Chapter Twelve Harper #3
“Honestly, the start of the season feels promising.” He forces his eyes away from mine down to the table.
“The team chemistry is good. Solid. Everyone’s got their strengths, and honestly, everyone’s been working harder than I expected this year.
Though, I say we’ve got the talent and some of them are more like toddlers than professional athletes.
” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes playfully.
“I swear I’ve spent half my life telling the guys not to slap each other with wet towels or steal each other’s underwear. ”
I laugh. “Sounds familiar.” I wink at Harrison when he lifts his gaze, and he grins, obviously remembering so many of the ridiculous immature behaviors that went on in the locker room when he was younger.
He used to tell me about them all the time.
“But the team seems…fun. I get the sense from watching you all together that you have each other’s backs. ”
Harrison leans back a little, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“We do. More than I probably deserve sometimes.” His fingers drum against the table, a nervous rhythm.
“It’s just—” He stops, jaw tightening. “We look out for each other because we’ve all been in each other’s shoes.
The job, relationships…things we’ve lost.”
My smile falters as my stomach knots itself. I grip my water glass too tightly, caught between wanting to reach for his hand and needing to maintain distance. “Your team really seems like family,” I manage.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, then meets my eyes with an intensity that makes me want to look away. “But I spend a lot of time thinking about the family I didn’t know I had until now.” His voice breaks on the word family.
My chest flips.
Did he really just say that?
He meets my gaze, his eyes soft. Not angry just…honest.
I open my mouth to respond, and at the exact same moment, our server drops a basket of fries in the center of the table. One particularly large fry tilts precariously. We both reach for it at the same time.
Our hands brush.
My heart jumps.
“I—” I start, but he chuckles low, letting me take it.
“No, you first,” he says. But our fingers linger on the fry for a moment, a little too long, and I feel a jolt straight through my arm.
We both laugh softly, embarrassed. The tension between us humming. I take a breath, forcing myself to focus on something less volatile.
“Well, you sound proud of your team. Of your family,” I say, trying to keep things light. “Which is great. It makes you seem…approachable. You know, like you’re not just some sexy hockey god.”
Harrison laughs, a soft, low chuckle that makes my chest tingle. “I’m approachable. I promise.” His eyes lift and catch my gaze just before he adds, “You just have to come close enough to see it.”
I really want to come close enough.
I really want to see it.
I look down at my water glass, pretending not to feel it.
Our lunch continues, peppered with playful jokes and easy chatter.
We share stories about Connor, the kids from the youth program, even laugh at the idea of me trying to coach a hockey drill.
And through it all, there’s that constant undercurrent of wanting, of something unspoken hovering between us.
We’re halfway through lunch when I reach for a fry absentmindedly. Harrison does the same, and our hands collide again. This time, we don’t pull away. I glance at him, and there’s that spark in his eyes.
Soft, deliberate, full of understanding.
I freeze, swallowing hard. The warmth from him spreads through me, gentle but electric, and I have to look away. By the time lunch winds down, Harrison stands first, offering his hand to help me out of the booth. Our fingers brush briefly as he pulls me to my feet, my stomach flutters.
“Can I walk you back to the office?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
I catch a hint of nerves behind the calm in his eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
We step outside, the sun warm on our shoulders, and the walk is quiet at first. Neither of us wants to ruin the fragile bubble of tension we’ve built. But every step is electric.
The brushing of arms that lingers a second too long.
The glances that drop to lips before darting away.
The way he occasionally drifts just close enough that part of our hips touch.
So close I can smell his cologne that smells like the comforting warmth of an ocean breeze.
When we reach the building, we pause at the doors. I hesitate, feeling the space between us shrink in a way that makes my heart pound. Harrison’s hands are casually in his pockets, but there’s tension in his shoulders.
“Lunch was…” he starts, and then stops, his eyes darkening as they hold mine. “Better than I expected. Thank you.”
“Me too,” I admit. My chest tightens and I have to look down, catching my breath as heat pools low in my belly..
He tilts his head toward me. “See you tomorrow? For the game?”
I nod. “We’ll be there.”
He steps closer, just enough that I feel his warmth, and take pleasure in the scent of him, the tension thickening between us. I want to reach out and press my palm against his chest.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
He leans farther and places a chaste kiss on my forehead that’s both too innocent and too intimate. “Bye, Harper,” he says softly, his voice low, private, meant only for me.
“Bye, H,” I murmur, letting my fingers brush the doorframe as I walk inside, heart racing.
And I know, with a certainty I can’t ignore, that lunch was just the beginning.