I roll my eyes. “I’ll call you back. My boyfriend needs me.”
“No! Don’t hang up!” she begs. “Put me on FaceTime!”
“Bye Annabelle,” I singsong, turning my attention back to Harris, who lets out a strained laugh, still lying in the trash pile.
“Boyfriend, huh?” he has the energy to ask. “I like the sound of that.”
I gape at him. “You almost died, andthat’swhat you’re focusing on?”
He blinks up at me, head half buried in a pile of my recycling. It’s strewn all over, bottles and cans rolling across the pavement.
Harris closes his eyes, smiling as if he has stars behind his eyelids. “If I go out, I wanna go out hearing you call me your boyfriend.”
I make a strangled noise, trying not to giggle. “You are not my boyfriend.”
“Not with that attitude.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Harris, why were you climbing up the side of my house?”
He winces as he shifts, dislodging a crumpled box from beneath his back. “I thought through the part where I’d surprise you. I miscalculated the execution and the amount of weight that trellis can hold. In theory, I was being romantic.”
I blink. “In theory?”
“Yes.” He begins pushing himself up by the elbows. “In execution? Less romantic. More ... mildly concussed.”
I stare at him.
Harris stumbles to his feet, brushing debris off his jeans before straightening to his full height. Too close. The smell of his cologne, mixed with a hint of cedar and—yesterday’s leftover pizza and expired condiments—wraps around me.
Holy crap does he stink.
“For the record, Iknockedfirst.”
I raise a brow. “And when I didn’t answer, you thought, ‘better climb the house’?”
He flashes me that easy, infuriating grin. “What can I say? I’m committed.”
I gawp up at him. “Committed to making me lose my mind?”
“Committed to seeing you,” he corrects smoothly.
My stomach flips as I step back. “You scared the crap out of me.”
His expression shifts, something softer edging into his amusement. “Sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
Harris exhales and takes a tentative step toward my porch. That’s when I notice the slight hitch in his stride.
I frown. “Are you limping?”
He scoffs. “Me? Pfft, no.”
A second later, he stumbles.
I arch a brow.
“Fine. Perhaps I’m limping a little.”
I sigh, stepping forward. “Come on, garbage boy. Let’s get you inside before you actually break something.”
