Chapter 13 Harper
HARPER
Tucker was right on time. When he told me he was a few minutes out, I said goodnight to Wren and sat on the porch.
After the sun went down in northern Michigan during late September, you definitely needed an extra layer.
I was wearing my favorite pumpkin and cream-colored cardigan over a black V-neck T-shirt.
My light blue jeans were soft and stretchy over my thick thighs.
I wore the old brown cowboy boots that I kept at Wren’s house when we went to our local bar.
My pink hair was straightened, and I pinned back both sides of my blonde curtain bangs with mismatched yellow and white butterfly clips.
I cannot express how much I needed a fucking drink. I was excited about tonight despite everything.
He left the driver's side door open as he walked up to the porch.
I stood up to meet him as he came up the steps.
I could smell him before I could get a good look at him.
He smelled like whiskey and vanilla had a baby.
Whatever it was, it was fucking addicting.
His long, dark, straight hair was half up and half down.
Tucker had pulled the top half of his hair back into a neat bun.
He had cleaned up his beard, too. His skin was tanned, probably from spending countless hours outside for work.
For thirty-seven, I swear he looked younger and younger every time I saw him.
That says a lot because it has been over six months since I last saw him.
His orange and black flannel looked like it would rip if he flexed his biceps. The man was unusually large. He wore his flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. It showed off his impressive corded forearms. His right one was littered with different tattoos.
God, I bet he could pick me up so easily.
He opened his arms for a hug, and I walked into them.
“I’m so sorry about the house, Harper. I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
His chin rested on the top of my head as I breathed him.
“It’s okay, Tucker. Really. At least it gave me a reason to call.” I moved a bit so I could look at him. With him standing at six feet six, I really had to crane my neck to look at him. He held my chin between his thumb and forefinger and searched my eyes.
“I was hoping you realized by now you don’t need a reason to call. You say my name and I’ll always come runnin’.” His voice was low and gravely.
I swear my knees were going to give out. All I could do was whisper, “Okay.” God, I so badly wanted him to kiss me. Maybe I was being a bit bold, but I slid my hands to the front of his flannel, gripping it softly, hoping he would get the hint.
My voice, still quiet, didn’t sound like me when I spoke, “I think you are supposed to kiss a girl when you drop her off, not pick her up.”
I felt his laugh rumble deep in his chest. His smile was wide and perfect, showing off his chipped front tooth. “With your permission, miss, I’d like to do both.”
My cheeks ached; my smile couldn’t get any bigger. I nodded, and his lips met mine. I expected it to just be a kiss, but instead I got an instant connection bigger than anything I have ever seen or felt on this planet. But even now, the thought of Cam crossed my mind.
What the fuck was my brain doing?
Thank God this man was a fantastic kisser.
He pulled me from my thoughts as his hand fell from my face down to my waist, pulling me in closer.
I let out a soft whimper at the closeness.
I swear there was an immediate overwhelming cosmic connection, and I loved every fucking second.
I had a crush on this man since I met him a little over a year ago, and now he’s kissing the life out of me.
The longer we stood here making out, the more I thought about Tucker.
I could absolutely see myself falling for this man. I bet he wouldn’t make me wait around for him.
He smiled against my lips, eyes still closed. “Drinks are on me, Sugar.” He pulled back slowly and grabbed my hand, leading me to his truck. Tuck helped me into his truck, but before he closed the door, he looked at me from head to toe and said, “You really do look beautiful, Harper.”
I smiled at him and waved him off. Tucker was truly a gentleman. He shut my door and walked around to the driver’s side. As I watched Tucker walk around the front of the car, I saw him.
Cameron was staring at us through the window next to the front door. Cam had his phone in his hand, and as he slid it back into his pocket, mine vibrated. While Tucker lifted himself into the truck, I read the text.
Cam: I am sorry I took so long to do something about us. He’s a lucky man. You deserve a great night after everything. Have some fun tonight, Shortcake.
I looked up at the window as we backed out of the driveway, and Cam gave a small three-finger wave and walked off. My jaw would’ve hit the floor if Tucker weren’t sitting right next to me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
* * *
The bar was the kind of place you wouldn’t expect to find tucked between familiar streets.
I’d always assumed I’d been to every bar around, but this one felt like a secret I’d somehow missed.
The moment you walked in, warm amber light wrapped around you, glowing from old-fashioned fixtures and neon beer signs that hummed softly against the walls.
Framed photos lined the walls, telling old western stories without saying a word.
To the left, a wide dance floor pulsed with movement.
Couples moved in easy rhythm, boots sliding and stomping in unison as they line danced, laughing when someone missed a step but quickly falling back into place.
The sound of country music filled the room, blending with the shuffle of feet and the occasional whoop of excitement.
A few worn wooden tables sat between the dance floor and the mechanical bull pen, their surfaces scarred with initials and ring stains from years of spilled drinks.
The mechanical bull stood surrounded by a low fence and onlookers, waiting for the next brave soul to climb on.
Straight ahead, stretching across the back wall, was the bar itself—long and solid, polished smooth by countless elbows.
Bartenders moved confidently behind it, sliding beers down the counter, shaking drinks, calling out orders with practiced ease.
Their smiles came easily, as if they knew everyone or were ready to.
People filled every corner—locals in denim and flannel, dusty cowboy boots and ball caps, couples leaning close to talk over the music, groups of friends crowded together, drinks raised in mid-conversation.
I slowly turned in place, eyes wide with amusement, taking it all in.
There was a hum to the room, a sense of belonging and freedom all at once.
I loved this atmosphere—the noise, the warmth, the way it felt alive.
I looked up at Tucker, who was already watching me.
He bent down so closely that his lips grazed my ear, “Where to first, darlin’?”
A shiver traveled through my body. “I could really use a Long Island Iced Tea.”
Tuck stood to his full height and bowed his head slightly, “Your wish is my command.” He grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers, and pulled me to the bar. I sat on a stool, and he did the same. Tucker ordered my drink and a whiskey on the rocks for himself.
We sipped our drinks, and he pointed to the dance floor.
“Do you know how to line dance?” His eyebrow was raised as he took another sip of his whiskey.
“Uh, can't say that I do. Have you ridden the bull before?” I asked, pointing over my shoulder at the mechanical bull.
“A couple of times, yeah. Though I may be better at line dancing. I could teach you if you wanted?”
God, he was so sweet. I held up my forefinger and chugged my drink. It took longer than I intended since it was practically full. I set my glass down with vigor and gave him a reply.
“I’d love it if you taught me how to line dance!”
“Harper, I’m sorry. I am normally much more of a gentleman, but I have to be honest with you…”
Shit. How did I already fuck this up?
“I think that was the hottest thing I have ever seen a woman do. C’mon, Sugar. Let’s dance.”