“Yes,” he says solemnly.
Harper rolls her eyes. “He had a perfectly balanced lunch yesterday.”
Connor shrugs. “I had apple slices. That counts, right?”
“Burgers with apple slices,” I decide. “Compromise.”
Connor pumps his fist. “Yes! Deal!”
We take my truck, Connor in the back seat, narrating the drive like he’s hosting a podcast about Anaheim traffic. Harper sits shotgun, her knee bouncing slightly, fingers tapping against her thigh like she’s nervous but trying not to be. I pretend not to notice but what I want to do is reach across and palm her thigh. With Connor in the back seat though, I keep my eyes on the road and continue to act like the gentleman I was raised to be all while knowing if I had her alone and in my bedroom, I’d have her on her knees.
The place I take them is casual, loud, and nothing fancy. With red vinyl booths and greasy menus, it’s the kind of place where you can’t hear your own thoughts, which feels about right.
Connor slides into the booth across from me and immediately grabs the menu like it’s sacred text.
“I already know what I want,” he announces.
“Of course you do,” Harper says.
My knee bumps hers under the table. She freezes for half a second, her eyes finding mine, and then she relaxes.
Good.
We order, Connor rattling off his entire meal in one breath like he’s afraid the waitress might escape, and we then settle in. For a few minutes, it’s just easy conversation. We chat about school, practice, and how Connor’s math homework is “basically illegal.” Harper teases him and he fires back. Turns out the kid’s got a clear understanding of sarcasm.
He gets that from his mother.
I watch them both, quietly cataloging things I want to remember, and then Connor tilts his head at me. “Did you eat at places like this when you were my age?”
I snort. “No way. My mom was way stricter than yours.”
Harper smiles. “Shocking.”
“Hey,” I say defensively, “I was a good kid.”
Connor looks unconvinced.
“I didn’t even start skating until I was ten,” I continue. “Before that, I just chased pucks around in sneakers.”
Connor’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really. It took a while for my mom to see that I really enjoyed the ice and wanted to be there as much as possible.”
He sits back, processing that. “So, I’m already better than you were.”
I point at him, pretending to be stern, and swallow my laugh. “Careful, kid. Confidence is good but cockiness gets you benched.”
Harper laughs, covering her mouth.
The food arrives and Connor dives in like he hasn’t eaten in days. Ketchup everywhere. Bun sliding. It’s absolute chaos and I love it.
I watch Harper watch him, the way her expression softens automatically, and something settles in my chest again.
This isn’t a fantasy.
This is real.
At one point, Connor excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving Harper and me alone in the booth. The noise around us fades just enough for the space between us to feel charged.
