Seventeen
When the light spilled into her room at daybreak, London reached across the bed to find Laurie, sleeping peacefully, little snores escaping with the rise and fall of her chest. London wondered if Laurie knew she snored. Did she snore?
Their group of five had rolled in from the bar just after midnight, Laurie and Harper staying in the inn.
Cheryl and Cindy had said they’d sleep in the camper they’d brought.
One less room to clean, they’d said. London suspected they wanted privacy—they’d been more than a little affectionate on the walk home from the bar.
The details were blurry, soaked in too much beer. They created an emotional hangover that could have only one source. London remembered a nightcap. Bourbon. She hated bourbon. Her headache told her she’d imbibed anyway.
As Laurie snored, she debated—try to sleep a bit more? Or muster the strength to get dressed, go downstairs, make enough coffee for her mini army of helpers, and distribute it.
They had a huge day of cleaning and putting finishing touches on the inn. Much as she wanted more sleep, coffee won. Laurie’s log-sawing all but guaranteed she wouldn’t be able to rest, anyway.
For the first time since the flood, the coffee pot sat on a counter.
Not the floor. Not the bare wood cabinet boxes.
A proper counter, dark quartz. New and unspoiled, free of dents and dings.
Free of history. The counter they’d hauled out was from the ‘80s, if not earlier.
She remembered the dark blue laminate from when she was a kid, her mom frying eggs and telling stories, London tucked under the eat-in bar listening to tales of what it was like for Lorraine to grow up in the English countryside.
The stories were almost exclusively about how much her mother had longed to escape to a city when she was a girl.
It hit her now, as the coffee dripped in an otherwise silent house.
Lorraine had been encouraging her to leave Leavenworth all along.
She’d internalized her mother’s idea—life is better in a city.
Life is bigger in a city. And when she herself had fled the small-town life beyond a short stint in Seattle, she’d landed in Los Angeles.
When it was time to build her own life, she realized Leavenworth was more than a small town. It was where she found peace.
Somehow, she’d persuaded Harper to trade L.A. for a town of three thousand that had convinced itself it was in Bavaria. Back then, she believed love solved everything.
How foolish, London now realized.
When the coffee maker beeped, it jarred her out of the past. She filled two mugs to the brim, then dumped a third of the liquid from one of them. Harper had always taken hers with ample milk, warmed first, so it didn’t cool too fast. London didn’t have to think about it—her hands remembered.
Each step over the old floorboards upstairs was a careful dance. The way they creaked made stealth impossible, but London tried anyway. When she reached Harper’s room, the door was closed and she leaned an ear against it. Impossible to tell.
She shifted both mugs into one hand and lifted the other to knock but stopped short.
“Harper,” she said softly. She bit back the second call—the pet name she would’ve used so easily before—and opted for safety. “Harper?”
The door opened quickly, as if she’d instructed it in a game of “Open Sesame” like she’d done as a child.
“Morning,” London said, “Coffee?”
“Morning.” Harper reached out her hand. “Always.”
“Mind if I come in? Laurie’s still sleeping, so—”
A nod. It was okay.
Harper took her mug and got back in bed. She had three pillows propped up already, covers askew. There was an iPad on the nightstand.
“Want to watch the news?” Harper asked, patting the empty side of her bed and grabbing the tablet.
Drinking coffee in bed and watching the news had been their ritual for years. London settled back against the pillows, the mattress dipping from her weight. Steam wafted from their mugs. Coffee, cream, winter air leaking through the old windows.
And just like that, she was somewhere else. In an instant, a familiar ritual transported her to the past.
In her memory, snow had blanketed the town overnight, bringing with it the quiet magic that only came on Christmas morning.
She’d woken early to finish wrapping presents while Harper and all the guests slept.
It wouldn’t be long until the house was alive with families, until children squealed in delight.
But that quiet moment alone in the house was hers.
She’d brought coffee back to bed, as always. When Harper woke, London handed her a full mug and grinned. “Merry Christmas, darling.”
Darling.
How far they’d moved from darling.
“You’re up early,” Harper had said, one eye reluctantly opening.
“It’s Christmas.”
“And? Hand it over.”
London had leaned over the bed to kiss her, intending it to be quick, but Harper caught the back of her neck and pulled her deeper into their nest. The mug wobbled in London’s hand, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Careful,” London laughed against Harper’s mouth. “Hot.”
“Exactly,” Harper had said, kissing her again. “You’re wearing way too many clothes for a holiday.”
London set the mug on a nightstand, shushing. “We’ve got a full house.”
“You’re going to choose guests over this?” Harper had asked, tugging London down by the back of her t-shirt.
London could almost feel the heat from that moment. Stifling laughter. Moving together under a thick duvet. Harper gently biting her lower lip.
Now, they sat side-by-side, sipping coffee. London stared blankly at the iPad, acutely aware that Harper was next to her in a tank top. She’d been working out. London didn’t remember her arms looking that strong.
“How’d you sleep?” London asked, talking over the third showing of the Seattle weather forecast. They’d joked so many times over the years they were well-prepared for what was happening in Seattle but never knew what was in store for Leavenworth.
“Like a rock.” Harper held the mug with both hands and kept her eyes locked on the tablet. “Your friends wore me out last night. I forgot how much Cindy talks.”
“Yeah, we don’t call her The Orator for no reason. But she’s a lovable orator.” London shifted the pillows, bringing her shoulder against Harper’s. Neither moved. “So—I wondered—what are you doing for Christmas? You can always stay here, you know. This is your home, too.”
London bit the inside of her cheek. It was true, this was Harper’s home, too. But the eggshells she’d been walking on still felt fragile. Outside, the grunt of a snowblower starting up cut through the silence.
“Thanks,” Harper said. “I’m actually headed out this morning. My parents would be really upset if I missed Christmas. My brother and his wife just had a baby, and—”
“Wait,” London stopped her. “Sorry, I’m catching up. Your brother had a baby?”
Harper was an aunt now.
Which meant, she was, too.
“Sullivan. They’re calling her Sully. They thought they couldn’t get pregnant, but it finally happened.” Harper took a long sip. “I’ve only met her once, so I’m looking forward to some family time in San Francisco.”
Last she knew, Harper’s parents lived in Pasadena.
“San Francisco?”
“Oh, my parents moved there to be closer to Rowan and Sam when they found out she was pregnant. They’ve always wanted a grandchild, and we didn’t give them one.”
This explained the San Francisco address on the divorce papers. For someone she knew so well, there was so much she didn’t know about Harper.
“Congratulations,” she said, “Auntie Harper.”
Harper would be the coolest aunt. With her calm demeanor and ability to fix anything, she was an excellent role model for a child.
People might have looked at her and assumed one thing, but she was so much more complex than just one thing.
She had a free spirit and an adventurous soul.
She could MacGyver her way out of any problem. And she made friends without trying.
And London let that person leave her life without a fight.
Harper flipped the lid on the iPad without warning.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I just realized the time. I need to get going soon to get over the pass and make my flight. They’re so expensive out of Wenatchee so I’m flying out of Seattle.”
“Ah, okay.” London nodded, then turned to see Harper staring at her. “What?”
“This was nice, thank you.”
Eight seconds, London reminded herself. This was a prime moment.
“It was,” she agreed. “I’ve missed this. Us like this.”
Say it, she pushed herself. Say you miss her. Tell her you love her and never stopped. Beg her to come back to Leavenworth after Christmas. Promise you’ll do better. Promise you’ll put her first.
“Are you staying in San Francisco?” London asked, swallowing the little voice in her head. “After Christmas?”
Harper set the mug on her nightstand and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The duvet slipped down her back, arms lifting over her head in a long, slow-motion stretch that made the muscles in her upper back flex.
London’s eyes betrayed her before she could stop them.
She remembered those shoulders under her hands. The way Harper’s back had curved when she laughed. The quiet strength that had always made London feel safe, even when the world was chaotic.
Harper noticed London’s eyes on her body and stretched more. A little grin spread across her face, softened by the sliver of grey daylight slipping through the sheers.
When she reached for London’s mug, she winked. “Careful,” she said. “You look like you’re about to spill something.”
For a second, their fingers overlapped on the ceramic. And for a second, London thought this was going somewhere good. She felt the warmth of Harper’s hand on hers, smelled the citrus from her shampoo, sensed the unspoken electricity that used to live in moments like this.
London’s breath caught as Harper passed in front of her, the edge of her tank top brushing her arm. It was the smallest contact in the world, but her body registered it.
It hadn’t gone anywhere.
It had just been buried.
And like nothing had happened, Harper started pulling clothes out of her suitcase.
“No.” Harper assessed a sweatshirt as she spoke.
No? What had London asked?
“I have to come back and finish the job I put on hold to fix the inn,” Harper said. “I’ll be here for a couple months, maybe a little more.”
Time.
Sweet, sweet time.
There was time.
Within seconds, Harper had compiled an outfit and small toiletry kit. “I need to grab a shower and hit the road.”
“Yeah.” London leaned against the pillows. “And I need to bring Laurie some coffee. We have a big day today.”
“Good luck.” Harper paused, one hand on the doorframe to the bathroom. “Merry Christmas, London.”
As she padded down the hallway to make Laurie’s coffee, London couldn’t believe what she’d just learned.
Harper’s parents lived in San Francisco.
They had become aunts.
Harper would be back.