Chapter 12
Dean
The truck's heater fights against the morning chill, but Harper's still huddled in her coat, arms wrapped around herself like armor. The GPS drones directions I don't need, filling a silence I don't know how to break.
Ten minutes into town. Ten minutes to figure out how to say... what, exactly?
Stay? So you can hang out with a guy who can barely handle breakfast conversation?
Right.
She shifts in her seat, and I catch the scent of my shampoo in her hair.
Damn. Even when she's gone, I'll have reminders everywhere.
The ghost of sugar cookies in my kitchen.
The place on my couch cushion where she always sat.
The memory of her warm and soft in my bed this morning, before everything got complicated.
Who am I kidding? It was complicated the moment I saw her trying to push that stupid moving truck herself.
"The light's red," she says quietly.
I brake, maybe a little harder than necessary. A dusting of snow falls from the truck's roof, catching sunlight as it slides down the windshield.
"The contractor sent some samples for the built-ins," she says, scrolling through her phone. "Would you... I mean, if you're still willing to look..."
"I said I would."
"Right." She tucks her hair behind her ear – a nervous tell I've come to recognize. "I just wasn't sure if..."
If what? If I’m still interested? If this thing between us actually means something?
Main Street appears ahead, snow piled along the sides of the road. I slow down as we approach Emma’s coffee shop where she gets her weird lavender lattes. The ones she claims are better than Boris's coffee, though I've caught her talking to him about the recipe.
I should say something. Anything.
"You could—" I start, just as she says, "Maybe we—"
We both stop. She laughs, soft and awkward.
"You first," she says.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "Just... the bookstore plans. Send them when you're ready. I'll take a look."
"Oh." She looks down at her hands. "Right. Thanks."
That wasn't what she was going to say. That wasn't what I was going to say either.
I pull up to her building. It looks exactly like it did two weeks ago, except now there's a "Coming Soon" sign in the empty storefront below. Someone's tied a red bow around the post.
"Thanks for..." She gestures vaguely. "Everything."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
She opens her door, letting in a blast of cold air. I should help with her bags. That's what a normal person would do, right?
But if I get out of this truck, if I walk her to her door, I might do something stupid. Like ask her if she's really sure she wants to move into this apartment. Tell her she should move in with me, even though we’ve only known each other for weeks and I have nothing to offer her.
"Dean?"
I look over. She's got one foot on the ground, but she's turned back, morning sun catching her hair like a halo.
"I..." She bites her lip. "I'll send those plans soon."
"Okay."
She nods once, then she's gone, gathering her bags from the back. I watch in the rearview mirror as she makes her way to the building's entrance. She doesn't look back.
The sign in the window catches my eye again. "River Bend Books," it says in elegant script. "Opening this Spring."
Spring. Months away.
Plenty of time for her to realize she's making a mistake.
Plenty of time for me to figure out how to tell her.
I pull away from the curb, already dreading the empty cabin waiting at home. Boris is going to be insufferable.
Can't really blame him though. I'm not too happy with myself either.
My phone rings just as I hit the edge of town. Emma's name flashes on the screen.
"What?"
"Dean." Something in her voice makes me sit up straighter. "Are you still in town?"
"Just leaving. Why?"
"It’s Harper. That cheating bastard ex of hers showed up. He followed her inside, and he's shouting, and the door's locked. She's not answering her phone. Why the hell did you drive off so fast?"
The truck's already turning around before she finishes speaking. Blood pounds in my ears as I remember Harper's quiet voice that first night, telling me how she'd found him with his co-worker. How he'd tried to explain it away as a "mistake" while planning their wedding behind her back.
"How long?" My voice sounds strange, even to me.
"Just a few minutes. I tried the door but—"
I hang up, hitting the gas. Three minutes. That's all it takes to get back to her building. It feels like hours.
Through the storefront windows, I can see them – Harper backed against the far wall, hands raised in a placating gesture. The man advancing on her is wearing an expensive coat, his face twisted with anger.
"I tracked your credit cards of course, remember I have all your logins," his voice carries through the glass. "But everything's different now. I've changed."
The lock gives way under my shoulder. Pain shoots through my arm, but I barely notice.
He spins around, and I recognize him just from her description: perfectly pressed suit, carefully styled hair. The kind of man who thinks he can have whatever he wants.
Not this time.
I move between them, my back to Harper. I can feel her trembling behind me.
"This is a private conversation," he says, straightening his coat. "You need to leave."
"Funny." My voice is deadly calm. "I was about to say the same thing to you."
He looks me up and down, taking in my work clothes, the sawdust probably still in my hair. His lip curls. "This doesn't concern you. Harper and I have things to discuss. Our history—"
"Your history?" I take a step forward. "You mean how you betrayed her? How you tried to control her dreams while screwing around behind her back?"
His face reddens. "That was a misunderstanding."
"The only misunderstanding here is you thinking you have any right to be near her."
"Harper." He tries to look around me. "Baby, please. What we had—"
"What you had," I cut in, "is over. What you are doing now is trespassing."
Something in my face must finally get through to him, because he backs up a step.
"This is ridiculous." He straightens his tie. "Harper, when you're done playing house with this... carpenter, call me. We both know you'll come to your senses eventually."
I feel Harper's hand slip into mine, her fingers threading through mine like they belong there. Because they do.
"The only sense I've come to," she says, her voice steady now, "is that I deserve better than someone who lies to me. Someone who cheats on me. Someone who thinks my dreams are childish."
"I have someone now who believes in me," she continues. "Who supports my dreams instead of trying to change them. Who shows up when I need him." She squeezes my hand. "Who makes me feel safe."
The ex looks between us, his face darkening. "You can't be serious. This guy? He's nobody."
"He's mine." Harper's voice rings with certainty. "And I'm his. And you need to leave. Now."
We watch him go, his expensive shoes clicking against the sidewalk. Through the window, I see Emma giving him a look that could curdle milk.
Harper's hand is still in mine.
"You came back," she says softly.
I turn to face her, my free hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I shouldn't have left in the first place."
Her smile is like sunrise. "Then don't."
This time, when I kiss her, there's no hesitation. No holding back. This isn't just about the past two weeks. This is about all the mornings to come.