Chapter 19 #2
Harper tilts her head, eyes scouring over me. "But you're not. Not completely."
"It was a good deal. Strategically sound. The right move for StreamEats."
"But?"
"But Richard Francis is an ass. And working with Alexei would have been—" I exhale. "Impossible."
"So you chose your sanity over the deal."
"I choose a lot of things over the deal."
The words hang between us.
Harper's expression softens. "Victor, I don’t know if—“
"I need to ask you something."
"Okay."
"Next Thursday is Thanksgiving."
She blinks. "It is."
"My friend Roman just invited us to dinner. At our friend Christian's Nonna's house. With a book club full of Italian grandmothers who will absolutely interrogate us about our relationship."
"That sounds terrifying."
"It does."
"But you want to go?"
"I—" Screw it. Time to be honest. "Yes. I think I do."
Harper's smile is slow and warm. "Then we should go."
"You're sure? You probably have plans with your family."
"We're French-Canadian. We celebrated Thanksgiving in October. American Thanksgiving is just another Thursday to us." She takes another sip of coffee. "Besides, I'd like to meet your friends. See you in your natural habitat."
"My natural habitat is a boardroom."
"Your natural habitat is wherever you're trying very hard not to show emotions." She grins. "So yes. A room full of Italian grandmothers asking invasive questions sounds perfect."
"You're going to regret this."
"Probably. But I'm going anyway."
I cross to her, stopping just close enough that I can smell the coffee’s cinnamon on her skin and the faint scent of my shirt.
"We should fly back to New York tonight," I say. "Get ahead of the fallout. Talk to Rachel. Figure out damage control."
"Okay."
"And I want to do something else."
"What?"
"I want to put you on Weeknight Wins. Film an episode. Thanksgiving special. You cooking with my friends."
Harper's eyes widen. "Victor, that's—the board is already questioning your judgment. Pushing my show right now is going to make things worse."
"I don't care."
"You should care. This is your company."
"And you're my woman. You're important to me. More important than board politics."
She's staring at me like I've just spoken another language.
"You're going to get yourself fired," she says quietly.
"Possibly."
"For a cooking show episode."
I tip one finger beneath her chin, pointing her gaze to mine. "I've spent the last three years making every decision based on strategy and optics and what the board thinks. And where has that gotten me? Frozen in place. Cranky as hell.”
"So you're going to blow up your career for me?"
"I'm going to stop pretending I don't want things just because wanting them feels unfamiliar.” I lean closer. "And I want you on that show. I want the world to see what I see when you cook. I want—"
"What do you want, Victor?"
"You. Just you."
She kisses me then, and I instantly wrap my arms, crushing her soft body to mine. At this early hour, Harper is a ball of pure sunshine, her skin warm, her cheeks still rosy from sleep.
And when she pulls back, her hazel eyes are practically golden orbs of light.
"Okay," she whispers. "Let's do it. Thanksgiving episode. Your friends. Italian grandmothers. The whole chaotic disaster."
"You're sure?"
"I'm terrified. But yes. I'm sure."
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hands sliding into her hair. She makes that sound—the one that drives me insane—and I pull her closer, my body fitting between her legs where she's perched on the counter.
"Victor," she breathes against my mouth.
"Yes?"
"We should probably stop."
"Probably."
"Before this gets out of hand."
"Agreed."
Neither of us stops.
Her hands are in my hair. Mine are sliding under my shirt—her shirt—finding warm skin.
"We're supposed to be taking this slow," she manages.
"This is slow."
"This is not slow."
"It's slower than what I want to do to you right now."
She laughs breathlessly. "And what's that?"
I pull back just enough to look at her. "I want to take you back to that cabin. I want to peel this shirt off you. And I want to spend the rest of the morning proving that asking you to be my girlfriend was the best decision I may ever have made.”
Her pink lips part. "That's—that's very specific."
"I'm a specific person."
"You're a very dangerous person."
"Only to you."
We're staring at each other, both breathing hard, and I can see her wavering.
Then her phone buzzes from somewhere in her cabin, breaking the spell.
"Saved by the bell," she mutters.
"Unfortunate timing."
She climbs down from the counter, and I immediately miss the heat of her.
"I should get dressed," she says. "We should probably head back. Face reality."
"Reality can wait."
"Victor—"
"Five more minutes. Just—stay here with me for five more minutes."
She looks at me for a long moment, then crosses back to me and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my chest.
I hold her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair, and try to memorize this moment.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice is whispering that this is too good to last. That something is going to go wrong.
That the other shoe is going to drop.
But standing here, holding Harper in the morning light of a catamaran galley, I let myself ignore that voice.
"Victor?" Harper's voice is muffled against my chest.
"Yes?"
"Whatever happens with the board, with the acquisition, with everything—we're going to be okay. Right?"
“For both our sakes?” I kiss the top of her head, ignoring the gnawing in my gut. “I hope so."