Chapter 35
Luke
In an unfortunate string of events, I’m starting to think Cassie is right.
Did Harper have it in her head that Cassie and I were back together? All I was trying to do was give her a safe place to sleep overnight. If it were up to me, I would have never gone out with Cassie in the first place.
Harper is jealous. Whether she’s willing to admit it or not, Harper is more than just curious about what happened between Cassie and me. She wants to know the details and why things broke off.
I’ve tried to be vague, to allude to my feelings—but again, not bold enough.
I’m aware of how Cassie said I needed to be obvious, but how much more obvious do I need to be?
We’re back in the car, driving around until we find something cool to explore in our limited time left before departure. We normally talk so easily, but there’s something thick in the air between us.
“Oh! Let’s go there!” Harper says, pointing to a lighthouse on the top of a hill.
I turn up the road that looks like it will take us in the right direction.
Harper’s been quiet since we were at the hot spring, which only makes me worry about what she’s thinking.
I know obvious is the goal, but I feel like I can only make it so obvious before I scare her off.
If kissing is out of the question, then do I just hold her hand and hope she gets the hint?
Literally whisk her off her feet? Knowing my luck, Harper wouldn’t even make the connection that I’m trying to make a move.
We’ve always been physical with each other, just not intimate.
Harper leans forward and turns up the radio, which is connected to the playlist on her phone.
She starts singing softly to a song by Coldplay.
For as long as I’ve known her, she’s absentmindedly hummed the lyrics of their songs while she’s focusing on something.
I’m not even sure if she’s aware of it when she’s doing it.
The lyrics from “Paradise” fill the car as Harper sings along. It occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve heard her actually sing. In the years that we’ve known each other, whenever she did sing, it was humming or singing in a joking way. Not like this.
Her voice is melodic and fits the harmonies of the song perfectly.
“What?” she says, turning to me.
I realize I’ve been smiling. “Your voice is nice,” I admit.
When I glance over, she shies away, color rushing to her cheeks.
“Lots of practice singing while I clean.”
“Shower acoustics don’t do it for you?” I say with a soft chuckle.
“Well, I can hear myself less when the vacuum is on. Makes it easier to tune out how off-pitch I am.”
“You sound great,” I say.
She blushes again.
It’s not that we never compliment each other, but we usually have more of a banter. Our compliments are usually laced with sarcasm.
“Well, maybe you just don’t know what good singing sounds like,” she says. “I haven’t heard you sing to compare. Maybe you’re a terrible singer, and that’s why you think I sound so good. You play that guitar all the time, but you never do anything more than hum.”
I make a face, feigning insult. “I sound great.”
I can sing. In fact, I typically sing when I’m playing guitar alone, but I’ve never sung in front of anyone before. I prefer to let the guitar do the talking.
She giggles, and the sound makes my heart roar. “Prove it,” she says.
I think about it as Paradise plays softly in the background.
“Later,” I promise. I vaguely remember seeing a poster in Reykjavik about an open mic night, but I’m not sure of the details. But if there is. . .
“Why later?” she presses.
We pull into the parking lot of the lighthouse. We can see the ocean out in front of us, rocky cliffs opening up to the road below.
“Because I like the suspense.”
She shakes her head. “You’re just waiting until I forget.”
I give her my best eyebrow wiggle, working another giggle out of her. She rolls her eyes at me and makes her way over to the lighthouse. As soon as her back is turned, I pull out my phone to see if I can find any information on the open mic night.