Chapter 3
HARPER
Idon’t say yes right away. And I don’t laugh in his face, either.
The words hang there between us, heavy and dangerous, like if I touch it too fast I’ll set something off I can’t stop.
Mason is half-asleep against my leg, my fingers threaded through his hair, and Aiden Sloan is standing a few feet away offering me shelter like this isn’t the most reckless thing either of us could do.
Because it’s not. We’ve already done that.
Even still, every instinct I have screams no. This is Aiden. This is the man who broke my heart so cleanly that I rebuilt my entire life just to survive it. This is the man I married the wrong person to forget.
I open my mouth to refuse. I really do.
But Mason shifts, his grip tightening on my hand, his head tipping forward again. He’s past scared now. He’s exhausted. Spent. Running on fumes and trust and the belief that I’ll keep him safe because I always do.
And the truth—the ugly, logistical truth—is that I don’t have a better option.
Hotels downtown on a Friday night are expensive. The bar is closed indefinitely. Every dollar matters. Clover & Mint isn’t just my job—it’s my foundation, the thing I built with my own hands after my life imploded once already. I can’t bleed money if I don’t have to.
Roz pops over to us. “Take him somewhere to sleep. I’ll handle the paperwork.”
“You’re the best, Roz. Thank you.”
And then she’s off, chatting with the firefighters and the random patrons who stuck around.
A quiet, small voice by my thigh asks, “Mommy, can we sleep at the fireman’s house?”
I take a slow breath. “Okay.”
Aiden’s shoulders drop a fraction, relief flickering across his face before he schools it back into that careful neutrality he wears like armor. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t push. He just nods once, like he’s acknowledging a fact instead of doing me a huge favor.
Carlie steps closer immediately, lowering her voice. “Are you sure? I mean—are you sure sure?”
I meet her gaze and lie smoothly. “He says his place is big enough for us, and we could use some space to process all of this.”
She doesn’t look convinced. But she nods anyway, because she’s always trusted me to know my limits—even when I don’t. “His place is ridiculously huge. Totally sterile, but huge.”
“Honestly, that sounds perfect.” I suck in a breath and look up at Aiden. “Lead the way.”
The drive downtown is quiet in a way that presses on my ears.
I drive as Aiden gives me instructions on how to get there.
We stop at the firehouse so he can change and get his car, and then I follow him.
Mason chatters sleepily from the backseat, asking questions about fire trucks and whether I think Aiden has a dog and if penthouses are better than regular houses.
When we follow into the underground garage, I’m hyperaware of everything. My stomach flips. This is really happening.
Aiden directs me to a guest spot, and I pull in there, watching the lines as much as I’m watching his face.
I pretend not to notice the tension in his shoulders when he calls the elevator.
And as the doors slide closed behind us, sealing us into this choice, I realize with a jolt of fear and clarity that saying yes might be the most dangerous thing I’ve done since that night in Hocking Hills.
That electric zap between us is still there. The inability to look away. The longing to feel his body heat penetrate—
This elevator ride is longer than it should be. I force myself to snap out of it, but only just. I pretend I can’t smell his cologne over the smoke on my clothes. I ignore the new scar on the back of his right hand, even though I am dying to know how it got there.
Mason leans against my side, finally giving in to sleep, his head heavy on my shoulder.
Aiden stands across from us, one hand tucked into his jacket pockets, posture careful—like he’s giving me space on purpose.
The elevator hums softly as it climbs, numbers lighting up one by one, and with every floor my nerves wind tighter.
No one speaks.
The doors slide open onto a quiet hallway washed in dim light.
Plush carpet. Muted art on the walls. Everything about this place whispers money without ever raising its voice.
Aiden leads the way, his footsteps measured, stopping in front of a door that looks like every other door—except it clearly isn’t.
He unlocks it and steps back to let me in first.
The penthouse is… exactly what I expect. And somehow worse.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, the city spread out below like a living map of light.
Clean lines. Neutral tones. Minimalist furniture arranged with artistic intention instead of comfort.
It’s beautiful in the way museums are beautiful—curated, immaculate, and not meant to be touched.
A lonely man’s space, my brain supplies unhelpfully.
“Wow,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
Aiden shrugs. “It’s just a place.”
It’s not, though. It’s him. Controlled. Quiet. Carefully contained.
I carry Mason down the hall while Aiden flicks on lamps, soft pools of light replacing the stark city glow. He opens a door on the left. “You can each have a guest room. Bathroom’s attached. Or if you want to share, that could work, too. Both have king beds.”
The room is nicer than any hotel I could afford right now. Crisp sheets. A throw blanket folded with military precision at the foot. A small nightlight already plugged in by the bed.
I lay Mason down carefully, easing his shoes off, tugging the blanket up to his chin. He stirs, murmurs something about dragons, then goes still.
I straighten slowly and turn back to Aiden before my courage evaporates. I nod toward the hall, so we end up there. I don’t want to Mason to hear any of this. “We need ground rules.”
He nods immediately. “Okay.”
“I’ll take you up on the separate rooms,” I continue, voice steady even though my pulse is racing. “This is temporary. Just until the bar reopens. And we don’t…” I swallow. “We don’t talk about the past. Agreed?”
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping once. “Agreed.”
He travels down the hallway to a closet and returns with a stack of towels. Our fingers brush—just barely—but the jolt of awareness is immediate and unwelcome.
I pull my hand back faster than necessary. “Thanks. For everything.”
“If you need anything,” he replies, equally careful, “My bedroom is at the other end of the hall.” He steps away without another word, leaving me standing there with a borrowed sense of safety and a past I just invited back into my life.
I go to the room next to Mason’s, close the door softly, and lean my forehead against it, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
This is fine, I tell myself. Temporary. Practical. It means nothing. I’m a mom. Moms do what they must for their kids.
Even if it’s torturously awkward.
And yet, as I look around the room, I know with sinking certainty that I’ve just crossed a line I worked very hard not to cross.
I went back to a man once, and ended up in a tepid marriage that everyone told me I should be grateful for.
I will not go back to a man who broke me in a single night. I am smarter than that. I have to be.
Sleep doesn’t come, so I pile into Mason’s room. I don’t want him to wake up and be scared because he doesn’t know where he is. I curl myself around him and count his breaths, hoping that will lull me to sleep.
Mason breathes slow and even beside me, one arm flung over his head, curls damp with leftover sweat from fear and adrenaline. The guest room is too quiet. Too pristine. The sheets smell like detergent. Or, they did until two smoky people laid on them.
I hear the faint hum of the city through the glass, distant traffic and sirens reminding me that life is still moving somewhere outside this bubble. And I hear Aiden.
Not clearly. Not footsteps or voices. Just the sense of him in the other room. It’s not really hearing, I guess. I feel him near. His presence presses in on me, heavy and unmistakable, like gravity I forgot how to resist.
This was a mistake, I tell myself.
Not in the dramatic, world-ending sense.
In the quiet, practical way. The way choices look fine on paper but unravel the second you sit alone with them.
I should have gone to a hotel. I should have crashed on Carlie’s floor.
I should not be under the same roof as the man who taught me how to fall fast and be discarded faster.
I reach out and brush Mason’s hair back from his forehead, grounding myself in something real.
This is why I said yes, I remind myself. Not Aiden. Not the past. This.
Still, my mind betrays me.
I think about the way Aiden looked at Mason in the bar—shock, then something like grief. The shock I get, but why grief? It’s been six years since I saw him last. Maybe he has a kid, and the mom won’t let him see them. Maybe he discovered his sterile, like his apartment.
Carlie was absolutely right about that part.
Whatever it is, it struck him deeply. There’s no denying that. Six years ago, I let myself believe one night could mean something. I let myself imagine a version of my life where I was chosen instead of second-guessed. That morning broke something in me I didn’t even know how to name yet.
I married David not because I loved him the most—but because he stayed. Because he didn’t hesitate. Because certainty felt like love when I was tired of uncertainty. He chose me, so I said yes.
That didn’t end well.
I shift onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, pulse ticking too fast. Being here feels like stepping back into a version of myself I worked hard to outgrow. The girl who wanted Aiden. The woman who took his rejection and turned it inward.
I am not that girl anymore. I’m a mother. A business owner. Someone who built stability from nothing.
This is temporary. I’ll make other plans in the light of day.
I turn onto my side once more, facing the door, listening to the quiet. Nothing has changed. Not when it comes to being drawn to that man. And that terrifies me.
I give up on sleep sometime after two. The floor is cool under my feet.
I pause at the door, listening. The penthouse is silent in that way expensive places often are—no creaks, no voices, just a low, distant hum of the city filtered through glass.
I tell myself I’m just getting water. That I’ll be quick. That I won’t run into him.
I should know better.
The kitchen lights are dimmed low when I step out, a soft glow washing over stone countertops and clean lines. I move quietly, grab a glass, fill it at the sink, then just stand there for a second with my hands wrapped around it.
Breathe, Harper. Get a grip.
This was a mistake. We have to get out of here tomorrow.
Or I will make a much bigger mistake.