Chapter 7 Harper #2
I make lunch from the groceries Aiden stocked—grilled cheese and apple slices. Simple. Familiar. We eat at the island, our feet dangling above the floor, Mason kicking his legs absently.
“Can we stay here forever?” he asks around a mouthful of cheese.
“No,” I say gently. “This is just for a little while.”
“Oh,” he says, then shrugs. “Okay.”
After lunch, I shepherd him into the massive bathroom to brush his teeth. He peers at his reflection while he works, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then he growls like a wild animal at himself and makes claws with his fingers.
I snort a laugh at him. “You’re a monster.”
“A bear. Rawr!”
“Ahh!” I feign panic, and he bursts into giggles.
They don’t last long. “Mom?” he asks around the toothbrush.
“Yes, baby.”
“Does Aiden have kids who don’t live with him?” He pauses, thinking hard. “Like me and Daddy.”
“No,” I say carefully. “He doesn’t have kids.”
Mason spits, rinses, then looks up at me. “Why not?”
Because life is complicated.
“I don’t know,” I say instead. “Some people just don’t. Like Aunt Carlie.”
Mason considers this, then nods. “Okay.” He pads back toward the couch, conversation apparently complete. I stay where I am for a moment, gripping the counter, heart aching in a way I don’t let myself do very often.
I chose the wrong man six years ago. And Mason pays for it with an empty space he doesn’t yet know how to name.
That’s not entirely true, and I know it. Leaving Aiden behind was not my choice. It was his. But every time I thought about him in the past six years, I’ve wondered what would have happened if I had tried harder. If I had argued the issue, if I had pushed him…
If I had to push him, I would have resented him. I would have thought he never actually wanted me—that I had bullied him into being with me. So, that wouldn’t have worked, either.
The afternoon drifts by in fragments—cartoons, snacks, a nap he insists he doesn’t need and absolutely does. I answer emails from my phone, talk to my insurance adjuster, pretend my hands aren’t shaking every time my thoughts circle back to the bar.
When Aiden comes home, the penthouse changes again. The air tightens. Shifts.
I’m in the kitchen starting dinner when I hear the door. I don’t turn around, but I know it’s him. His presence fills the space in a way that has nothing to do with sound. “Hey.”
My smile is instantaneous. Can’t help it. “Hey.” When I turn to face him, there’s a look in his eyes that makes my throat go dry. “Hungry?”
Those dangerous eyes gaze over my entire body. Slowly. Methodically. Heat trails through me wherever he looks. “Starving.”
He is not talking about food. I barely rasp out, “Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Can I help?”
“Almost done, actually.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“How about you get Mason ready for dinner?”
He smiles, and I feel it in my bones. “On it.” He vanishes to the living room, and I hear Mason’s excitement when he sees him.
Maybe we really can do this.
That’s the thought that carries me through dinner. Afterward, I’m clearing the table when Aiden says, “I’ll wash the dishes.”
“I’ll dry,” I reply immediately. “Mason, do you want to finish that movie?”
“Yeah!” he practically leaps out of his seat and scrambles to the living room.
Moments later, me and Aiden stand side by side at the sink, careful not to touch. “Um, so… we should probably have some house rules while me and Mason are staying here. Right?”
The way he washes a wooden spoon—his grip shuttling up and down the handle—distracts me. “… eight o’clock.”
I blink a few times. “Um, what?”
“You said Mason’s bedtime during the school week is eight, right?”
“I did?”
“The other day—”
“Right, right.” I snatch the wooden spoon from him and dry it quickly. “Where’s the wood oil? This thing is dryer than Joshua Tree.”
Aiden’s brow furrows. “What?”
“It’s a desert national park. Wood oil?”
“I don’t have any.”
I shake my head at him. “And you call yourself a cook?”
“No. I call myself a firefighter. The cooking is required to keep me fueled for fighting fires.” He reaches for the wooden spoon, misses, and grabs my hand instead. That accidental brush sets me alight.
Firefighter, my ass. And then I remember how good a kisser he is.
The kitchen feels smaller with him in it.
Not physically—nothing about this penthouse is small—but the air tightens, the space between us suddenly charged. He reluctantly releases my hand, so I pass him the spoon. He sets it on the windowsill over the sink. “I’ll get some oil for that thing.”
And now, all I can picture is him oiling it, hand moving up and down the length—
Aiden rolls up his sleeves and turns on the water to make the sink hot again, the sound filling the silence we’re both pretending doesn’t exist.
We fall into an awkward rhythm. Plate to towel. Glass to rack. Our movements careful, deliberate, like we’re navigating a narrow bridge. Every time our hands get too close, one of us adjusts, pulling back just in time.
“This can’t get confusing,” I say, because if I don’t say it, I won’t say anything sensible at all.
Aiden doesn’t look up. “Agreed.”
“So,” I continue, forcing a practical tone. “Like I said before… rules.”
He nods once. “Rules.”
I take a breath. “This is temporary. We’re here because it’s safe. Not because—” I gesture vaguely between us. “Anything else.”
“Understood.”
“No mixed signals,” I add. “For Mason’s sake.”
That makes him glance up. His eyes soften, just a fraction. “I will be careful with him. I’m sorry about saying all of that in front of him before. I just… the thought of you two in danger short-circuited something in my brain. Won’t happen again.”
“And,” I finish, bracing myself, “no revisiting the past.”
Aiden sets a plate in the sink with more care than necessary. “That might be the hardest rule yet.”
I swallow. “Still a rule.”
He nods. “Okay.”
We lapse back into silence, but it’s worse now—thick, humming, alive. The water runs warm over his hands, steam rising faintly. I watch it bead on his skin before I can stop myself. When he passes me a mug, our fingers brush.
Electric.
I inhale sharply, pretending it’s nothing.
Aiden’s gaze flicks to my mouth before he can catch himself. I see it. He sees that I see it. The moment stretches, fragile and dangerous.
I remember his mouth like muscle memory—how sure he is, how gentle when he wants to be. The thought hits me so hard I have to grip the counter to steady myself. “This is a bad idea.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re the one who made the rules.”
“I know. I’m reconsidering the options.”
His hands still under the water. He turns toward me fully now, eyes dark blue like a sea during a storm. “Harper.”
I am falling into those eyes. Drifting. “Yes.” I’m not sure if it’s a question or the answer.
His gaze flickers to my lips, then back up to my eyes. “I know you heard some things earlier—”
“Shut up.” I step closer, pressing myself to him. “No more talking.”
That damn smirk of his drives me to my tiptoes as he tilts his head down to meet my lips—
“Mom?” Mason asks.
We spring apart like we’ve been caught doing something far worse than washing dishes.
Mason holds something out to me, proud and curious all at once. “I found this in Aiden’s office. Is this you?”
My heart stutters. A pic of me and Aiden, six years ago, by the fire at sunset. His arm around my shoulders. My smile unguarded.
I stare at it, stunned.
Because I can’t believe he has it. And suddenly, the rules don’t matter at all.