Chapter 18 Harper #2
I smile against his chest. “Oh, absolutely,” I say. “Very chill. Very ‘this-is-fine.’”
He snorts, the sound vibrating through me. “Okay, because I’m failing miserably.”
I tilt my head up to look at him. He’s watching me already, eyes soft and a little stunned, like he’s still wrapping his head around the fact that I’m here. That I stayed.
“Me too,” I admit.
His arm tightens around me. “Okay. Just checking.”
We lie here another moment, his fingers idly playing with a strand of my hair, the silence comfortable instead of heavy. It feels domestic in a way that makes my chest ache.
“I forgot how much you talk in your sleep,” he says suddenly.
I stiffen. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“What did I say?” I ask, instantly suspicious.
He grins. “Nothing incriminating. Mostly my name. Once you told me to ‘stop being a hero’ and ‘go get water.’”
Heat rushes to my face. “I was being responsible.”
He laughs, full and warm, then presses a kiss to my forehead. “You always were.”
Something about that—always—settles into me like a promise and I smile sighing against Harrison’s chest, finally feeling content and happy for the first time in, well, years.
And then my stomach growls loudly, completely betraying the sweet moment.
We freeze and then Harrison bursts out laughing. “Wow. Timing.”
I groan and bury my face in his chest. “Ugh. Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”
“Oh no,” he says, amused. “We are absolutely acknowledging it. That is the sound of someone who needs breakfast.”
“I did not plan for breakfast,” I mumble. “I planned for…you know…”
He tilts my chin up gently until I’m looking at him. “Lucky for you, I own cereal. And eggs. And approximately seventeen protein shakes.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I draw the line at protein shakes.”
“Fair.” He pauses. “Though I should warn you, if you stay, you’re officially my first ‘morning after’ guest.”
The weight of that lands between us.
I search his face. “Is that okay?”
His expression softens, something earnest and steady settling in his eyes. “More than okay.” My chest tightens as he brushes his thumb over my cheek. “I know this is complicated,” he says quietly. “With Connor. With us. With everything we lost and everything we’re trying to figure out.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“But this?” He gestures between us, small but certain. “This feels right.”
I lean in and kiss him, slowly, unhurried, smiling into it. “It does.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “So. Stay for breakfast?”
I pretend to think about it. “Only if you promise not to burn anything.”
He scoffs. “Says the woman who burned the garlic bread.”
“Touché.” I giggle. “I’ve seen your cooking skills, you know.”
“Correction,” he says with a smirk. “You saw my college cooking skills. Mac-n-cheese, ramen, pb&j, but my tastes have matured over the years.”
“Oh yeah?” I smooth my hand over the ridges of his abs.
“Mhmm. Maybe I need to have you and Connor over here so I can cook for you.”
“I think he would think that’s the coolest idea in the whole wide world.”
“Good. It’s settled,” he purrs, shifting suddenly and pulling me over his body so that I’m straddling him.
The movement sends spark through my core.
His hands slide up my thighs, hitching my tee higher until it bunches at my waist, his gaze roaming over the heated skin where our bodies meet.
The intensity in his eyes makes me feel deliciously exposed and utterly cherished.
“What are you doing?” I murmur, breath catching as he stiffens underneath me.
“I’ve got to get a workout in before breakfast,” he replies, voice low and teasing.
“A workout, huh?” I wiggle against him and he lets out a soft groan.
“Just a little cardio,” he says with a smirk.
I raise an eyebrow. “Cardio? Is that your polite way of saying I need to tone up?”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling straight through me. “That’s one way to put it. But really, babe, this isn’t about you hitting the gym.” His fingers trail up my torso, skimming under my breasts before sliding back down. “I just want to remind you how much fun we can have together.”
My heart hammers at the promise. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
His gaze darkens, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes. “By reminding you how good it feels to be on top…or letting you take a ride while I get a shotgun seat.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I bite back a smile, my heart doing little flips at the thought of the man I’ve wanted for so long being right here in front of me, challenging me in a way that feels so utterly thrilling. “Oh, really? You think you can just say that and I’ll pounce?”
His playful smirk fades. “Oh, sorry.” He starts to sit up. “If you’re not interested we—”
“Nuh-uh-uh.” I press a firm palm to his chest, pushing him back down.
His grin slowly reappearing when I shrug out of my shirt and toss it aside.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, Meers, but let me tell you this…
” I lean down so my lips hover over his, my nipples brushing his skin.
“I didn’t come here last night for waffles. ”
Harrison’s kitchen looks exactly like I knew it would. Clean but lived-in, all sharp lines and warm wood. There’s a professional coffee machine that probably cost more than my couch sitting in the corner, a faint smell of espresso lingering in the air.
I’m barefoot wearing one of Harrison’s T-shirts holding a spatula like it might attack me. “This is…very advanced,” I say cautiously, eyeing the stove.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with open amusement. “It’s an omelet, Harper. Not a nuclear reactor.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You grew up with a hockey mom who probably made breakfast for a small army.”
He grins. “That is wildly accurate once I gained some friends on the team.”
I crack the egg too hard, the shell splintering into the bowl and freeze. “Oh shit.”
He steps closer, peering down. “Did you just assassinate that egg?”
“I panicked,” I say defensively. “It was staring at me.”
He laughs, low and fond, and gently takes the bowl from my hands. “Okay. Rule one is confidence. Eggs can smell fear.”
“I do not smell like fear,” I argue. “I smell like…victory.”
He waggles his brows and leans to whisper, “You smell like me, babe, and I love it.”
Blushing at his comment, I successfully break open another egg and mix it with the other ingredients before pouring it into the frying pan. After a few minutes, I try to flip the egg but it lands half on the burner, half on the stove.
Shit.
Again?
We both stare at it.
“That’s not right, is it,” I ask.
“Nope,” he says, laughing softly and stepping in behind me. His chest presses lightly to my back as he reaches around me for the spatula, his hands steady over mine. “But you’re close.”
So are you.
And I’m really enjoying it.
His voice is calm, encouraging, and the way he guides my wrist—slowly, patiently—makes something flutter in my chest. “Like this,” he murmurs. “Gentle. Let it cook before you try to move it.”
I nod, swallowing. “You’re very good at this.”
“At breakfast?” he asks.
“At…helping,” I answer.
He pauses, then smiles. “I like helping you.”
“You help Connor too. You’re a natural with him, you know?”
His demeanor turns inward, his vulnerability starting to show. “You think so?”
“Mhmm. It’s fun to watch you two. He’s idolized you for years and you’re just so…” I shrug. “I don’t know, calm, with him. Like you’ve had a relationship with him for years. He really listens to you.”
“Hmm.” He nods but doesn’t say more. I wonder what he’s thinking and am about to ask him when the eggs are ready to be plated.
They turn out edible. Just barely.
We sit at the island with mismatched plates and mugs of coffee, the morning sun pouring in through the windows. It feels…domestic. Comfortable. Like something we could get used to if we let ourselves.
I poke at my omelet. “I swear I’m competent in other areas of life.”
“I’ve seen your career,” he says dryly. “I think you’ll survive a bad egg.”
I smile but then grow quiet and he notices almost immediately. His eyes soften before he asks, “You’ve gone quiet. Where are you?”
My fork clinks against the plate. “Connor.”
The playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something steadier, more resolute. “Yeah,” he says. “Been on my mind too.”
I push my now scrambled eggs around my plate. “We can’t keep pretending. He’s bound to notice things eventually, and if he doesn’t, anybody else could. If some other kid at school notices and asks him about it…”
Harrison nods. “He deserves the truth from us. Both of us.”
“You still want to tell him together?” I ask, studying his face.
“Of course. It’s the only way that makes sense,” he says without missing a beat. “Shows him we’re solid. That this isn’t something either of us is walking away from.”
My throat tightens. “What if he hates me?”
“He might be angry,” Harrison admits. “But I’d rather face that than keep lying to him, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I blink back the heat behind my eyes. “How do we even start?”
Harrison takes a sip of coffee. “Why don’t you bring him here. I’ll make dinner. Something he likes. We can all spend time together first, and then we can talk. No rush, no interruptions. Just us.”
I picture Connor here in this room, at the counter helping Harrison cook, his hockey jersey on, his laugh filling this space. “Okay,” I whisper. “Dinner here. Then we tell him. Together.”
Harrison’s hand finds mine across the island, his callused thumb tracing circles on my skin. “Whatever happens after, I’m in this for good. You know that, right?”
I squeeze his fingers. “I know.”
His smile reaches his eyes. “Good.”
We finish eating in a silence that feels like a promise.
When Connor learns the truth about Harrison, everything is going to change. Our entire dynamic will be different from that moment forward. But for the first time in ten years, I won’t be carrying this weight alone. Harrison isn’t just here for Connor. He’s here for me too.
For us.