Chapter 20
Lark
We’ve only been dating for a month, so how am I already accustomed to riding around in a six-figure car like I’m a princess? When I met Harbor.
“I need to study more,” I say, resting my hand on top of his. I run my finger over the prominent veins that I find not only sexy but also safe—like his strength is on display.
He rubs the top of my thigh and gives it a little squeeze—equally sweet and possessive. We may have had a bumpy start, but sometimes life throws curveballs. I’m glad we committed to more with each other. It’s been pure bliss ever since.
I’d know too. He’s not the first guy I’ve dated, although there haven’t been many . . . for good reason. But I’ve dated enough to know I’ve found something special in Harbor.
One of my favorite parts of dating him is that we talk about everything and nothing at all.
There’s no pressure to perform or be “on.” Not every conversation has to be some great reveal about ourselves.
Instead, it’s been a journey of slow discovery.
So much so that I wonder if this lifetime will ever be long enough to lose interest. It seems downright impossible when it comes to him.
Parking the car, he shrugs. “Okay, then we’ll study more.”
“No, I need to study more. You’re a complete distraction.”
He chuckles. “Maybe we should study in public places.”
“Um, no. The last time we did that, you had me pinned to the Italian breads of the 17th Century section of the library with a hand over my mouth to muffle me.”
Getting out of the car, he leans back in. “In my defense, we were shushed twice before you came on my hand.”
He’s so open about sex, like it’s just a part of normal life. Guess he can be nonchalant about it since he’s had it. His door closes, and then mine opens seconds later. I place my hand in his, and he brings me to him. See? Princess.
One arm comes around my waist as he leans in to kiss me but stops abruptly before impact. “We also made a killer loaf of bread that night.”
“I felt obligated to check out at least one of the books we violated.”
“You also came twice while it was baking.”
“And that’s why I need some time alone to study. I can’t be coming all the time.”
He tilts his head like the thought doesn’t register. I’ve never felt better about myself, my body, or been in a better mood than when I’m with him. Does orgasming on the regular play a part in that? Hell yes. But it’s also just the time I’ve spent with him. He always manages to make me smile.
Bending down to look me in the eyes, he says, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“The problem is it’s too good and causing my grades to slip.
I can’t focus on anything else, and my applications are due soon.
I haven’t gotten everything together yet.
Have you applied for med school?” You’d think I’d know this, but school is one of the last things we talk about when we’re together.
He kisses me and then shuts the door, so we can head to class. He replies, “I’m working on it.”
We reach the corner of the building where we usually say goodbye on days we go in different directions. “Maybe this will give you time to work on that. I don’t want to be blamed for you missing deadlines.
“As long as you’re not actually trying to get rid of me, I’ll give you the time you need.”
I fist his jacket and move in close. “And if I were trying to get rid of you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and a smile I can’t restrain.
Large hands go low around my hips and settle on my backside. “I’m not letting you get away that easy, Ms. Summerlin.”
Giving him a quick kiss, I then straighten the backpack on my shoulders. “Good. Because I have no intention of letting you go either.” Taking off slowly, I walk backward. “See you later, babe.” I start the hike up the campus to the building for my first class of the day.
Harbor’s still standing there when I look back. I smile to myself, imagining this must be what walking on cloud nine feels like. “Hey, Summerlin?”
I look back again before I get too far from him. Laughing, I reply, “What is it, Westcott?”
“How do you feel about dinner with my parents?”
Did he really just ask me where everyone in the vicinity can hear? God, I hope so. “Tell them I’d love to.” I blow him a kiss and then turn back only to run into Amanda.
“I didn’t take you guys,” she starts, “for the whole make-a-scene, PDA type of couple. I figured you’d be more low-key.”
We take a right through the quad, heading in the same direction. I’m still smiling like a fool. “If you haven’t noticed, nothing about Harbor Westcott is low-key.”
“Speaking of the Westcotts, I can’t stop thinking about how much Harbor’s changed since his cousin passed.”
I do a double take from the swift change in direction of the conversation. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says casually, “he used to come party down off Dobson with Lucas back when Dane first met Mia.” She eyes me with a shrug. “You never came to those parties. Anyway, now Harbor just hangs out at home all the time. Our home, to be specific. Doesn’t he have his own apartment?”
The words don’t match the friendliness of her tone. “That’s a lot to unpack, Amanda.”
“Sorry, you’re always with him, so we don’t talk much anymore.”
The change in mood blew in like the wind.
I stop because now I feel bad because she’s not entirely wrong.
“Well, to address the apartment situation, yes, he still has it. Sometimes he’s there, but most of the time, lately, at least, he’s been staying with me at ours.
I’m sorry if that bothers you. I didn’t know you felt that way. ”
“I’m only bothered when I can’t get into the bathroom when I want. And sometimes I feel like I’m intruding if you’re in the living room eating together. But really, I’m just surprised you guys don’t—” She finally notices I’m not next to her, and she turns back. “What are you doing?”
I walk forward but stop with a few feet between us. Still confused by the comments, I hold on to the straps of my backpack for support. “I could ask the same of you?”
“What do you mean?” she asks of me this time. “I’m just saying that if I were you, I’d rather hang out in a big apartment with my boyfriend than with my roommate at our place in a tiny two-bedroom, one-bath. Guess that’s just me.”
Nothing about this feels good. In fact, it doesn’t feel like us at all. We don’t play dirty with each other, so I’m thrown off by what’s really going on. Moving closer, I lower my voice since so many people are around. “Are you starting a fight with me?”
“Why would I want to fight with you?” She grips the straps of her bag, but her eyes never leave mine.
We’ve been friends forever and can sometimes be a little blunt, so I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that she’s just curious and at target practice taking aim at the first real relationship I’ve ever had and the only one that’s mattered.
“What’s going on with you, Lark? Why are you defensive? ”
“I’m not,” I reply, my neck jerking back.
Okay, maybe I am defensive, but how could I not after that accusation?
It feels more like I’m protecting a relationship that came when I needed it most. I look at my watch.
“I need to go, or I won’t make it before the door is locked. Do you want to talk about this later?”
“Go.” She playfully shoves me toward my building, like we weren’t caught in the crossfire of our changing friendship. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
I start for my building but know we need to talk about this soon before it becomes a whole thing between us.
It’s never good to let things fester. “Let’s hang out later.
I can stop by the store and grab a pizza.
” I make the offer, but I still feel a little uneasy in the wake of the conversation we just had.
Her expression lifts, and she waves. “I’ll bring the wine.”
“See you at home tonight.” Jogging to my building, me and another kid make it just before the door is closed.
I find an empty desk on the far side of the classroom and swing my backpack to the floor.
I don’t have any classes with Harbor on Tuesdays or Thursdays, but I wish I did.
But then again, maybe that’s exactly what we need—us spending some time apart.
I don’t know. Amanda’s gotten in my head.
How’s it different from what I was suggesting to Harbor on the ride in today? I don’t have to wonder because I know the intention. That wasn’t about pushing Harbor away. It was about making sure I don’t sabotage my future.
I love spending my days in his arms, kissing him, loving that man like he’ll be the last I ever will.
Surely, Amanda can see how happy he makes me.
I dig out my laptop and start taking notes, but my thoughts keep veering back to what she said about the partying, and regarding the apartment.
Did I detect an insinuation that he’s keeping me away from it on purpose?
Why would he do that? He lives alone. There’s no logical reason he would purposely be keeping me away. But just to overthink this even more, how is it that we’ve been dating for almost a month, and he hasn’t invited me over, not once?
Let it go, Lark.
I didn’t expect my day to derail before nine o’clock, but here I am with my thoughts and emotions nervously twisting in my belly.
Have I been a bad friend to Amanda? To Dane?
I haven’t seen him since I worked with him two weeks ago.
We don’t get to hang out much anymore, not since he and Mia got back together and school reconvened.
I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples, knowing I don’t have the luxury to get sidetracked from my mission—getting into medical school. That must remain my top priority. I don’t want to let my dad down now.
Before my last class at two, I text Harbor: I’m going to see my dad after school, so I don’t need a ride home. I’ll walk from there. Love you.
I hop into my seat and am settling in when he replies: Love you.
Class feels longer today, the minutes dragging until we’re finally free. I stop at a water station to refill my bottle before trekking across campus and down a large hill. My thoughts are so scrambled today that I don’t realize I forgot to put my music buds in my ears until I’m halfway to the shop.
Two streets over and six blocks down, I walk in through an open bay and search for my dad.
Carrig is wiping his hands on towels when he sees me.
“Oh, what brings you by, Lark?” He’s only a year older than I am, but he’s been learning to fix cars from my dad for years now.
It’s a dream of my dad’s, and since he had a daughter with no interest whatsoever in cars, he transferred that attention to Carrig. Thank God.
Apparently, Carrig gets lots of visitors of the female persuasion from what my dad says, though. Gripes about is more accurate. They become quite the distraction to Carrig and my dad has to kick them out when they become a thorn in his side.
“Just looking for my dad. Is he around?” He points toward the office, which is in the direction I’m already heading. Peeking through the glass, I see him on the phone. I wave when he looks up and then drop my backpack behind the reception counter.
I only spin in the chair once before my dad comes around the corner. “Good to see you, Pipsqueak. Is everything okay?”
I’d give him a hug, but not when he’s in his mechanic’s coveralls. I don’t want to stain my college sweatshirt. “Everything’s good.” I lean against the counter. “You know I’ve been dating Harbor for almost a month now.”
“It’s getting serious?”
“It’s been about a month. We hang out and get dinner together most nights.” I keep things general, leaving out some of the details. The last thing my dad wants to hear about is the other stuff I do with Harbor.
If he found out about that, Harbor wouldn’t survive the night, and I’d be headed to a convent. And we’re not even Catholic.
He starts typing on the computer, his attention stolen away. “What does that mean? You celebrate,” he says, glancing at me, “with a special dinner or something?”
Remembering that Harbor asked me this morning to have dinner with his parents, maybe that’s what hitting a month means.
I shrug. “Not sure. I haven’t planned anything.
” I let a minute pass by, taking another spin in the chair, and then ask, “What do you think about Harbor coming over for Sunday dinner?” I keep it as casual as I can because my dad doesn’t take well to disruptions in his routine.
Resting his hands on the counter, he shifts his weight forward as he stares at me.
I start to get nervous. Is it too soon, or will my dad always want it to be only the two of us?
“We’ll still watch the game, but we can talk beforehand . . . and stuff.” God, I’m rambling.
“Okay.”
He moves around me, walking toward the garage. He knows I’ll follow. I’ve been following him around this shop my whole life, every day after school before I was old enough to stay at home alone, and then other times I’d come to do my homework at that very counter just to see him before dinner.
My dad hasn’t only been my parent, but at different stages in my life, he’s also been my best friend. Still is. I just can’t talk to him about everything in my life like I could when I was little. I hop off the chair and cut through the doorway before the door closes behind me.
He’s already ducked his head under the hood of a burgundy Camry when I reach him again. “Hand me the ratchet over there?” I scan the toolbox, grab the rotating tool, and set it in his waiting hand. “Thanks, Pip.”
“As for Sunday, okay, he can come over? Or okay, you need to think about it?”
Lifting his head out from under the shadows of the hood, he says, “Bring him over. I’ll make burgers.”
I smile. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”
He looks a little embarrassed but fixes his expression quick, so he appears indifferent about the compliment instead. “Don’t thank me yet and tell him to bring a side dish.”