Chapter 16 Harper
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HARPER
Antoni kicks my apartment door shut with his heel, juggling a tote bag overflowing with groceries, a bottle of wine, and what looks suspiciously like a scented candle the size of a toddler.
“Hey!” I say, peeking from the kitchen where I’m standing on a step stool rearranging my coffee mugs. “What are you doing here?”
“I bring offerings,” he announces before stopping in the doorway and eyeing me suspiciously. “Ingredients for dinner so you can feed me and tell me why your face looks like that.”
I blink. “Like what?”
“Like you accidentally fell in love with a six-foot-four slab of hockey muscle.” He drops the tote onto my counter, then fixes me with a knowing arch of his brow.
“Which is fine. I support you. But you’re doing that thing where you rearrange the mugs when you’re stressing.
So, tell me what you’re stressing about. ”
“What?” I laugh. “I don’t—Fine, you got me.” I sigh and shrug in defeat. “It’s Harrison.”
Antoni’s eyes go wide as he playfully teases, “No shit!”
I chuckle again and whack him with my dish towel. “Stop it.”
“So, what’s the problem?” He pulls a few cans of food and fresh vegetables from his tote bag, placing them on the counter in front of him. “Is there a problem or are you just ridiculously in love and ready to jump his bones?”
After last night? Definitely ready to jump his bones.
“No, there’s no problem. He gets back from their road trip tomorrow night,” I say, trying to sound casual. “And I was thinking… I don’t know. I kind of want to do something for him.”
Antoni gasps dramatically. “Oh Mon Dieu! You do have feelings! Big ones from the sound of it.”
I cock my head. “Antoni.”
“No, no, this is good, sis,” he says, wagging a finger. “This is growth. This is intimacy. This is you doing something besides assigning a man a nickname in your phone and ignoring him for three days.”
“I do not ignore—”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Okay, sometimes,” I admit. “But Harrison’s different. He’s been texting me nonstop. FaceTiming me before bed. And last night…well, we won’t talk about last night. He’s just…nice. And steady. And he’s good to me and obviously to Connor. He’s trying. He’s really trying.”
Antoni softens a little, leaning against the island. “Do you want him to know you’re trying too?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I do.”
He claps his hands. “Wonderful. Then the answer is simple.”
“Perfect. Let’s hear it.”
He grins like he’s about to unveil the world’s worst idea. “Be in his bed when he gets home.”
“Antoni!”
“What?!” He throws his hands up. “It’s romantic.”
“It is not romantic. It’s—”
“Spicy? Risque? Bold?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking it.”
I chew my lip, because unfortunately he’s not wrong. The idea hits me with a jolt, Harrison coming home, tired from travel, opening his bedroom door, and finding me there in his sheets…
Antoni wiggles his brows. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” My face warms. “But it’s crazy. I can’t just sneak into his apartment.”
“Honey, you wouldn’t be sneaking. He literally put your name on his security list,” Antoni reminds me. “He wants you there. Probably in this exact scenario.”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s a man in love, Harper. Trust me, it’s verified.”
I laugh, covering my face with my hands. “You’re insane.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, but you’re in love.”
“I am not—”
He cuts me off with a raised hand. “I know. I heard nothing. My gay ears are on airplane mode. Anyway…” he pushes the giant candle toward me, “I got you this. Vanilla-coconut. A little soothing, a little sexy. You’ll thank me later.”
I stare at the candle, then at him. “You’re really encouraging this?”
“Honey,” Antoni says, leaning in and lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I will personally take Connor to dinner and then to my place for a video game marathon. That child thinks I’m his cool uncle. Plus, he wants to go see that new movie he keeps talking about. So, it’ll be a guys night out.”
I giggle. “I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re chaos incarnate.”
“Which is why he likes me. The point is, I can keep him overnight if it helps you…do what needs to be done.” His smirk makes me smile as does his knowing wink.
My heart thumps embarrassingly hard.
“I don’t know…”
He takes my hands dramatically. “Harper. Sweetie. Darling. My anxious little cryptid. Let the man come home to something good for once. Be the sexy little thing warming his sheets and waiting in his bed.”
“But what if he brings someone home with him?”
His brow lifts. “You mean like another woman?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s easy. You take a knife to his dick and you slice and dice, sis. Ain’t nobody got time for shit games like that. No ma’am.”
His outlandish response makes me burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, I know that sounded really insecure. I’m sorry.”
“Damn right it did. Now who is a sexy queen who deserves to have her insides rearranged by the very man who brought Connor into existence?”
A shy smile spreads across my face, my cheeks warming even more at the idea of being in Harrison’s bed when he gets home tomorrow. “I am.”
“Fucking right you are.”
I blow out a breath. “Alright, I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll do it,” he says confidently. “And tomorrow night, when you’re sending me panicked texts like ‘oh my God he’s touching me,’ I’ll just reply, ‘you’re welcome.’”
I throw a dishtowel at him that he dodges, cackling. But even as we unload more groceries, the image of me in Harrison’s bed burrows under my skin like a fever I can’t sweat out.
Maybe Antoni’s right.
Harrison definitely deserves something good to come home to.
And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can be that something.
I don’t fully decide to do it until I’m standing in front of Harrison’s apartment building, staring up at the glass facade like it’s a dare. Antoni’s words from last night still loop in my head.
Let the man come home to something good.
I take a steadying breath, hitch my overnight bag higher on my shoulder, and push through the doors before I can talk myself out of it. The lobby guard looks up from his desk.
“Evening ma’am,” he says. “Name?”
“Harper.” My voice shakes only a little. “Harper Richardson. For Harrison Meers.”
He smiles like he recognizes it. “You’re cleared, Miss Richardson. Have a great night.”
Holy shit.
He didn’t say anything about Harrison not being here.
But he has to know he’s not back from his trip yet.
He doesn’t even give me the stink eye about going up to his place alone. He merely smiles and goes back to his crossword puzzle.
My stomach flips.
He really added my name to the list.
He really wants me here.
Now I just wonder how he’ll react when he finds me here.
The elevator ride to the tenth floor feels too fast and too slow at the same time. When the doors open with a soft ding, I step out onto the quiet hallway, heart pounding.
His door is the last one on the right.
I unlock it with the key code he texted me weeks ago but have never had the nerve to use.
It was easy to remember because it’s the day we started dating, 0912.
The moment the latch clicks and I step inside, I’m hit with the familiar scent of him, cedar, clean laundry, and something warm and masculine that sinks right under my skin.
It smells like home.
It’s not just his scent, but his presence, his personality that fills the space.
The apartment feels…comfy, like him. It’s masculine without being cold, organized without feeling staged, lived-in but still somehow peaceful and Zen.
There’s an easy warmth to it, like every lamp is intentionally set to glow with soft light instead of bright LEDs.
Floor-to-ceiling windows pour in the city lights that turns the whole space gold, catching on the dark leather sectional, the thick navy throw blanket draped over the back, the stack of hockey notes on the coffee table.
It feels like a place someone built to come home to after long, bruising days.
A space meant for exhaling, for decompressing, for being real.
And underneath all of that, threaded through the air and the walls and the quiet, is something I didn’t expect at all, the unmistakable sense that he lives alone…
like he’s been waiting for someone to walk in and fill the space.
Someone like me.
There’s a jacket draped over the back of the couch, and a pair of running shoes kicked off beside the entryway bench. There are two mugs in the kitchen sink along with one small plate and a fork. He has an impressive set of cookware that I wonder how often he uses.
This is his space.
And tonight, it’s mine too.
I set down my bag and wander slowly, fingertips brushing a bookshelf, the back of the couch, the edge of a framed print. Everything feels intimate in a way that makes my chest tight.
His living room wall is lined with photos; team shots, childhood pictures, random candid snapshots that must mean something to him. I’m halfway through admiring an old black-and-white of him and his teammates when my gaze catches on a frame near the top corner.
I freeze.
It’s us.
The picture is from that summer charity event when we were… what, nineteen? Twenty? I’d forgotten it existed. It’s the one where he tossed his arm around me last minute right as the photographer clicked, both of us laughing too hard to pose.
My hair’s a disaster and I’m mid-laugh.
This is the night we started dating.
He still has it.
Displayed. Not tucked away. Not hidden in a drawer. Right there on the wall like it’s important. Like it means something.
My throat tightens painfully.
“I can’t believe he kept this,” I whisper to no one as I reach up and run my fingers over the frame. Harrison looks so young in it. Hopeful, sunburned, grinning like he thought the world was about to open up for him.
Because it was.
What I never noticed in this picture before now was how he’s looking at me and not the camera.
God.
I sink onto the arm of the couch, staring at us, and then look around the apartment again, the quiet, the stillness, the sense of being let into a part of him that no one else gets to see.
He wanted me here.
He wants me here.
The realization warms me from the inside out.
I stand, shake off the nerves buzzing under my skin, and head toward his bedroom. If I’m really doing this—waiting for him in his bed like some kind of bold, fearless woman—I need to shower, get myself together, and not look like I’ve been having an emotional crisis over an old photograph.
I pull the lingerie I purchased before coming over here out of my bag and lay it on Harrison’s king-sized bed. I light the candle Antoni forced on me, and then pull back the duvet, smoothing the sheets.
My heart thrums with anticipation.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Harrison’s coming home tonight.
And this time, I won’t be waiting from a distance.
I’ll be right here.