Chapter 15 Harper
HARPER
Iwake up already panicking.
For half a second, I don’t know where I am, and my body reacts before my brain can catch up. My chest tightens, breath coming fast and shallow, the weight of unfamiliar sheets tangled around my legs. The smell is wrong. Not my detergent. Not my bed. Not my room.
Memory slams into me hard and uninvited—six years ago, a morning that felt like this, waking up warm and disoriented and foolish enough to think it meant something permanent.
I sit up too fast.
The room tilts slightly, sunlight streaming in through tall windows, unfamiliar angles and shadows everywhere. This isn’t the cabin. This isn’t the past. The difference should calm me, but my pulse doesn’t slow right away.
Then I see him.
Aiden is already awake, propped on one elbow beside me, watching my spiral with an expression so soft it almost hurts to look at. There’s no alarm in him, no tension, no retreat. Presence. The kind of quiet attention that doesn’t demand anything from me.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he says gently. “You okay?”
The nickname doesn’t sting this time. It lifts something deep inside of me.
I let out a shaky breath and swallow, forcing myself to really look at him. Rumpled hair. Sleep-rough voice. Familiar lines at the corners of his eyes that weren’t there six years ago. He looks real in a way my panic can’t argue with.
I give him a tentative smile. “You’re still here.”
His mouth curves, slow and sure. “Where else would I be?”
I glance down at the sheets, at the evidence of last night. And that he’s not calling last night a mistake. “So last night… happened. But where do we stand this morning?”
He reaches out, resting his hand over mine like an anchor. “I hope we stand in the same place we were last night.”
The certainty in his voice doesn’t feel performative. Still, I don’t let myself lean into it too fast. I’ve learned the hard way that certainty can evaporate if you rely on it too much. I nod once. “Okay.”
The tension breaks when he slides out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, glancing back at me with a grin that’s far too boyish for a man his age. “Stay right there. I’ll get coffee.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He’s gone before I can finish the sentence.
I lean back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, letting my heartbeat slow the rest of the way down. The bed smells like him, like warmth and something clean underneath, and I force myself not to spiral about what any of it means.
When he comes back, he does it carefully, balancing two mugs and a crooked smile, setting one on the nightstand before leaning down to steal a quick kiss that makes me laugh despite myself. “See? Still here.”
I wrap my hands around the mug, grateful for its normalcy. “You’re dangerously charming before eight a.m.”
He shrugs. “Years of practice.”
“It’s a problem.”
“Oh?”
“I have no defense against early morning charm.”
He grins. “Good to know for the future.”
We’re still smiling at each other when a sound cuts through the quiet. A door opening down the hall. Small footsteps.
I freeze. Aiden freezes too, eyes widening as realization hits both of us at the same time. Mason is awake. And neither of us looks remotely prepared for that.
We scramble in the most ungraceful way possible.
Aiden runs a hand through his hair as if that might make the situation look more respectable.
I tug the sheet higher around myself, then immediately abandon that plan and reach for the nearest piece of clothing instead.
It turns out to be Aiden’s shirt from last night, soft and oversized, and I pull it on without thinking.
The bedroom door opens before either of us can say a word.
Mason stands there in socked feet, hair sticking up in at least four different directions, clutching his stuffed dinosaur by the tail. He blinks once, then twice, his gaze darting between us, taking in details with the ruthless efficiency of a five-year-old who has discovered something interesting.
“I was looking for you. How come Mommy’s wearing your shirt?”
There’s no graceful answer to that question. There’s no lie that won’t immediately unravel under a follow-up. I glance at Aiden, and he glances at me, both of us silently communicating the same thing.
We did not talk about this.
Mason’s brow furrows. “Did you have a sleepover?”
I take a breath. “Um—”
Before I can respond, his face brightens with sudden clarity. “Is Aiden your boyfriend now, Mommy?”
The word boyfriend lands in the room with a clang.
I crouch down so I’m level with Mason, buying myself a second to think. Aiden stays still behind me, deliberately giving me the space to handle this, and I appreciate him for it more than he probably knows.
“Would that be okay with you, sweetheart?” I ask carefully.
Mason considers this seriously, chewing on the dinosaur’s tail. “Yeah,” he says finally. “He’s really nice, and he lets me pick the music when we go to school.”
Relief loosens something tight in my chest.
Then Mason tilts his head, thoughtful again. “But… what about Daddy?”
The question is gentle. Curious. There’s no accusation in it, just the honest need of a child trying to understand how his world fits together.
Aiden steps forward and kneels beside me, bringing himself fully into Mason’s line of sight.
His voice is calm, steady, and measured in a way that tells me he’s thought about this more than once.
“Your dad is your dad. Always. Nothing changes that. I’m…
someone who cares about you and your mom. Is that okay?”
Mason studies his face for a long moment, then nods decisively. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Aiden’s neck in a spontaneous hug that makes my breath catch. “Okay.”
Aiden laughs softly and hugs him back, careful and warm, and the knot in my chest finally loosens all the way. Crisis averted, at least for now.
We migrate to the kitchen a few minutes later, all of us still moving a little awkwardly around each other, like we’re learning new choreography on the fly.
Mason insists on helping make breakfast, dragging a stool over to the counter and announcing himself as the Official Egg Cracker.
Aiden lets him take the job seriously, supervising with exaggerated caution while I pour coffee and try not to smile at how easily this feels.
It shouldn’t feel this easy.
That thought lingers in the back of my mind even as Mason chatters happily, and Aiden steals glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking. When Mason laughs, and Aiden laughs with him, it’s hard not to want this moment to stretch a little longer.
Breakfast becomes something more than food without any of us meaning it to.
Mason narrates every step like he’s hosting a cooking show, explaining the importance of eggs and why pancakes are superior to waffles, “except when waffles have strawberries.” His thoughts on the matter have shifted since he dreamed about breakfast last night, apparently.
Aiden listens like this is the most critical briefing he’s had all week, nodding thoughtfully and offering commentary that makes Mason giggle so hard he almost drops an egg.
I lean against the counter with my coffee and watch them, my chest tight in a way that isn’t entirely uncomfortable.
There’s a rhythm to the three of us that feels natural, unforced.
Aiden doesn’t take over, doesn’t correct Mason unless it’s about safety, doesn’t rush him along.
He lets Mason feel competent, trusted. I recognize that instinct immediately.
It’s the same one I rely on every day, the belief that kids rise to the level you let them reach.
“Careful,” Aiden says as Mason tips the bowl too far. “Slow hands.”
“I got it,” Mason insists, tongue sticking out in concentration.
He mostly does.
A little batter ends up on the counter, then on the floor, and then inexplicably on Mason’s elbow.
Instead of getting flustered, Aiden hands him a towel and says, “Mess means you’re doing it right,” like it’s a rule he’s lived by for years.
Mason beams at that and wipes enthusiastically, smearing things more than cleaning them, but no one stops him.
I catch Aiden looking at me over Mason’s head, something warm and almost disbelieving in his eyes. I look away before it turns into something heavier, before I let myself imagine permanence where there is only possibility.
We sit down to eat, Mason swinging his legs under the chair, announcing that these are “the best pancakes in Ohio,” which makes Aiden snort, and me laugh.
It’s ridiculous and sweet and so dangerously close to normal that I feel the need to catalogue it carefully, like I might need proof later that it happened.
After breakfast, Mason drags his dinosaur through the living room, making roaring noises while Aiden clears the dishes. I reach for a plate automatically, but he shakes his head. “Go sit. You already cleaned enough yesterday.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You keeping track now?”
“Occupational hazard,” he replies, glancing at me with a grin that makes my stomach flip in a way I do not appreciate. “If we don’t track who does chores, someone might slack off. So, yes, I keep track. Go. Enjoy the morning with Mason. I’ve got this.”
I retreat to the couch, reminding myself again that this is a fragile truce between want and caution. I cannot afford to slide into fantasy because the morning feels gentle. Mason’s needs are constant and real and nonnegotiable. Unfortunately, my heart is less disciplined.
My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me. Then buzzes again when I don’t check it.
I frown and pick it up, Roz’s name filling the screen, followed by a rapid cascade of messages that stack faster than I can read them.
My stomach drops.
Probably just ordering issues. Nothing as important as spending time with my son. I sit there, phone warm in my hand, watching Mason chase his dinosaur across the rug, and Aiden rinse the last mug at the sink. It’s a perfect morning. I won’t let the outside world ruin it.
That’s the reasonable explanation.
The honest one is that I’m afraid of what Roz is going to say, because Roz doesn’t text like that unless something is wrong. But I have had a lifetime of bad news, and I can’t stomach more. I slip my phone into my pocket and push myself up from the couch.
“Mason,” I say lightly. “Why don’t you go pick out clothes for today? Something comfortable.”
“Can I wear my fire truck shirt?” he asks without looking up.
“Absolutely.”
He takes off down the hall at full speed, dinosaur clutched in one hand, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake. I wait until his bedroom door closes before I exhale slowly and head toward the kitchen.
Aiden looks at me immediately. He must see something on my face, because his expression shifts from easy to attentive in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”
I hesitate. This is the moment where I decide how much to let him in, how quickly. But if we’re doing this, that means doing everything, right? Treating him like a partner… it feels like too much so soon, but I think we’re past the tentative stuff by now. “Roz texted,” I say finally. “A lot.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t fill the silence with speculation. He waits, which somehow makes it harder.
“I haven’t read them yet,” I add. “I didn’t want Mason to notice me get upset. And I didn’t want to be upset. But she doesn’t text like this, which means—”
“It’s bad.” Aiden nods once. “Do you want me to get him ready for the park?” The offer is simple. Practical. Not possessive.
“Yes,” I say, relieved. “Thank you.”
He wipes his hands on a towel and heads down the hall without another word, already calling out to Mason about socks and whether dinosaurs are allowed to wear hoodies. Their voices fade together, and the apartment feels quieter again, but not empty.
I pull my phone back out and finally open the messages. They flood the screen all at once.
Are you awake?
Call me.
No—don’t call. Get here.
Something’s wrong.
Please tell me you’re seeing this.
911!!! Bring Aiden!
My chest tightens. Roz is not a dramatic person. She is competent to a fault, steady in crises, the kind of woman you want standing next to you when things fall apart. If she’s panicking, there’s a reason.
I lock the phone and press it to my thigh. This is what I was afraid of.
The way life refuses to pause just because you’ve found something good. I look around the penthouse, at the quiet kitchen, the soft morning light, the evidence of breakfast still on the counter. But I can’t afford to cling to this moment if something is wrong at the bar.
Aiden reappears a few minutes later with Mason fully dressed and mostly presentable, one sneaker untied but otherwise ready. Mason barrels toward me, proud and loud, and I paste on a smile that I hope passes muster. “Mommy! Aiden says I can bring my dinosaur in my backpack.”
I nod. “That’s fine.”
Aiden studies my face more closely now, concern sharpening again. “You okay?”
I meet his eyes. “I need to go to the bar. Now. With you.” I can’t call her, can’t text. Whatever it is, I need to see my bar to know it’s okay.
“Then we’ll go,” he says, no hesitation, already reaching for his keys.
I know it’s too early to treat Aiden like a full partner in my life. But I also know it was too soon to fall in love with him in one night.
Maybe we don’t have to play by everyone else’s rules.