Chapter 19
Harper
I’ve been back in New York for a few days, and everything feels off. Like I’m not where I belong. Like I’m missing something.
Or someone.
But I’m not willing to admit that yet.
I went back to work, and my boss was delighted—albeit surprised—that I managed to stay out of trouble.
I took advantage of her upbeat mood to tell her about Victor and my hunch that he’s, once again, up to no good.
Recognizing that me not going after him was an incredible performance, she rewarded me with the all-clear to investigate him again, trusting that I now understand where my boundaries lie.
So, that’s what I’ve been doing since I arrived home.
Calling my old informants and consulting people who were in his orbit before he went to prison, but so far, I’ve come up empty-handed.
That’s okay, though. These investigations take time.
I will figure out what he’s doing—and I’ll turn over every rock until I do.
Today, I have an extra bounce in my step because I’m going to Golden Age, the retirement home, to see my grandma. I haven’t been able to carve out time to swing by since coming back, and I miss her like crazy.
And some of that excitement is also because Baptiste is coming with me, and I haven’t seen him since we came back from DC either. After being with him almost every day for three weeks, three days apart feels like an eternity.
His slate gray car parks at the curb in front of my four-story building, and he steps out, his off-white T-shirt hugging his shoulders and dark jeans fitting perfectly against his thighs. Suddenly, it’s even hotter outside.
“Hey,” he says, beaming as I walk toward him.
Throwing hesitation out the window, I wrap an arm around his neck and kiss him. His hands fall to my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss is warm and familiar, like we’re picking up right where we left off.
When we break apart, still slightly dizzy from the kiss, we hop in the car and drive to Golden Age while filling each other in on what we’ve been up to these past few days.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Baptiste asks—predictably—when I tell him I’m investigating Victor again.
“He’s fallen back into his old ways. I’m sure of it,” I reply. “I refuse to let that happen. But I’ll be safe, I promise. I won’t do anything crazy.”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye before tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, his grip relaxes, until we finally arrive at the retirement home.
We give our names at the front desk and sign the registry before they direct us to the common room.
The space is expansive, with tall windows letting in the afternoon sun.
Tables that seat four or five are scattered around the room, some residents playing cards or chess while others read or watch TV.
A few couches and armchairs form cozy clusters near the walls.
But the focal point is undoubtedly the poker table.
Six residents are deep into a heated game, voices raised, while a small crowd of spectators has gathered around them.
Beth and James stand among them, clearly acting as referees as an argument breaks out.
They give us a small wave before intervening when one player threatens to throw their dentures at an opponent.
“Wow,” Baptiste murmurs. “That’s intense.”
“I’ve never heard them this loud,” I say with a small chuckle as I scan the room, searching for my grandma.
Then I spot her—alone in a rocking chair by the window, staring outside. My heart sinks. Her solitude never really bothered me before. But now it brings a pang to my chest. Now that I know how good it can feel to be surrounded by friends.
“There you are,” I say as I step up to her rocking chair. Her face lights up immediately.
“Harper, finally.” She hobbles to her feet, and I wrap her in a hug, noticing how frail she feels. She seems lighter than a few weeks ago.
“How are you doing?” I murmur, studying her face. She looks tired—but then again, I’m not one to talk, after staying up half the night chasing down leads on Victor.
“Same old,” she says, waving off my question. “How are you? You look tan.”
“I did spend more time outside than usual,” I reply with a chuckle. “Speaking of, I wanted to introduce you to Baptiste. He’s the guy I told you about.”
Baptiste steps forward. “Good afternoon, Glenda. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You’re the hockey player, then,” she says, wrinkling her nose. She reluctantly offers her hand, and Baptiste bends to kiss it—polite and old-school.
Grandma averts her eyes for half a second, and I know he just scored a point.
“So,” she says, turning fully to face me, even though Baptiste is still standing there, “you like him.”
I glance at Baptiste, a smirk teasing my lips. “I tolerate him better than most people.”
He laughs.
Grandma pivots to him, openly inspecting him from head to toe. “Why are you still single with a face like yours?”
He blinks back in shock, then chuckles. “It must be my personality.”
She hums. “Funny guy, huh? Do you have a real job, or do you just chase a puck all day?”
“Grandma,” I warn.
“It’s a fair question,” she counters.
Baptiste grins. “I chase a puck professionally, and it pays the bills. But I also give back, support charities, and I’m very adept at carrying heavy grocery bags.”
She considers that. “Strong arms are useful. And how about family? Do you call yours often?”
He hesitates, then sighs, almost imperceptibly. “Not as often as I should.”
Helen’s face flashes in my mind. I’ve been itching to talk to Baptiste about her again, but every time I’ve brought it up, he’s turned me down. I have to try one more time now that the tournament, and all that pressure, is over.
Grandma sighs, glancing out the window. “Then do better. Time isn’t polite. It doesn’t wait.”
His jaw tightens. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay,” Grandma says, turning her sharp gaze back to me. “He’s not too bad. I could stand seeing him around more.”
“It’s a start,” I say with a smile, glancing at Baptiste. He’s grinning wide, clearly proud of himself.
“Any idea what’s going on over there?” I add, my eyes drifting toward the poker table, where a shouting match has now ensued. Voices overlap, laughter bursts out, and someone slaps the table hard enough to make a few heads turn.
She shrugs. “Everyone seems interested in poker lately.”
“You don’t play?” Baptiste asks.
“Never learned,” she replies. “I heard those kids were teaching residents, but there’s always so many people around them. Anyway, I’m not even sure it’s my style.”
“They’re my friends,” Baptiste says easily. “If you want, I can ask them to give you a solo lesson.”
I suppress a grimace, already knowing how this is going to end.
“I don’t want any special treatment, boy,” Grandma snaps, right on cue. “I’ll wait my turn like anyone else.”
“Noted,” he replies with a nod, then throws me an apologetic wince.
We spend the next hour chatting—mostly with Grandma, then with James and Beth when they wander over. Apparently, there’s now an actual waiting list for their poker lessons. Poker is officially the in thing at Golden Age.
Beth offers to introduce my grandma to hers, but true to form, Grandma declines politely, folding her hands in her lap to indicate the matter is settled.
Eventually, James and Beth head back to the poker table, and Baptiste is intercepted by an old lady determined to sell him a sweater she knitted. He listens earnestly, nodding like it’s a serious business proposal, which gives me a few minutes alone with Grandma.
“You know,” I say quietly, “you should try to make some friends. Beth’s grandma seems nice.”
She frowns, genuinely taken aback. “What’s gotten into you? You always understood my need to be alone. Heck, you were like me. What’s changed? Are you becoming one of those needy people who can’t be seen without her posse?”
“Grandma,” I scold, shaking my head. “I don’t have a posse. And I still enjoy being alone. But I also like spending time with people now. It’s… nice. Sometimes.”
“I am with people,” she deadpans. “I’m with you.”
I tilt my head. “You know what I mean. It’s not like when we lived together, or even on the same street. I can’t come visit you every day.” And I don’t like seeing her all alone in this big room. Even if she’s used to it.
Her face tightens. “We still talk on the phone.”
“And I won’t stop calling,” I say quickly. “I just don’t want you to miss out. I want you to enjoy your time here.”
She narrows her eyes. “This is all Baptiste’s doing, isn’t it? All these changes.”
I glance toward him. He’s still trapped in the sweater pitch, which makes me smile. The old lady has stood up now, holding the knitted sweater up against his back like she’s fitting him for it.
“I guess in part, yeah,” I admit. “But it’s not like I’m being forced into it.
” I smile faintly, thinking of what Caleb said when I ‘committed’ to being friends with them.
“And I like him. I mean, it’s still early, and there are still plenty of ways I could end up running away from him, but…
I don’t know. Baptiste seems different. He’s a nice guy. ”
“So,” she says carefully, “it’s serious?”
“I don’t know.” The words are honest, unguarded. Part of me wants to say yes, but I’m terrified that the second I do, the spell will break. He’ll turn into a deranged criminal. Or a fraud. Or something else I didn’t see coming. Cautious with my next words, I say, “He’s good company.”
“Well, you be careful”, she says, settling into her chair. “You know people are full of surprises. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I nod. She’s right. I can’t let myself get carried away. This is still early, and so much can happen.