Chapter 19
The British countryside and its roads are familiar to me now. There’s a certain rhythm to the drive—to deal with occasional high-speed cars that pass while navigating through the narrow lanes with tall hedges on either side.
Once we leave the highway for a country road, we start counting tractors. But soon after, Harper insists on tallying muddy Land Rovers instead, and when we pass the fifth one in a row, she laughs.
“See?” she asks. “You should have chosen your Land Rover, not this sports car.”
“This Aston Martin,” I say and pat the wheel, “can handle these roads. And it was her turn.”
“Her?”
“Yes. The engine needs a good run or she’ll get rusty.” I make a turn, and a long stretch of straight road lies before us. With wide-open skies overhead and only green fields all around.
I hit the gas.
Harper’s gasp turns into a chuckle, and I relish the sound.
The burst of speed doesn’t last too long. The next curve comes up soon enough, and I slow back down, taking it in stride. We’re already an hour and a half outside of London.
“How much further?” I ask.
She looks down at her phone, our trusted GPS. “Um… not much. Seems like we’ll be on these country roads until we arrive.”
“Good,” I say. Tearing myself away from the sight of her legs. She’s in a white dress that ends just above her knees, and I keep getting distracted by the expanse of milky skin and the pale-pink toenails peeking out of her sandals.
“Why cars?” she asks. She’s leaning back in the passenger seat, her legs stretched out. More than once I’ve had the impulse to reach out and put my hand on her bare knee.
As if that’s my right, as if the move would be welcomed.
Each time, I’ve snuffed it out with the memory of her words on Sunday.
Can we just forget about last night?
I promised I would. That had been another lie. I’m racking them up, and each new one makes me feel like shit.
She mentioned Dean, and I’d known I was an asshole for not feeling more guilty, for being so focused on the taste of her lips and on the words she might say to not consider him at that moment.
This past week, I’ve thought it over.
Reallythought it over.
Would I be okay with losing Dean’s friendship if it came to that?
“Nate,” Harper urges. There’s a smile in her voice. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking.”
“You’ve been distracted the last few nights,” she says. “You didn’t even pay attention to the movie on Thursday night.”
I grunt, not disagreeing with her. My lack of focus, though, had little to do with deep thoughts, and more with her sitting next to me on the giant couch in nothing but a pair of short shorts and a tight T-shirt.
“You’re sure? I… well, I overheard you arguing yesterday,” she says. “Please don’t be mad, I was in my room, and you must have been walking up to the third floor.”
I snort. “Well, I guess we now know just how soundproof the rooms are.”
There’s a brief pause, and then she snickers. “Yes. Not very.”
“That’s… good to know.”
“Yes. But… are you okay?”
“Of course I am.” I glance over at her, only to find her eyes earnest, yet warm and thoughtful, on mine. If I didn’t have the road to focus on, they would have captured me entirely.
“You can tell me, you know. Even if it’s not funny or exciting or charming.” She reaches for her bottle of water in the cup holder between us. “You don’t have to perform for me.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
It takes me a minute or two to find my bearings. I listen to her drink, swallowing softly, and try to wrap my head around her words.
“Why did you say that?”
“Mmm, it’s just an observation I’ve made,” she says, putting her water bottle back and stretches out again with a sigh. “You’re good at charming people, at giving them the version of yourself they want to see. I bet that’s good skill in negotiations and to persuade people at work, right?”
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Yes. It can be.”
“All I meant was, you don’t need to do that with me.” She shrugs, and I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye. “I like spending time with you even if we talk about heavy stuff. Or if we’re silent.”
I could brush this off with a joke. That’s my immediate impulse, but I swallow it down. Nod instead. “Noted,” I say. “You’re… I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone quite like you, Harp.”
“I’m sure you haven’t,” she says easily.
The words are spoken with so much confidence that it makes me laugh. She starts laughing, too. “I didn’t mean it like that!” she quickly protests.
“Sure you didn’t.”
“No, no really. More like you probably spend most of your time with people in your social circle, if that makes sense.”
“Not particularly.” I glance over at her again, and then back to the road. “I was arguing with my brother.”
“Ah, the one you were competitive with.”
“Yeah. We’re not seeing eye to eye about my dad. Or rather, what to do about him.”
She makes a small ooh sound. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. It’s par for the course these days.” I shake my head, my voice turning bitter. “My brother’s relationship with our dad was better than anyone else’s, but it’s been strained in the last few months. And Dad let things between him and my sister sour entirely. She married someone Dad doesn’t approve of, and he is stubborn enough to think he deserves an apology for that. So that leaves just me.”
“Is he very involved?” Harper asks carefully.
That makes me chuckle. “No, not in the way you mean. But he does love imparting his wisdom and advice.”
“Overbearing?”
“Somehow overbearing and distant,” I say. “A magical combination mastered by David Connovan alone.”
“He demands a lot of you and your siblings?”
“He demands everything,” I say evenly. “Only now we’re not so quick to yield to his commands. We are his children, after all, and he’s never listened to anyone in his life.”
She makes a thoughtful sound. “I suppose that’s why he’s been so successful in business, maybe? But it does sound like a tough way to live. And a very harsh way to raise children.”
I nod. Pass a tractor, zipping past it as fast as I can go on the gravel road. This was the last topic I thought we’d be discussing today. But with my eyes on the dusty road, words come easier than I could have predicted. “Now he’s giving me the berating he usually saved for Alec. Funny, I once envied my brother for getting all of Dad’s attention. Now I pity him, if it was always this intense.”
“Maybe,” Harper says, “he’s being pushy because you’re the only one of his children who is still speaking to him? Your dad may be clinging to you and hoping you’ll solve his problems with your siblings.”
I glance at her again. “Yes. That might be it. I hadn’t thought of it quite like that before.”
“I’m a genius sometimes.”
“And modest, too.”
“Mm-hmm. What’s the use in staying modest? Someone told me to ‘fake it till you make it’ or something like that.”
“Such a cliche statement. I hope you told him off.”
She laughs. “Tried to, but he dodged the bullet. He has a way of doing just that.”
After a curve, another stretch of open road unfurls ahead. It bisects the pastures and meadows dotted with spring flowers and gleaming that vibrant green color they only get mid-May. In the distance, a speck of gray is getting larger. We’re drawing close to the estate Harper wanted to visit.
“I think it’ll catch up with him eventually,” I say and hit the gas. “But not today.”
Harper lowers her window, and air comes rushing inside the car. It plays with her curls, tossing them around her face. I lean my head against the headrest and smile at the speed, the sun, and the sound of Harper’s laugh.
All of this will catch up with me eventually, too. Bills always come due. When she leaves; when Dean finds out about our friendship; when her traineeship ends.
But not today.
I pull into the gravel parking lot a few minutes later. The house is large and imposing, rising at the end of a long walkway. Georgian architecture, with pillars lining the front of the estate. The surrounding grounds are pristine and manicured, complete with a pond glittering in the distance.
We walk up the front gate, and Harper chuckles. I look down at her. “What is it?”
She shakes her head with a smile. “Did you notice how everyone looked at your car?”
I glance back. “No. They did?”
“Yes, of course they did. God, I don’t know if you’re obnoxious or charming, being so oblivious sometimes.”
“Charming,” I say firmly. “The answer is always charming.”
She laughs again.
We make our way into the estate, where we”re handed a brochure and sent on our way. Harper’s fascination is evident. I follow beside her, listening to her excited chatter about the people who must have lived here, about the things she’s learned from her reading, and from the old BBC adaptations she clearly loves. She takes pictures of everything, in every room.
“For my mom,” she tells me. “I promised to document as much as I could.”
She stops at several works of art that I would have overlooked. When I ask her about them, she shines up in a giant smile and tells me stories behind each.
How one composition is typical for the seventeenth-century artists, but not for those from the eighteenth whose pieces we saw in the other rooms. What areas of the paintings were likely to have been completed by an apprentice and not the master.
She speaks passionately. About it all, and I love watching her as she does. The smiles, the flush, the excitement in her eyes.
It’s far more engrossing than the little text printed on the placards.
We finish the tour in the vast garden outside the house. The sun is warm, and somewhere in the distance, birds sing.
I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone, and stand… here.” When she glances at me quizzically, I add, “For your mom.”
She smiles wide as I take her picture, and, for a split second, I wonder if I can send it to myself. A keepsake of this day and her happiness.
But then she takes the phone back and our fingers brush against each other’s, and the moment is gone.
“They filmed one of the adaptations of Pride and Prejudice here,” she says dreamily. “Look over there, outside that entrance… I can almost see the scene taking place.”
“You’ll have to show me that movie sometime.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up. “Okay. Yeah, I would love that. We could do a marathon.”
I wonder if Dean ever did this sort of thing with her. If they went on little day trips, if they laughed together, if they bonded over her interests. My stomach turns as jealousy squeezes my insides, quickly followed by the guilt, and, finally by a dark sort of satisfaction. Because even if they had… she’s here now.
Doing it with me and not with him.
We walk around the gardens with the sun shining down on us from a mostly cloudless sky. Her hand brushes against mine, just once, and it makes my fingers tighten into a fist. Electric current dances along my arm. Since that night, since we kissed, being around her has become an excruciating torment.
The idea of us had always been my foolish hope. A dream. But now I know what she tastes like, what she feels like in my arms.
If my need for her was strong before…
We reach the pond. It’s larger than it looked from the parking lot. A few swans glide around near the center and tall reeds grow along the edges. The water is dark and ripples softly from the movement of several rowboats tied up at the small dock, and the lone boat bobbing gently offshore as a gangly teenage boy navigates it amid the lilypads.
I look at the row of boats waiting patiently for new occupants.
“What do you think?” I ask Harper.
She’s already walking to the dock. “I’m in if you are!”
Ten minutes later, sitting at the back of the rowboat, I’m maneuvering us to the middle of the pond. I lift the oars out of the water, and watch her look around with that same dreamy, contemplative look she gets sometimes.
Like she’s truly and completely present in the moment. Enjoying it to the fullest, and not thinking about work, or what to have for dinner, or reaching for her phone.
She just is, and I love watching her just be.
“I think,” she says, “I’ll add this to my thirty list.”
“Add it retroactively?”
“Yes. It’s my list, so my rules.”
I chuckle. “I approve entirely.” The sun is hot, and I reach for the sleeves of my white button-down, rolling them up, and feel sweat beading on my forehead.
“You look just as you should,” she says.
I frown at her. “What does that mean?”
A flush creeps up her cheeks. “Well, in books and movies, the men wear these billowing white shirts. Although yours does have a bit less lace.”
I chuckle. “A bit. Yeah.”
“And you’re not wearing Hessians.”
“Hessian what?”
“Hessian boots. But the rest is pretty accurate.” She looks around at the estate and tourists walking the grounds. “It’s like we’re in the middle of a historical romance or one of Jane Austen’s stories.”
“Mm-hmm. Except we drove a car to get here, paid entry, and we’re not dressed appropriately…”
Harper scoops a handful of water and sends a few drops in my direction. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
I chuckle. “Fine. I’ll be perfectly silent, then, like a gentleman of old.”
“I’m not sure they were very silent. I’m probably supposed to be the silent one if we’re playing by those rules.”
I look at her, at the blush on her cheeks, and her warm eyes. Take the moment to appreciate the voice that I will never tire of hearing. “Then we’re not.”
She smiles at me. “Okay. Then we’re not.”
We’re just floating out on the pond. Happiness fills my chest to the brim. Something I’ve missed for longer than I realized, when I was existing but hardly thriving.
The smile still hangs on Harper’s face. She looks down at the sparkling surface and drags her fingers through the waning waves. “I don’t think I could have handled living in a historical novel,” she says. “As much as they’re my comfort reads, I would miss running wa?—”
My hand touches something smooth cutting through the water. A snake, swimming gracefully and almost imperceptibly along the surface. I shriek and scramble away from the edge of the boat, making it rock violently in the process.
“Harper!” Nate says.
I scramble to find purchase, which sends us into another rough sway from side to side.
Nate throws himself toward me, but it’s too late. I’m already tipping too far back. His lunge for me obliterated the balance, making the rowboat seesaw worse than a drunken pirate on leave, and we both tumble overboard.
The water is cool and murky. Something slimy tangles around my legs, and my feet sink into the muddy bottom of the pond. I’m shoulder-deep in this muck and immediately kick off. It’s instinct, to get away from the sliminess. More snakes?
Probably just plants. But still. There’s a snake around here somewhere.
Someone shouts from the dock. Water splashes, and I realize it’s me.
“Swim, Harper,” Nate demands beside me. Right. We’re in the pond. I make a few awkward strokes, aiming for the dock. I’ve never swam in clothes before, and it feels wrong, the fabric against my skin dragging in the water.
I’m the first to reach the dock. The wood is shockingly dry and warm under my wet hands when I grab a hold of the edge. There’s no ladder. Get away from the snake! That’s my only concern at the moment.
People aren’t meant to go swimming in this little pond.
Something strong grips my waist, and then Nate’s voice is by my ear. “I’ll lift you. Ready?”
“Yes,” I whimper back.
He hoists me halfway out of the water, and I scramble onto the dock. Dripping wet and shivering.
Someone chuckles behind me.
Nate.
I look at where he’s standing in the water as it laps around his waist. His hair is plastered to his head, his white shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, but a smile is lighting up his face. “You all right?”
“Yes,” I say. Something about that smile sets things at ease inside me, and I giggle. I’m high on adrenaline. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Me neither. Fuck.” His gaze locks on someone behind me, and he raises a hand. “Don’t worry! I’ll get the boat.”
He’s off, setting across the pond in a crawl toward our rowboat. It’s upside-down and bobbing serenely in the center of the pond. Like it hasn’t just been the scene of a crime.
I stand up and watch him grab the small rope, and drag it back to shore. Trudging through waist-deep water. He uses his free hand to push his wet hair back and looks at me with a wry smile.
I laugh. It bubbles out of me, and soon enough, I’m laughing so hard that I have to put a hand over my mouth. I’m in shock and complete disbelief at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” Nate says. The teenager manning the dock steps past me and reaches out for the rope. Nate throws it to her, and she quickly ties the rowboat up, now right side up again.
But my giggle dies when Nate braces his hands on the edge of the dock. With strong arms, he lifts himself out of the water and comes to stand in front of me.
He’s dripping wet. His white shirt clings to the contours of his body, and a few tendrils of hair have stuck to his forehead. His lightly tan skin stands out strongly against the fabric.
He looks like the lord of the manor after a summer swim.
His eyes sweep down my body, and the smile disappears off his face. His gaze quickly fixes somewhere over my left shoulder.
I look down. Shit. My white dress is pasted to my body, and my nipples are clearly visible. Hard even through the bra and dress.
I wrap my arms around my chest. “Whoops.”
He glances at me for a second again before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He undoes them with quick movements, one after another.
“What are you doing?”
“Here,” he says gruffly and hands me his soaked shirt.
I take it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“It’s something, at least, if you want to cover yourself.” His voice is light, but his jaw is visibly tense. I wrap the wet garment around my body, and despite the cold and drenched state of me, heat races up my cheeks.
He’s now shirtless.
Broad chest—lightly smattered with brown hair—and a taut stomach. Not lined with showy abs that speak of vanity, but hard and flat muscle achieved through regular exercise and an active life. His shoulders look strong. His arms, too. And his biceps. Standing just a few feet away from me beneath the warm sun, with shimmering water in the background.
I have to look away.
And now we’re both not looking at each other.
“My phone,” I say. “Shit, I just realized.”
He huffs a laugh and pushes his hair back. “Yeah, mine, too. We need to find a bowl of rice or something.”
“Do you see any around?”
“No,” he says. But there’s dry humor in his voice. “What happened?”
“I’m so sorry, I saw a snake. Touched it, even! In the water. I freaked out and…”
“And that happened,” he says, his smile still in place. “Well, it made for a more interesting afternoon, for sure.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“That’s the only way to look at it,” he says firmly. “Now come, we should probably try to get some dry clothes.”
“Maybe they’ll have some period costumes in the gift shop,” I say.
He half chuckles and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I think the best we can hope for is an apron or tea towels,” he says. “But let’s go and see if we can patchwork them together into something we can wear.”