Chapter 3 Harper
HARPER
Iwasn’t avoiding Cam.
I was just… strategically keeping space between my body and his six-foot-something, tattooed, frustratingly smug one.
There was a difference.
But the universe had other plans. Like dumping a biblical-level rainstorm on my house until the roof gave up, the ceiling cracked, and turned half of my house into an indoor kiddie pool.
Which is exactly how I ended up standing on Wren’s porch, holding a duffel bag, wheeling a suitcase, and pretending this wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever agreed to.
Wren opened the door and shot me a sympathetic look. “How are you holding up, Harp? Do you want some tea?”
“Do you have whiskey?” I asked, rubbing my temples.
She laughed and stepped aside to let me in. “It's all going to be okay. You’ll be fine.”
I was almost jealous of how pretty my best friend looked right now. She was wearing my brother's black hoodie and… were those my sweatpants? I swear half of my wardrobe was here, and if I were being honest, I didn’t really mind.
Auburn stray hairs stuck out from the bun on top of her head. I could’ve sworn she had just woken up, but I was in no place to judge my best friend. She looked so happy to see me, even though I felt like a burden.
But as I walked through the doorway into the place that felt too warm, too familiar, and way too full of tension I wasn’t ready to come to terms with, one thing was already clear:
This was a very bad idea.
Cameron Rowan Callahan owned this house. The same Cameron, whom I kissed a year ago after our first bonfire of the summer. After the kiss, he walked away like it meant nothing. Now I am stuck with him, with nowhere else to go.
So yeah. I was absolutely, definitely not avoiding him.
I was surviving him.
She gave me a slight smile. “Shower’s all yours. Towels under the sink, and I think I’ve got some clean clothes in the guest dresser if you forgot to pack anything. You know the drill.”
I muttered a quiet thank you and headed down the hall, suddenly feeling cold in my damp clothes. Every part of me ached from stress—the storm, the damage, and now the fact that I had to live under the same roof as him.
Wren called after me as I dropped my bags off in the guest room. “I’m ordering pizza. Don’t argue, just tell me if you still like mushrooms.”
“Come on, Wren! I love them,” I shouted back.
“I’ll get you your special crust, too!”
I didn’t answer, but I loved having a best friend who was mindful of my food allergies. Celiac disease was no joke. It also helped that she enjoyed cauliflower crust as well.
I was already pulling my shirt over my head by the time I got to the bathroom and didn’t stop moving until I stepped into the shower and let the hot water blast the worst of the day off my skin.
I stayed there way longer than I needed to, letting the steam fill the bathroom as my fingers turned pruny. But even under the intense heat from the water, I couldn’t stop thinking about our kiss from so long ago.
I always wondered if he was going to kiss me, especially after he said, “You keep looking at me like that and one of these days I’m going to do something we both are going to regret.
” I never gave him the chance to try because I was all in from that moment.
The kiss was electric. I felt it throughout my whole body.
And the way his voice sounded when he called me trouble.
The way he didn’t look surprised at all, like he’d been waiting for it.
He told me this wasn’t over, and then nothing came of it. Like, way to have left a girl hanging.
I don’t think I have really thought much about it because of everything that's happened in the past year with school, my dad, and the house, but now being under the same roof for longer than a night. It’s all I could think of.
I scrubbed my skin clean, then turned off the water and wrapped myself in one of Wren’s towels.
It was warm, fluffy, and smelled like lavender and the peace of mind I hadn’t had in what felt like a lifetime.
My curly pink hair was still damp, and my face slightly flushed from the heat, but for the first time since finding my home in shambles, I could almost breathe again.
Until I opened the shower curtain and realized I’d done the one thing no girl with unresolved sexual tension and a history of avoidance should ever do.
I forgot my clothes.
No shirt. No sweatpants. No pajamas. Not even underwear. Just my suitcase, sitting uselessly in the guest room on the other side of the hall. This towel was a decent size, but between my wide hips, my belly, and my large tits, the thing barely covered me.
I peeked out to make sure the hallway was empty. And I was starting to think my luck had changed because it was.
So, I tightened the towel, clutched it like a lifeline, and tiptoed out, making a quick beeline for the guest room. I was one doorway away from safety when I looked up, and there he was. The only person I was trying to avoid.
Cam.
If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
He was standing there like some kind of mid-afternoon sin, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth as a knowing look glimmered in his icy blue eyes.
His freckles—those maddening little constellations—danced across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, catching the slant of light.
They had no right to be that distracting.
His auburn hair was damp from his shower and hung just past his shoulders.
It curled slightly at the ends, even though his hair was barely wavy.
The black shirt he wore clung stubbornly to the muscles of his chest, shoulders, and biceps.
Every line of him was defined and solid, as though the fabric itself was jealous of the body beneath it.
Even at thirty-three, Cam took care of his body.
Not that it was appropriate for me to be noticing right now, but it’s hard not to stare up at the six-foot-three human wall in front of me.
He radiated effortless confidence, the kind that made my pulse stumble, as he knew what effect he had standing there, waiting, daring me to look too long.
We both froze. Well… I froze.
His eyes flicked down, slow and deliberate, tracing the length of me as if he were unwrapping the towel with nothing but his stare.
The air between us felt electric; every second of his silent inspection was a pull I couldn’t ignore.
His gaze lingered low before dragging its way back up, unhurried, until it locked with mine again.
He licked his bottom lip without seeming to realize it, a thoughtless movement that made my breath catch and my grip on the towel tighten.
His hands hung at his sides, tense, until one curled into a fist as though he had to restrain himself. A split second later, he loosened it. The subtle movement portrayed more than he intended. He slid both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.
What the ever-loving fuck?
I cleared my throat and whispered through my gritted teeth, “I swear to fucking fuck, if you ever eye fuck me again after not saying a word about what happened a year ago, I will throat punch you, Cameron.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Cam gave a tiny, maddening shrug. “It was a mistake, Harper. We both know it. That kiss meant nothing. We have never liked each other; nothing could change that.”
Tears immediately welled in my eyes. I pushed past him aggressively and practically launched myself into the guest room, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it.
My face was on fire. I was so fucking embarrassed. Was I really this far off base for this entire year? He seriously felt nothing? For fuck’s sake!
I wiped my tears, knowing that I had to go back out there for Wren.
I dropped the towel and rifled through my bag.
I pulled out an oversized, light gray hoodie—soft, worn, and long enough to hit mid-thigh—and threw it on.
I found the black shorts I packed and tugged them up, even though they didn’t peek out from under the hem.
Even considered taking out my contacts because, fuck, my eyes were so irritated.
But I decided against it. It was fine. This wasn’t a fashion show. It was survival.
I took one look at myself in the mirror—bare legs, my now moisturized pink curly hair pulled back, hoodie practically swallowing me whole—and muttered under my breath, “Perfect. Now I look cozy and only slightly emotionally unstable.”
There was a knock on the door.
Cam. Again. Of course.
“Pizza’s here,” he said, voice low and way too close to the wood.
I waited a minute, then two. Really was hoping he would just go away. I really didn’t want to see him. I don’t understand how he could say something so hurtful on one of the longest, shittest days of my life and then pretend he didn’t. The man was fucking delusional.
I huffed and opened the door. I could be an adult about this. Cam looked at me. And if I wasn’t mistaken—his jaw twitched. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He had hurt me enough; I wasn’t wanted here.
I brushed past him, back straight, chin high. If I were going to fall apart in this house, it wasn’t going to happen in a hallway while wearing a hoodie and no bra.
It was going to happen in private… with snacks.