Chapter 9 Harper
Harper
Sunday mornings in Carlsbad were supposed to be quiet—sunlight spilling over the ocean, coffee shops buzzing with surfers fresh off the waves, the smell of salt and roasted beans mixing in the air.
I slipped into the corner café on State Street, on my way home, the one with chalkboard menus and uneven wooden tables, planning nothing more exciting than caffeine and a blueberry muffin before crashing into bed. My scrubs felt worn thin.
The last thing I expected was to hear a low voice behind me.
“Thought nurses ran on coffee alone, not muffins.”
“Maybe I like to mix it up,” I said, forcing lightness into my tone.
His gaze flicked to the muffin in my hand, then back up. “Dangerous move. Sugar crash in two hours.”
“Good thing I’ll be asleep by then.”
I grabbed my cup of coffee and slid into a corner table, and told myself to focus on breakfast. But Carter didn’t leave. He picked up his own coffee, glanced around, and walked straight to my table like there wasn’t an empty seat in the place.
“Mind if I sit?”
I hesitated. My head said yes, I mind. My pulse said absolutely not.
“Sure,” I said finally.
He sat across from me, sprawling in a way that took up more space than the chair allowed, but his attention stayed tight on me. It was unnerving, that level of focus.
“You always work nights?” he asked.
“Mostly. Somebody has to.”
“You like it?”
I blew across the rim of my coffee, buying a second. “I like that it matters.”
His jaw ticked, a flash of understanding there. “Yeah. That’s the part that keeps you in it, even when it costs.”
The way he said it made me wonder just how much he’d given up. But I didn’t ask. It was none of my business.
We sat there, the space between us thick with things unsaid. Around us, the café buzzed with easy Sunday laughter, but it felt like we were in a different pocket of air entirely—sharper, heavier.
Carter leaned in slightly, forearms braced on the table. “You ever think about slowing down?”
I met his eyes, steady. “You ever think about sitting still?”
For the first time since I’d met him, he laughed. A real one. Short, rough, but it tugged a smile from me before I could stop it.
And just like that, I knew I was in trouble.
The moment stretched until my coffee cooled, until my muffin sat forgotten between us. Carter leaned back finally, but not in retreat—more like he’d decided something I wasn’t privy to yet.
“You done?” he asked, nodding toward my cup.
I arched a brow. “Why?”
“Because I’m not ready to let you disappear just yet.” His voice was easy, but his eyes said he meant every word.
Heat curled low in my stomach. I stood, slipping the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “I was planning to walk home.”
He rose too, moving with that controlled grace I’d noticed the first night. “Then I’ll walk with you.”
I should’ve said no. Independence was second nature; letting someone into my space wasn’t. But the truth? The truth was, I wanted to see what it felt like to have Carter Robinson beside me when the world wasn’t burning down.
“Suit yourself,” I said, pushing the door open.
The morning air was bright, the sidewalks alive with families and tourists. Carter matched his pace to mine, hands tucked into his pockets, scanning the street like it was instinct. Maybe it was.
“You always walk alone?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why? You going to tell me it’s dangerous?”
He gave me a sidelong look, one corner of his mouth tugging. “You of all people know how dangerous it is to walk alone.”
“Thanks for… the company,” I said.
He nodded, gaze steady on mine. “Anytime, Harper. I meant that.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. The city hummed around us, but the space between us was sharp and quiet, like the second before a storm. His hand flexed at his side, like he wanted to close the distance but wasn’t sure if he should.
“Get some sleep,” he said finally, voice softer now.
I managed a nod, though my pulse was a drumbeat under my skin. “You too.”
He stepped back then, but his eyes lingered, as if walking away cost him more than he’d admit. I turned toward the stairs, heart hammering, the weight of his presence still shadowing me long after he was gone.