committing it to memory—the way her hair shines like silk under the lights of the kitchen, her soft hum as she serves herself a heaping scoop of rice, the way she catches me watching her and doesn’t scowl.
Instead, she smiles, says softly, “And I don’t think the onesie was dorky.” Mischief in her golden-green eyes. “Egotistical? Maybe.” She shrugs. “Okay, there’s no maybe about it. It’s definitely egotistical.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s not like you put Smitty’s number on the back,” she points out.
She’s not wrong.
But I don’t admit it. “Maybe I don’t like his number.”
“Because you prefer number ninety?” she asks archly.
“Yeah, sure.”
Her brows lift. “Perhaps because you wear number ninety, Mr. Ego?”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest. “That I’ll neither confirm nor deny.”
She snorts then shakes her head, making a pit stop at the fridge and getting me another beer.
I should go.
But instead, I pull my plate closer, open the beer.
And promise myself…just a little while longer.