“The bookstore,” she replied, glancing away. Her gaze surveying the room nervously. “I should go.”
“Stay,” I pleaded, catching her hand before she could turn, unashamed of my desperation to have her near. I couldn’t explain why, but being near her made me feel likemyselfagain. My fingers tangled with hers, and she squeezed back.
“I can’t, Cal.” She said regretfully, but she was still holding my hand, like she didn’t want to leave, but had to. “School lets out soon…”
Tomorrow night was the dinner, but it seemed eons away. It was agony trying to keep my space when all I wanted to do was insert myself fully into her world again; into their world.
But I hadn’t earned that right, and she’d given me tomorrow. I couldn’t push for more—not yet, even if that meant I was fighting against my most basic instincts.
Harper’s hand slipped from mine. She adjusted her purse strap and worried her lip, watching me—seeing me in a way nobody else ever had. She deliberated for a moment before stepping toward me and wrapping her arms around my neck, her soft breasts lightly pressing against my chest.
My arms wrapped around her like a habit, and I rested my chin on the top of her head, breathing her sweet scent in. My heart was pounding, and I had no doubt she felt it. I’d held her exactly like this a hundred-thousand times over the course of our relationship, and she would melt into me every time.
Like she was now.
I closed my eyes, the effect of her billowing over me. I couldn’t fight my body’s instant reaction to having her in my arms again. If I had my way—I’d never let her go again.
But Harper’s arms relaxed, and she pulled away from my embrace. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I let my arms drop to my sides and nodded.
She smiled at me before turning and walking out of the bar. I fought against going after her, forcing myself to turn to the bar and pick up my whiskey. The ice had melted, but I downed it anyway, needing the bitter bite to snap me back to this reality.
“Was that Harper Morrison?” Mom’s voice didn’t surprise me, nor did her sudden presence behind me.
“Yeah.”
“I thought I saw her at the funeral.” She sank into the stool beside me, her kind but shrewd eyes never leaving my face.
“She was there,” I confirmed, turning and propping my elbow against the bar. Clenching my jaw, I fought to keep the confession from spilling from my lips. Now wasn’t the time to throw another plot twist into Mom’s life. That could wait until later when the townsfolk’s prying eyes and Gramps’ old friends weren’t observing.
“That’s good,” Mom said, the smile detectable in her voice. She sounded happy for me, and for some reason—her happiness about Harper’s reappearance weighed heavily on me.
I inhaled through my nostrils, nodding slowly. My jaw was clenched to the point of pain, but it was that or confess. Gathering my composure, I finally turned to look at her, my teeth biting back the truth that sat precariously on my tongue’s tip.
“That was a beautiful speech you gave, Calum.” She spoke before I could, with a smile of pride, and that stung because I feared that pride would be overshadowed, when she learned the true extent of my destructive decisions.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, staring down at the amber liquid in the glass.
“Cal,” Mom said, pressing her hand against the back of my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I cleared my throat, managing a strained smile. “Just, you know. Funeral.”
“Yeah…” Flashing me a narrow look, like she didn’t quite buy my excuse, she allowed it to slide. “Well, I’m proud of you. So is your father.”
I huffed, shaking my head slightly. I wondered if she’d be able to say the same thing later tonight. Signaling for another drink, I cast a glance at my mother. Her smile had slipped a little, her green eyes considering me keenly.
“You know…I always had a soft spot for that girl.” Mom remarked. “She whipped you into shape—for a while there.”
“Yeah.” I grounded out, relieved when the bartender finally slid a new whiskey into my waiting hand.
“My son, found at the bar,” Dad said drily from behind me. “Typical.”
“Everyone’s at the bar, Dad. In fact, you’realsoat the bar.”
“I’m not drinking my weight in whiskey.”
“Neither am I, but thanks for the assumption.” When he scowled pointedly at the glass of whiskey I held, I sighed, praying for patience, I knew I didn’t have. “This is my second drink, not that I have to justify that to you. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a grown man.”
“With alcoholic tendencies.”
