Chapter Twelve Harper #2
“A lot is putting it mildly,” I mutter.
Killian grins. “Don’t worry. We grow on people.”
“Like mold,” Bishop says.
The two start bickering again—quietly, this time—while Shepherd gives me a look that is surprisingly earnest for someone whose face could be carved on the side of Mount Handsome.
“You really think you can pull this off?” he asks.
“Get all three of you in Portland?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“Yeah.”
I sit up straighter. “I don’t take clients I don’t believe in,” I say simply. “And I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
The boys go silent.
For once, genuinely silent.
And then—all at once—
“Thanks, Harper,” Shepherd says softly.
“Thanks,” Bishop echoes.
“You’re badass,” Killian adds.
I smile despite myself. “You boys gonna behave now?”
Shepherd shrugs. “No guarantees.”
Killian lifts an eyebrow. “Can we have one—one—personal question?”
“No.”
“It’s small.”
“No.”
Bishop raises his hand politely. “Is he an athlete?”
“I’m muting you,” I say, reaching for my keyboard.
Shepherd laughs. “Just take the compliment. You’re glowing.”
“I’m hanging up,” I warn.
Killian gasps. “OH MY GOD, you are glowing! We must be right!”
That’s it.
I hit End Meeting before they can say another word.
The screen goes black.
Silence fills my office.
Then, slowly, inevitably, I look down at my phone.
Several texts from Harrison.
One unsent draft of mine.
Me
Lunch sounds nice.
And now all that’s left is the warm, fluttery, absolutely ridiculous feeling in my chest that hasn’t stopped since the moment Harrison Meers walked back into my life.
Harrison spots me before I spot him.
I’m sitting in the booth at Harold’s Hot Dog Diner pretending to read the specials menu for the fourth time when I feel rather than see someone approach, a bigger, warmer presence, the scent of clean soap and an ice rink lingering around him.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Just that. One word. But it hits low in my stomach because he’s smiling, not his usual locker room grin, but something smaller. Almost shy. I’ve never known Harrison to be shy but here we are, ten years later, and I guess we’ve both changed.
I look up. “Hey.”
He slides into the booth across from me like he’s afraid he’ll take the wrong seat, or bump something, or mess this up. He looks a bit like a bull in a China shop. It’s cute, which is not at all helpful for my composure.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Parking was, well, parking.”
“You’re right on time,” I assure him, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I ordered water so I didn’t sit here fidgeting.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Glad I’m not the only one.”
And there it is. The honest nervousness I suspected but didn’t expect him to admit. It definitely helps soften something in my chest.
The server comes for Harrison’s drink order, and after she leaves, an awkward beat stretches between us.
I pick up the menu so I can look anywhere but directly into his eyes and I pretend to study the enormous variety of hotdog offerings.
Harrison shifts his legs under the table, accidentally brushing my ankle, and he freezes.
I freeze too, but neither of us moves away.
I need a safe topic. Something that doesn’t involve the electricity shooting up my leg where our ankles touch.
“So, Connor’s doing great,” I blurt, then immediately regret bringing my—our—son into this charged moment.
Harrison brightens instantly. “Yeah? He’s working hard. I’m really proud of him.”
“He’s obsessed.” My smile is genuine despite the guilt twisting in my stomach. “He watches your highlights on YouTube like it’s homework.”
“That means a lot,” Harrison murmurs, a blush creeping up his neck.
“You mean a lot to him. You know that, right?” The words taste both sweet and bitter on my tongue.
His piercing blue eyes lock with mine, filled with such naked longing that I have to look away. I fidget with my napkin, tearing the edge. “I care about him,” he says softly, and I hear the unspoken accusation, not as his coach, but as his father.
I swallow hard. Every moment Connor spends adoring Harrison-the-hockey-star is another lie I’m letting stand between them.
Yet every moment Harrison spends with Connor-the-student is another chance for him to decide fatherhood isn’t what he wants after all.
And there’s always the possibility that the more time he spends with me the more he’ll realize I’m not the one for him.
I nod, watching him. “I know.”
The server returns with drinks, breaking the moment. We both sit back like we’ve been caught doing something illicit.
As soon as she leaves, he clears his throat. “So…big day for you, huh? Your Zoom meeting? New clients?”
I groan, grateful for the change in the subject. “Three extremely handsome, very talented men in their early twenties. All on one screen. All brothers. Triplets, in fact. I’m pretty sure my computer fan is still recovering.”
He laughs quietly, like he’s genuinely amused, not playing it up.
“Triplets. That’s wild.”
“It’s worse than wild,” I say. “They’re charming and they know it. It’s downright dangerous. They’re going to break hearts one day, that’s for sure.”
He smiles into his glass of water. “You thrive on dangerous.”
I freeze, pulse quickening in that way that feels both thrilling and terrifying.
The same feeling I had at nineteen when he’d leaned too close in front of my professor, trying to kiss me.
His eyes widen slightly. He must see it on my face, that I’m caught between wanting to lean into his words and needing to run from them.
“I meant professionally,” he says quickly, voice tight.
“Right. Of course.” I nod too enthusiastically while my mind screams, but what if you didn’t? What if we just—
No.
Connor.
Remember Connor.
“Do you think they’ll be successful?” he asks. I appreciate that he keeps the conversation flowing while my mind races with old feelings and new. Being here with him feels easy yet charged with something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Without a doubt,” I tell him, leaning forward, my enthusiasm for what I do accidentally spilling out like glitter in an elementary art room.
“They’ve got talent, charm, and a good support system.
And let’s be real, it’s been a while since the sports world has had a triple threat like this at the same time.
I mean, triplets? All ready for professional leagues?
They’ll be disgustingly famous if they play their cards right, and I’m excited to help them get there.
It’s what I do after all.” Helping others achieve their dreams. I guess that’s something we both value.
“I really admire your passion, Harp. Just listening to you talk about your clients…” He shakes his head.
“You’re exactly the vibe they need. Someone who has a deep respect for sports of all types, you’ve always been that way, yet someone who knows when to be cut-throat when it comes to contracts.
I have no doubt you’re amazing at what you do. ”
“Thanks, H.”
He looks at me then—really looks—his eyes burning into mine with such intensity that my breath catches. The noise of the restaurant fades away.
“What is it?”
“Can I admit something?” he asks, voice dropping to a near-whisper.
“Of course.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, knuckles white as he grips his own hands. The muscle in his jaw twitches. My heart hammers against my ribs.
“I rewrote my text to you about lunch seventeen times since 4 AM,” he confesses, each word deliberate and raw. “I wanted this—needed this—but God, Harper, I was terrified you’d say no.”
Oh.
Oh.
The air shifts and suddenly it’s warm in here, like someone’s cranked the thermostat ten degrees. My skin prickles with awareness.
“Harrison…” I start, but he shakes his head gently, his darkening blue eyes never leaving mine.
“I just—” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that makes my mouth go dry. “I like being around you. And I guess I had forgotten that feeling after all these years. That’s all.”
I don’t know what to do with the sweetness blooming in my chest, so I take a sip of water I don’t need, ice clinking against my lips. “You make it sound like I’m doing you a favor,” I tease, my voice coming out huskier than I intended.
“I guess you kind of are.” He shrugs and his smile turns so soft it’s almost dangerous.
His knee shifts under the table, pressing against mine.
“You’d be doing me an even bigger one if you and Connor came to our game tomorrow.
I have a few tickets saved right at the glass if you’d want to, you know, come and be my good luck charm. ”
Heat surges through me like a flash fire, starting in my chest and radiating outward until my fingertips tingle. His eyes—those impossibly blue eyes that once made me forget my own name—hold mine with such raw hope that I can barely breathe. The air between us practically crackles.
“I like it,” I say slowly, deliberately holding his gaze, “when you want something from me.”
His pulse jumps at his throat. I see it.
He knows I see it. If it’s possible, the air between us thickens even more, charged with ten years of what-ifs.
I remain quiet, giving him space, but I can’t help but notice how his ankle stays locked with mine under the table, warm and solid. Like I’m steadying him.
In reality, it’s him steadying me.
When the server comes to take our order, neither of us pulls away.
“So, tell me about the start of the season. From what I’m hearing you guys have the opportunity to go all the way this year.”
He nods, smiling softly, like he doesn’t know he plays for one the best hockey teams in the league.