Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Harper
This man is breaking my heart.
Blinking back tears, I pull my hand from his, and the subsequent look on his face kills me.
But I shove that away, because I’m already moving, already rounding the table.
Already plunking myself into his lap.
I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.
I don’t say anything. I don’t know the right words to say.
I just hold him.
He’s still for a long moment then his arms wrap around me and his head drops to my shoulder.
We’re in public—yes, it’s early, yes, the table is as private as I could manage.
But we’re still in public.
Still visible.
And he’s still accepting the comfort I’m offering.
“I thought I was the same as them—or would end up the same as them eventually. I thought it was my destiny to be like them. That the only love I could give would be toxic. Fuck, I’m still scared it might be.”
“It won’t be.”
He lifts his head, his eyes colliding with mine.
“What’s that saying?” I ask softly. “About imposter syndrome—like you can’t be an imposter if you’re worried you are one.” I touch his jaw. “It won’t be toxic because you won’t let it become that way. Because you lived it and hated it and don’t want it to be our future or our family’s future.”
He shudders. “Our family?”
“You’ve already built a wonderful one with Luna and Smitty and Sawyer and Faye and Kailey and the others.”
“They’re your family too.”
“I know,” I say. And it’s no longer me just saying those words.
It’s me believing them.
“And we’re adding to it.” He settles his hand on my belly and my heart starts pounding so fast it feels like it will explode out through my ribs.
“Yes,” I whisper, eyes stinging. “Our family.”
“Harp,” he whispers back, his fingertips pressing lightly into me. “I was an asshole and I hurt you. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I hurt you too,” I say. “I was scared and I was protecting myself by pushing you away, But I hurt you and I’m sorry for that.”
His big chest inflates on a breath. “How are you so wonderful?”
“Keep remembering that wonderfulness when I send you out on midnight craving runs.”
He chuckles. “I can’t wait.” Then he cups my cheek, his expression going serious.
“I know it’s going to take work to fix this—what’s wrong with me, what I did to us.
And I know that, despite my best efforts, I’m still probably going to fuck up sometimes.
” His eyes hold mine. “But I promise you that I won’t walk away again, won’t leave you wondering if I’m going to come back, if I’m going to be there for our family. Because I will be. Always.”
“Leo,” I whisper.
“And so I know I can make all these promises—tell you that I’m going to stay, going to be here—but I also know it’s going to take time for you to trust in that, for me to prove that to you, especially when the season starts and I’m traveling all the time.”
I hadn’t even thought of that.
God, that’s going to suck. Except—
“I’ll have the girls to keep me company.”
He smirks. “To get you into mischief, you mean.”
“Who us?”
More laughter rumbling up in his chest before we fall quiet. My thoughts are zipping this way and that, processing what he shared about his parents, what he said about proving to me he won’t leave again. It’s a lot to unpack.
Time, he’d said.
I need time. We need time.
He’s right. And he’s also not.
Because, for better or for worse, that slender stalk of hope is no longer thin and breakable. It’s sturdy and strong and growing tall.
Eventually, I start to become aware of the other people in the bakery. It was mostly empty when we first came in because it was so early, but now the space is getting busy as people stop in for breakfast or one of Molly’s delicious coffees to go.
I push at his shoulders, stand.
Or try to, anyway.
Because Leo’s arms tighten around my middle, and he holds me in place.
Which, for the record, is still his lap, his hard thighs beneath me, his warm, hard chest pressed to my side, those strong arms wrapped taut.
And really, I’m not complaining.
I like it here.
“What are you doing?” he asks huskily.
“Going back to my chair.”
“Why?”
“Because”—I wave a hand around—“people.”
His mouth twitches. “So?”
I roll my eyes and push at his chest again. His arm tightens for the barest of a second before he releases me, that big hand of his sliding along my waist as I stand.
I shiver, heat blooming in my belly, between my thighs.
But I manage to make it on shaky legs back to my side of the table.
“Harp?” he asks when I pick up my apple turnover.
“Yeah?”
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
I fuss with the hem of my dress, smooth down the front, unreasonably nervous considering all the time Leo and I have already spent together, both naked and not.
But we’re having dinner.
Going out to dinner.
It’s not just one of us bringing takeout or cooking. It’s not eating together because we’ve gotten together with everyone else and food happens to be around.
It’s dinner.
It’s a date.
So, yeah, my stomach is full of butterflies and my pulse is pounding through my veins.
At least my morning sickness is pretty much a thing of the past at this point and I don’t have to worry about puking up what will hopefully be delicious food.
No. What will be delicious food.
Because we’re going to Bella Nonna.
The grandmother who founded it is retired now, but she still makes an appearance in the kitchen every once in a while, and tonight Leo somehow got us tickets to one of those rare times.
We’ll get to have her tasting menu and even if I won’t get to have more than a tiny taste of her wine pairings (sip and spit for the win), I’m looking forward to it, maybe more than anything.
I was thinking of the food.
Five minutes later, I realize I should have been looking forward to Leo.
As in, Leo appearing on my porch in a suit, looking beyond delectable.
The way he fills out the deep blue slacks and jacket, the crisp white shirt? Delicious. As is the tie I want to wrap around my hand and use to yank him toward me so I can kiss him senseless.
“God, baby,” he rumbles. “You look incredible.”
I manage to resist the urge to draw him inside and do things that will definitely make us miss Nonna’s dinner, and say, “You clean up nice yourself.”
His mouth hitches up. “I like the dress.”
I smooth my hand down my front again. “It’s a little tight.” I struggled to get the zipper up, though thankfully, the waistline is forgiving, floating over my belly. “But none of my pants, aside from sweats, can button and I’m not attending one of Nonna’s famous dinners in sweatpants.”
“I can’t say I’m disappointed in this particular outcome,” he murmurs, his eyes lingering on my chest.
My stomach flutters, but he doesn’t give me a chance to respond, just snags my purse and light sweater from the table and holds up the latter for me to slip my arms into.
The day has been warm, but there’s a hint of coolness in the air.
I take my purse, lock up.
Then Leo is wrapping an arm around my middle, guiding me down the sidewalk to his car.
He makes me laugh as he opens my door, buckles my seat belt (God, why is it so sweet when he does that?), and our conversation continues without effort for the entire drive to Nonna’s.
It’s easy.
Natural.
Exactly like our night together all those months ago.
Only this one is going to end differently.
Because, in my heart, I know Leo is going to be there beside me when I wake up in the morning.