Chapter 17 Harper
Harper
Istared down at my ticket.
The edges were worn, soft, frayed from the past hour of neurotic fiddling—folding it, smoothing it out, folding it again. Like maybe if I ruined it enough, I’d have an excuse not to go.
But I wouldn’t ruin it.
I needed this flight.
I needed this clean break.
Didn’t I?
The airport hummed around me with impersonal chaos. Children screaming. Announcements blaring over the intercom like static. Someone behind me was complaining about the overpriced croissants.
It was almost poetic, the way the world kept spinning while I prepared to fall off the face of it—to disappear.
I glanced down at my suitcase resting beside me, a bottle of cheap airport wine tucked in the pocket, the fabric worn at the seams from every time I swore I’d start over.
“Let’s make some good memories from now on,” I whispered.
“Flight A604, we are now boarding zone nine. That is flight A604, we are now boarding zone nine.”
I glanced down at my pass again. Zone nine. Here goes nothing. You got this harper.
This is good.
I need this.
Paris. Spain. Italy.
You are not running away, Harper. You are going on an adventure. New languages, new people. New you.
Doing something for yourself, for once.
But then—another sound crackled overhead, a mic clicking on.
“Excuse me,” a voice boomed over the loudspeaker, too familiar. “I’ve been told I have three minutes.”
Oh, hell no.
My head snapped up.
There he was.
Ambrose.
Standing at the airport announcement desk like he owned the building. Like he was the goddamn announcement.
And behind him? Dozens of reporters. Cameras aimed at us like we were the main characters in some fever dream of a rom-com climax.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled like he had run here. His tie was crooked. His eyes were not.
They locked on mine from across the terminal with surgical precision.
“Harper,” he said, and my name sounded like scripture in his mouth. “Before you get on that plane, I need to say something.”
My stomach flipped in on itself as I rushed to my feet. “What are you doing?” I hissed, my heart thundering in my chest.
“This is the part,” he said, “where the foolish man runs to the airport in one last grand gesture, hoping the woman he loves will hear him out.”
People were staring. The whole airport was staring.
“My life has always been rules,” he continued, “structure, balance. I have never known anything beyond that. Until you came along, destroying everything I had built.”
“This doesn’t sound like an apology,” I snapped.
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
He swallowed, voice thickening just a little. Just enough to rattle me.
“But no matter how many rules I broke for you, I found myself wanting to break more. I wanted you to tear down every wall I spent years building. Because somehow, you made me feel like being undone wasn’t a weakness—it was…
necessary. So, here I am. Not thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, what people might think of me, or every reason we shouldn’t be together.
Because all I need is three minutes. Three minutes, no plan, and one chance.
I am stupid and hopeless. You have turned me into a fool and I wouldn’t have it any other way. ”
The flashes and shuttering from reporters hurried as Ambrose walked over to me, their cameras on him. On me. On us.
Ambrose’s voice lowered as he stepped closer to me, his presence sucking the air out of the room. “I love you. I love you, and I don’t care who knows it.”
“This is not how normal people fix things,” I hissed. “You don’t hijack airport announcements. You don’t invite the press—who are they even associated with?”
He turned slightly, glancing at the group of photographers and reporters nearby. “I invited them.”
“You what?”
“If I was going to lose you, I wanted proof that I tried. And if I win you back, I want the whole world to know exactly who you are—mine.”
My heart pounded so wildly I could feel it punch my ribs.
“You think I will forgive you because you made it a production?” I asked, voice shaky.
“No,” he said as if it were a simple truth. “But this is the only thing I know how to do right now. A grand gesture, a chase through the airport, a girl who might still get away, and a foolish man. The only thing missing was the cameras.”
Ambrose, the man who has always treated love like it was a liability. The one who touched me like I was dangerous. The one who kissed me like he was starving but could never be honest.
And now, he was here.
Begging.
Risking.
Making a grand gesture.
“Last call for flight A604,” the lady yelled at me though the intercom. “Ma’am, are you boarding?”
My mouth hung open, my eyes flicking between Ambrose and the gate.
“I am not asking for forever, Flower. Just three more minutes.”
“And after that?” I asked, searching his eyes for truth.
“Then I’ll ask again. And again. And again.” His voice cracked. “Until you let me stay. Until I earn my place at your side.”
Tears stung behind my eyes.
He looked terrified. Like he had never wanted anything the way he wanted me to stay.
“You really invited the press?” I whispered, still in disbelief.
“I needed it to be real,” he said. “For you. For me. For every time I let you believe in a lie.”
A single tear escaped, sliding down my cheek before I could catch it. He watched it fall like it was sacred.
“You’re an idiot,” I murmured.
He exhaled something like a laugh. “Absolutely. But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me.”
“I-I don’t know, Ambrose. I have never been able to do something for myself. And going back with you? I wouldn’t be changing anything. I don’t want to lose myself again.”
“Ma’am,” the gate agent said again, sharper this time. “You need to make a decision.”