Chapter 37
Luke
I’m contemplating calling Cassie and letting her know she was wrong—that she encouraged me to do something big and make my feelings utterly clear, and I only humiliated myself in the process.
I stood on stage, sang Harper a love song, and she still didn’t get it. I wrote her a love song, and when I go back to the table, she lets me know that she got the check.
I think even Cassie would be shocked by how epic of a fail that was.
When I first get to the table, Harper looks mortified. Her eyes are wide and panicked, like she was the one on stage making a fool of herself, not me.
I’m afraid to even look at her.
I’m pretty sure I’ve just ruined our friendship. If I thought her reading Wes’s text message was bad, then I had nothing to fear until I got on stage and sang my heart out. At least I could talk my way out of the text message.
This time, I was foolish enough to make my feelings blatantly clear only to have them get rejected by Harper.
I sit across from her, thankful for the next person standing on stage, singing an upbeat song I don’t recognize.
When I dare a glance over at Harper, her eyes are glued to the stage.
Her face is flushed, and if I look closely, I can see her biting her lip.
It’s a habit I’ve seen her do whenever she’s trying really hard not to cry.
Is she mad at me or just embarrassed for me?
“Here you go,” the waitress says, putting the check on the table and handing me a box for our food.
“Thanks,” I say, giving her my credit card. If Harper wants to get out of here, let’s not drag this out longer than necessary.
The woman takes my card and walks to the register.
Harper’s still staring at whoever’s on stage, like she wants me to vanish into thin air.
I really screwed this one up.
I’m not sure what I expected to happen after singing Harper the song, but it wasn’t this. I didn’t need her to fawn over me when I got back to the table, but I thought maybe if she felt the same way. . .
What I was really hoping for was that Harper would jump into my arms and we’d kiss, starting a new beginning after twenty-two years of friendship.
“You sounded really good,” Harper says, turning to me.
The voice comes so suddenly that it takes me a moment to realize it’s Harper talking to me.
“Thanks.” By the time I turn to her, she’s looking away again.
I want to ask her if she liked the song, to force her to confront this thing between us, but the waitress comes back with my card.
“You two are all set.” She hands me my card and the receipt. “Have a great night!”
I sign the receipt, and we make our way out the door, thankful for the next person singing at the mic who fills the void with sounds. Outside, we’re forced to stew in silence.
A cold breeze greets us. Harper pulls her jacket around herself, zipping it up and shoving her hands in her pockets. If things had gone a little better, I’d reach out and pull her hand in mine.
The streets of Reykjavik are lit with dim street lamps. A few people are walking around, mostly going in and out of restaurants, so we’re practically alone on the streets.
As we walk, I notice a white VW buggy parked on the side of the road. I glance over to see if Harper’s noticed it, but her eyes are on the ground.
“Punch buggy, white,” I say, giving her a light tap on the arm. It’s the game we’ve always played, and at the least I thought it might pull her out of whatever funk she’s in. She looks up and notices the buggy.
“Oh,” she says. And that’s it. No smile, no saying she wished she’d seen it before me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, because I can’t stand this silence any longer. Her face turns up, and for the first since I sang to her, she looks at me. She’s still biting her lip, her cheeks bright red and eyes glossy, like she’s one blink away from tears. She gives me a smile that’s fake and forced.
There’s a tear in my chest, knowing that I did this. I ruined our friendship. I took everything the two of us built and, in one moment, tore it apart. I took the thing that we both treasured so much and made it crash and burn.
“Yeah,” Harper whispers. Another fake smile.
I curse to myself. Mostly because I want to wrap her in my arms, pull her to my chest, and hold her there until the pain stops.
She starts walking in front of me, eager to get back to the hotel where we’ll be staying tonight. She’s probably ready to go home so we can finally have space from each other.
We get into the lobby, and I follow Harper into the elevator. Her eyes are heavy and tired. When we get off at our floor, I realize that I don’t want the night to end here. Tomorrow we go home, and Harper’s last memory of Iceland will be me ruining our friendship.
Maybe Harper hates me right now for how I humiliated her, but I need the night to end differently.
“Want to go chase the northern lights?” I ask as Harper steps into the hotel room. She turns, her face questioning, like it’s a trick.
“Right now?” she asks.
It’s already almost eleven p.m. She’s probably exhausted and ready to sleep, but I need to try to give her this last thing.
“Why not?” I say, but it feels like I’m begging.