Chapter 5
Harper
It feels like Ford has gone out of his way to avoid me since the coffee shop incident. He’s the first person who made me laugh about this situation when all I want to do is cry. I miss him.
At least Gina and Lance’s engagement party will keep me busy tonight. The Moose Lodge where it’s being held is already filling up, and I have the perfect excuse for not having a date: I’m the photographer.
I’m capturing candid shots of the room, searching for the perfect angles that will make it memorable for Gina, while successfully dodging awkward small talk from nosy neighbors eager to share their condolences about my lack of a date, my failed engagement, and my ex’s constant presence in my life.
Betsy Johnson tried to corner me again, so I maneuvered to the front door, the cold air acting as a barrier between us. She always complains about the chill, even in summer.
When Gina asked for decorating ideas, I shared everything I wanted for my own engagement party. Asher didn’t think throwing one was worthwhile, so we never had one.
There were definitely red flags I should have noticed, huh?
I even helped Mom decorate the Moose Lodge.
Christmas lights twisted with garland are strung along the walls, and the tables are draped in deep red tablecloths, adorned with holly centerpieces.
We’ve set up a beautifully lit archway as a photo prop, making the space stunning—especially for a place usually filled with aging men and the stale scent of cigar smoke.
Ford steps through the doors, and I can’t help but smile as I snap a few shots before he turns and catches my eye.
The camera lens captures what my mind already knows: the crisp navy button-down stretched across shoulders that could carry a small village, the charcoal dress slacks that hug his thighs in ways flannel never could.
His sleeves are rolled to reveal forearms mapped with veins, and the top button of his shirt strains slightly when he nods hello, as if the fabric itself is protesting its containment of him.
My fingertips tingle against the camera. God, what is wrong with me? This is my ex’s best friend.
He gives me one of those slow, deliberate nods that somehow communicates both respect and something decidedly less respectful, and I feel heat bloom from my chest to my hairline. My dress suddenly feels too tight, the room too warm, my skin too sensitive.
But then the next couple I photograph freezes that warmth like a January midnight: Kenzie, in her too-tight ruby dress with already-wilting curls, and Asher, with his practiced smile that never quite reaches his eyes, are walking right toward me.
There’s nowhere to run or hide. I feel like a deer caught in headlights, facing an oncoming semi with no hope of escape. Just as they’re about to reach me, Ford appears out of nowhere. “Gina says she needs you. Something about a photo op?”
I smile and nod. “Thanks.”
“What kind of photo op?” Kenzie asks, her tone dripping with curiosity.
“Like I know. She might’ve said, but I’m a dude. Besides, my idea of good photography is not having my finger over the lens on my phone,” Ford replies, shrugging.
Kenzie sneers and flips her flattening hair over her shoulder.
It never fails that she tries to curl it for any event that seems remotely dressy, yet her stick-straight hair refuses to hold a curl.
Even the perm she attempted in ninth grade lasted only three days.
Still, she persists, and it gives me a small sense of satisfaction to walk away knowing she looks a little disheveled.
Gina beams when I approach, but her smile quickly falters. “Why are Asher and Kenzie here?”
“I figured you invited them. Are they crashing?” I ask, almost amused.
“Obviously. Why would I invite them? I want this to be a happy occasion, not a horror flick.”
I laugh. “So what’s this photo op you want?”
“What?”
“Ford said you needed me.”
Her smirk is knowing, but she doesn’t elaborate. “I didn’t even know Ford was here. I think he might’ve saved you.”
Sneaky.
“I invited them,” Mom says, walking up and wrapping an arm around both of us. “I’m on the holiday committee with Dorothy, and the Andrews family has been intertwined with ours for years.”
“Yeah, because Harper was going to become one. Now she’s not. So there’s no need to include them anymore. Cut the cord, Mom. Just let them plummet to their death. Gory, bloody death.”
I can’t help but laugh as Mom stares at her, horrified. “Gina Marie!”
“She’s not entirely wrong, Mom. Why can’t we just keep our lives separate after our horrifically failed relationship? I don’t need him shoved in my face more than he already is,” I say.
“Sometimes, Harper, it’s better to fight with sugar than acid.”
“I don’t agree. If there were a cup of acid right on this table, I’d walk up and throw it at Kenzie.”
Mom shakes her head, small strands of gray hair slipping from her clip. “I can’t with you right now, Gina,” she mutters before walking away.
“You know what I find interesting?” Gina asks.
“That you can make Mom walk away in frustration at your own engagement party?”
She sticks her tongue out and shakes her strawberry-blonde head, laughing. “No, that’s too easy. I don’t even have to try anymore. It’s almost boring now. What’s interesting is how Asher’s best friend swoops in like a superhero to keep you from talking to your ex.”
I wave my hand dismissively. If he hadn’t been avoiding me for days, I might’ve considered it more, but I think he was just being kind. “I think he just feels sorry for me.”
Her gaze locks onto Ford as he steps away from Asher and Kenzie to grab a drink and lean against the wall. “Take that pity sex. He looks like he could give it better than Asher ever could.”
Mom gasps from behind us. We both turn to see her wide-eyed, hand over her mouth. “Gina Marie! You’re almost a married woman!”
“I’m not married yet,” she replies. “And that’s the truth. Just look at the two of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if Asher’s smaller than Ford in more ways than just height.”
To my surprise, Mom taps a finger to her chin, tilting her head to study Ford before glancing back to Asher. “He does have remarkably large hands, doesn’t he?”
“Mom!” I gasp.
She shrugs. “It’s true. And they say that large hands mean—”
“Just be open to the idea,” Gina interjects with a shiver.
That could easily lead into a conversation about our dad, and neither of us wants to go there. Gross.
“I’m not going to jump into bed with Asher’s best friend. I’m not like him.”
Mom gives me a sympathetic look and pats my shoulder. “That’s your choice, dear,” she says before walking over to Dad.
“See? Even Mom thinks you should jump him. And from the looks of him, he’s sturdy enough to handle a lot of jumping. And bouncing. Lots of rubbing.”
Blinking, I just stare at her. “What is going on with you? Have you eaten some of those spicy cube things that are all over TikTok? You’re raunchier than usual.”
She lowers her voice. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Probably not,” I joke.
“Well, keep this one anyway.” She leans in to whisper, “We’re getting married so fast because we found out the day after Thanksgiving that I’m pregnant.”