Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
HARPER
Saw you on insta, damn girl, been eating those cookies? I like a little extra on my meats YA FEEL? Text back, boo, I got a proposition you won’t wanna pass up, much love, GYAT!
—Stellan
I t was that time of the week. Ezra sent me a skull emoji, then: see you in five .
He’d stayed at his own apartment last night, and I tried not to think about how much I hated it when he did that.
Fifteen minutes later, we were in his car, heading toward my parents’ place.
It was Sunday, but we weren’t dumb enough to call it Sunday Funday .
My parents lived on the outskirts of Seattle on what I would generously call a homestead—except they were the type of people who called it that while paying other people to actually homestead.
It was all my dad’s fault. He thought it would be a good creative outlet for my mom’s painting and a perfectly reasonable excuse to buy an ungodly number of tractors he’d never use.
He and Ezra fought daily via text about turning the property into a real generational farm, rather than the curated backdrop it was.
After years in corporate, my dad had developed an actual allergic reaction to technology.
He carried a flip phone, refused to touch Microsoft Office, and sneezed whenever a notification dinged at the dinner table.
If you wanted to keep your meal sneeze-free, you put your phone on silent.
The doctor called it a nervous reflex from “too many years under fluorescent lighting surrounded by radiation.” Dad called it “urban warfare” and now soothed himself by running tractors like they were white-noise machines.
He texted in single words—hi, ok, how u, bye—and never, ever used emojis.
He claimed seeing them might trigger a seizure.
He “followed” my journey online by having Mom download my posts, paste them into an email, and print them out. Even then, I’m convinced his blood pressure spiked.
Ezra turned into the long gravel driveway: Holloway Family Farms .
He groaned like it came from his soul. “It’s the sign.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ezra, it’s always the sign.”
“They keep it crooked just to piss me off.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t snuck onto the property to fix it—dressed like you were auditioning for the next Mission Impossible—and then gotten caught on the Ring camera, my dad wouldn’t have decided, ‘Crooked it stays.’”
Ezra shot me a look. “Did you have to say it in his fake Southern accent? He was born in Everett.”
I shrugged. “He says he developed it from visiting the South.”
“Once,” Ezra snapped. “And it was the airport, Harper.”
I patted his hand. “Good thing you don’t have to call him Dad, huh?”
“It would be a nightmare to call a man father who doesn’t acknowledge iOS updates. I’d never sleep again.”
“Then don’t. Let’s just eat Mom’s French toast, farm-fresh eggs, and drink before noon. Plus, you know Frodo loves you.”
Right on cue, gravel crunched under the tires and the front door burst open.
Frodo—their hairless Xolo—launched herself across the yard at warp speed.
Ezra killed the engine, got out, and immediately had an armful of dog.
Frodo’s licks shoved his glasses askew, giving me a rare, unfiltered view of his captivating hazel eyes and ridiculous lashes.
Then, just as quickly, he shoved the glasses back on like he was protecting his secret identity.
The front door slammed open. Dad stepped out in brand-new blue Wranglers and a crisp white shirt, hands on hips. “Saw your Tik.”
I could feel Ezra rage counting to four before answering. “Tok. It starts with Tik ends with Tok. Full word.”
Dad narrowed his eyes. “You again?”
Ezra held Frodo between them like a shield. “You can full-name it—Tik, Tok?—”
A violent sneeze escaped between dad’s lips before he wiped his mouth and rubbed the water from under his eyes.
“Instagram,” Ezra added, walking past. Another sneeze. “Facebook!” he called over his shoulder. Another sneeze.
“Son of a—Ezra! Harper, why are you bringing that good-for—” Sneeze. “—nothing—” Sneeze.
I leaned against the car, deadpan. “Sneeze. Sneeze. Sneeze—Kid around.”
Silence. Then Ezra’s voice rang from inside:
“YOU WERE BORN IN EVERETT!”
I flinched while dad points his Samsung Galaxy Flip phone at me.
It’s almost like he’s purposefully tossing high school memories in my face by way of his phone.
Sometimes I can still feel my fingers sliding over the sad buttons only for the T9 to completely screw me and send something the guy has to translate to even understand, which just takes away all sleuth like levels of flirting and tosses them out the window.
Dad looked like he was about to sneeze again so I sidestepped him and made my way into the farm house and I use the term lightly.
It was a modern chic design with reclaimed wood, twelve-foot ceilings, bright colors, some recycled windows from a chapel and well, designer couches that we rarely sat on because my mom valued them more than our own lives.
She joked but one time Ezra sat on one and I suddenly understood the show Snapped .
I’ve never seen Ezra move so fast in my entire life, thank God for his Korean heritage, immediately he started bowing which shook her out of her stupor enough to feel bad.
Ever since then they’ve been close, mom and Ezra, thick as thieves actually.
I think it’s because she took the bowing as him addressing the queen of the house rather than respect, but I’m not going to correct a damn thing.
Not when he’s the reason I get pumpkin bread first every Thanksgiving instead of my sister.
He was already sitting next to her at the table drinking his first mimosa.
“Harper!” Oh no, she was using the high-pitched voice.
I shot a glare to Ezra. What did he say? How much did he divulge? Was he already drunk? My eyes said all the questions without my mouth doing any of the work and because I couldn’t see his through his thick glasses he merely stared back and slowly lifted the glass to his mouth and sipped.
Betrayer!
Where the hell was the loyalty? I pulled out a chair next to him. “Yes?”
“Tell me all about him!” She gushed folding her hands on her lap like we were about to start braiding hair and painting nails.
“I’m so curious! I’ve been following the blog—very clever, I’m sure Aunt Trudence would be proud and I do hope you succeed with your little project.
” And there it was; little project. Did she not understand I actually made money as an influencer on top of teaching?
That it actually afforded me the nicer things in life as well as extra art supplies for the kids in my class?
Did it matter? I liked my job, furthermore, my channel was a good outlet for my teacher rage.
Before the whole ‘dating my exes’ thing I’d gained quite the following over “Stuff my Students Say.”
It's another reason Ezra loved volunteering with my class. He learned new things and loved how they publicly shamed me at such a young age. Said he found it charming. While I found it alarming they knew how.
“Him?” I repeated slowly. “Just what him are we discussing right now?”
Ezra shrugged, the picture of innocence, like they hadn’t just been whispering about me over cocktails and croissants.
Then he snorted.
Not the good kind of snort—the bad kind. The one I knew too well. The one laced with judgment.
He shoved his neon glasses up his nose and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in what could only be described as peak arrogance .
“I think,” he said, dragging it out, “she means the lovely… Vex.”
Mom clapped her hands together like a trained seal at feeding time. “How do I not know about him? The one that got away! The perfect boyfriend!”
Her voice got louder with each word until I was certain the neighbors now thought my love life had a studio audience.
“Vex!”
I clenched my teeth and shot Ezra a desperate look for help.
He answered by chugging his mimosa like this was a spectator sport.
Great. The least he could do was help me keep the lie straight.
I looked between Mom and my own mimosa. “Just… need a drink first.”
Tossed it back. Tried to remember all the ridiculous attributes I’d given this fictional man.
Perfect skin.
Long, messy, inky-dark hair with… oh God… shots of gold .
Why had I said shots of gold ? Like he was the brooding cover model for some torrid romance novel. What real man had hair like that? Was I high when I made him up?
“He’s tall,” Ezra finally supplied. “Really tall. Muscular. She’d go on and on about the size of his?—”
I choked mid-swallow.
“—heart!” he finished, with zero remorse.
Ezra grinned. “Yeah, that’s it. His massive, ginormous, hardened-but-found-its-softness heart.”
I was going to kill him.
Mom took a deep, dreamy breath and smiled up at the ceiling like she was imagining her daughter’s future AI boyfriend in glorious HD.
That was when Dad walked in, burped, set his flip phone on the counter, and sneezed.
“Dog’s knocked up again,” he announced.
“She’s not knocked up, she’s just fat,” Mom said sharply. “Now you’re interrupting. Harper was just telling me about Vex!”
Dad barked out a laugh, slapping his hand against the counter.
“Honey, he’s clearly gay. A man that perfect?
Doesn’t exist. And if he does, he’s just looking for a lavender marriage—which is totally fine by me.
I’d take a nice gay son-in-law any day. One who knows to cut flowers for my daughter, set them on the counter, make her breakfast, watch reality TV… ”
He paused. “You deserve a friend who’ll cry over The Bachelor with you and won’t steal your boyfriends—wait. Actually, I guess he could steal a boyfriend from you. Huh. Didn’t think that through. Well, I’m sure there are rules for that sort of thing.”
I deadpanned, “Don’t know, Dad. Never really considered a lavender marriage since my dating life is overflowing with stellar options.”
Honestly, the idea was looking better by the day—especially since I was actively hiring Vex.
“Anyway,” I said brightly, pasting on my best fake smile, “It’s fine. Between these guys, Vex included, and all the organization Ezra nearly had an orgasm over, I’m going viral. Everything’s going to plan. Totally fine. Right, Ezra?”
Ezra nodded slowly. “Data doesn’t lie. And Vex seems like the one who’s going to come out the clear winner… in more ways than one.”
I bit my lip. “I’m sure he’ll say all the right things.”
Ezra leaned forward, plucked a cinnamon roll from the plate, and placed it on his own. “He’ll know all your favorite foods. The things that make you laugh. The things that make you cry. And on paper, he’s just… perfect. Why didn’t it work out again? I mean, potential sexual orientation aside?”
I cleared my throat and, for once, told the truth. “Because he reminded me of my best friend. Only… he actually wants to bang me, you know?”
Ezra froze mid-reach.
Dad burst out laughing. “Yeah, I always wondered why you two never hooked up. Then I realized there was no sexual charge. Good riddance. Last thing this family needs is a tech-savvy social media lover.”
Ezra didn’t miss a beat, yelling, “ X! ”
The sneezing started up again, punctuating every bite and half-baked argument for the next thirty minutes.
Until Grandma Blue graced us with her opinionated presence.
Then the sneezing stopped, the alcohol consumption went up, and I started feeling a migraine.
And Ezra, bless his soul, was the one that had to sit next to her.
And I didn’t feel sorry for him at all, nope. Rather, I lifted my glass and saluted him. Payback’s a bitch.