Chapter 17
Harper
I'm practically floating when I walk through our front door at eight-thirty Saturday night, head full of possibilities and new contacts burning in my phone. The conference was everything—connections, opportunities, a future bigger than I’d imagined for the education center.
"Nate?" I call out, setting my bag down. "You won’t believe the interest we generated!"
He’s in the kitchen, back to me, making something that smells like anger and pasta. Duke barely lifts his head to acknowledge me.
"The Central Plains Innovation Fund wants to feature us in their annual report," I continue, choosing to ignore the arctic chill from my fiancé. "And there’s a documentary crew interested in following up on Sarah’s work—"
"Sounds like you had fun." His voice is flat, controlled in that way that means he’s anything but.
"It was productive. Incredibly productive." I move closer, but he shifts away, not looking at me. "Three confirmed investors, Nate. They want to—"
"Did you have celebration drinks?" He turns then, eyes like cold stones. "With Daniel?"
The accusation makes my spine straighten. "We had drinks with the investor group, yes. To toast the partnership."
"The investor group." He lets the words sit there like evidence. "That’s what we’re calling him now?"
"There were five people there—"
"But Daniel was the one who ordered the champagne, right? Daniel was the one sitting next to you in that photo."
"You’re being ridiculous."
"Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you spent thirty-six hours with a man who clearly wants you, and you’re glowing like—"
"Like someone who just secured massive funding for our community project!" I explode. "I'm excited about our future, Nate. Our center’s future."
"Funny how our future required you to spend the night in a hotel with him."
The unfairness of it takes my breath away. "In separate rooms! With other conference attendees! God, what exactly do you think happened?"
"Nothing." His voice is ice. "Yet."
"Yet?" I stare at him—this man I’m supposed to marry soon. "You think I’m going to cheat on you?"
"I think Daniel Reeves has a plan, and you’re too dazzled by opportunity to see it."
"Or maybe you’re too insecure to see this is just business!"
His laugh is bitter. "Right. Business. That’s why he texts you at midnight. That’s why he insisted on driving you. That’s why he—"
"That’s why he’s offering to double our impact!" Now I’m shouting, something I rarely do. "While you’re here spinning jealous fantasies, I’m actually building something!"
"With him."
"With professional investors!"
We stand there, the kitchen island between us like a battlefield. Duke whines and slinks out of the room.
"I secured funding today," I say quietly, suddenly exhausted. "I did something amazing—for us, for the town. And instead of celebrating with me, you’re accusing me of... what? Being unfaithful? After everything we’ve been through?"
The words hang there, heavy with old wounds.
"After everything?" Nate’s voice is bitter. "You mean after I left you?"
"That’s not what I—"
"But it’s what you’re thinking. That I’m the one who betrayed trust. I’m the one who left without discussing it."
"You did leave without discussing it." The truth is heavy in the room.
"And I came back. I chose you—I chose us. But now you’re—"
"I’m what? Working? Building our future?" I can’t believe we’re here. "This isn’t the same, Nate. I’m not leaving. I’m not making unilateral decisions. I’m doing my job."
"With a man who wants you."
"The difference is I’m telling you everything. You told me nothing when you left." His face goes white at that.
I grab my overnight bag, heading for the stairs. "I’m choosing both—career and us. You’re the one making it a choice."
***
Three days pass in our house like a cold war. We move around each other with surgical precision—I shower while he’s feeding Duke, he makes coffee after I’ve left for work, we eat dinner in shifts. It’s Thursday morning, and we haven’t properly spoken since Saturday night.
My phone buzzes while I’m trying to write about sustainable irrigation. Daniel’s name appears, and I feel simultaneously annoyed and guilty.
Great news! The Sinclair family wants to meet Monday about major funding. Can you make dinner?
I stare at the message. The Sinclair family could fund an entire wing of the education center. But Monday is supposed to be the final wedding cake tasting with Nate and June.
Another text:
This could change everything for the center, Harper.
"Working hard?" June appears in my office doorway at the Chronicle with a box that smells like heaven. "Brought you stress carbs."
"I’m not stressed."
She sets the box down, revealing perfect cinnamon rolls. "Right. That’s why you’ve rescheduled our cake tasting twice and Nate looks like someone shot his dog."
"We haven’t rescheduled—" I stop. "June, about Monday..."
Her face falls. "You’re canceling."
"Not canceling. Maybe Tuesday?"
"Harper. What’s on Monday?"
"Investor dinner. The Sinclair family—they could fund an entire wing."
June sits down slowly. "Harper, can I ask you something? When’s the last time you and Nate did something wedding-related together? Not separately, not rescheduled—actually together?"
I open my mouth, then close it. Two weeks? Three?
"He’s being impossible," I say instead. "Jealous and possessive and—"
"And you’re spending all your time with Daniel Reeves."
"For the center!"
"Is it though?" June’s voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re avoiding your fiancé by throwing yourself into work."
My phone buzzes again. Daniel:
Also, thoughts on the marketing proposal I sent?
I haven’t even opened the marketing proposal. But I’ve responded to all twelve of his texts today.
"Nate doesn’t trust me," I say quietly.
"Do you trust him?"
"Of course."
"Then why are you protecting your phone like it contains state secrets?" She nods at how I’ve turned it face-down. "Why are you defensive when anyone mentions Daniel? Why are you scheduling dinners you know will upset Nate?"
"Because the center needs—"
"The center needs its co-directors to actually be speaking to each other." June stands. "Six and a half weeks until your wedding, Harper. Maybe focus on that?"
After she leaves, I look at my phone. Three more texts from Daniel about various 'opportunities.' One from Maya checking in. Nothing from Nate.
I type out a message to my fiancé:
Can we talk tonight?
Twenty minutes pass before he responds:
Emergency at Morrison’s. Don’t wait up.
The distance between us yawns wider, measured in avoided conversations and absent texts. I tell myself this is just a rough patch, that we’ll work through it.
But when Daniel texts about another 'urgent' meeting Friday night, I say yes without hesitation.
Maybe I am avoiding Nate. But at least Daniel actually wants to spend time with me.
***
Friday afternoon, I’m hiding at the Willow Tap in the back booth Maya claims as her unofficial office. She walks over with herbal tea for herself while I sit nursing my wine, even though it’s barely three o’clock.
“Day drinking?” she asks, sliding in across from me. “That bad?”
“June thinks I’m avoiding Nate.”
“Are you?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I take a sip—probably too much wine for the afternoon. “He’s being ridiculous.”
Maya rubs her baby bump—still barely showing, but she’s already protective. “Lucas says Nate’s terrified.”
“Of what? That I’ll run off with Daniel? That’s insulting.”
“Of losing you again.” Maya’s voice is gentle but direct. “Harper, he already lost you once. And yes, that was his fault for leaving. But trauma doesn’t care about fault.”
“So I’m supposed to coddle his insecurities?”
“No. But you’re not really reassuring him, either.”
I set down my wine harder than I mean to. “I shouldn’t have to reassure my fiancé every time I have a business meeting.”
“You’re right.” Maya shifts, trying to get comfortable. “But when’s the last time you chose him over a Daniel meeting?”
“That’s not fair. These meetings are for our center.”
“Monday’s dinner could be Tuesday. Tonight’s ‘urgent’ meeting could be a phone call.” She reaches over, takes my hand. “Harper, I love you, but you’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you get so focused on proving you’re right that you forget what you’re fighting for.”
“I’m fighting for the center—”
“Are you? Or are you fighting to win against Nate?” She squeezes my hand. “From the looks of things, you two are so busy being right you’re forgetting to be partners.”
My phone buzzes. Daniel:
Confirm 7 PM tonight? The contract details are time-sensitive.
Maya sees my face. “Another urgent meeting?”
“Contract details.”
“On a Friday night?”
“It’s time-sensitive.”
Maya laughs, not unkindly. “Harper, I help Lucas run a bar. You know what happens at Friday night business meetings? They stop being about business.”
“Daniel’s not like that.”
“Every man is like that when he wants something.” She slides out of the booth. “Go to your meeting. But maybe ask yourself why Daniel always wants you specifically, at night, without Nate.”
“Because I handle the PR side.”
“Right. The PR side that requires dinner meetings, conference trips, and constant texting.” Maya’s at her most dangerous when she’s this calm. “You’re brilliant, Harper. Don’t pretend you can’t see what’s happening.”
She leaves me with my wine and a truth I don’t want to face. I do see what’s happening. I’ve seen it for a while—the way Daniel’s texts have shifted from professional to personal, how his hand lingers when he passes me documents, how he always manages to sit just a little too close.
I’ve seen it. I’ve just been pretending not to. Because admitting it means Nate was right.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Nate:
Home by six if you want to talk.
Two choices. Two very different evenings.
I text Nate back:
I’ll be home.
Then Daniel:
Something came up. Send the contracts, I’ll review this weekend.
It’s a start. Maybe not enough, but it’s a start.
***