She picks at her fries. “Thank you for this.”
“For lunch?”
“For…everything.” Her eyes meet mine, steady but searching. “For showing up. For being here.”
I swallow. “I want to be here. You know that.”
“I know,” she says softly. “It still means something.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Connor returns, talking at full volume about how the bathroom mirror is “like a funhouse,” and the moment passes between Harper and me. Not in a bad way. More like it’s tucked away, waiting.
When we finally stand to leave, Connor lags behind, tying his shoe so I stop to wait for him, watching.
Harper leans closer to me. “You okay?”
I glance at her, then at the kid who’s unknowingly changed my entire life.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I think I am. Also, you did a great job teaching him to tie his shoes.”
Jay’s Baris loud in the way only a place full of hockey players and their partners can be. Half laughter, half trash talk, with the bass thumping just enough that it feels like a heartbeat. We’ve barely made it through the door before Oliver claps his hands together like a cruise director.
“Alright, couples on the right, chaos on the left,” he announces.
Scarlett groans. “You arenotin charge of this outing.”
“False,” Bodhi says, already ordering shots. “He’s been planning this since noon.”
Harper stands close to me, her hand brushing mine as we wait for the bartender. She’s wearing jeans that should be illegal and a soft black top that makes me forget at least three plays from last season. I scan the crowd, taking in the laughter and the raucous energy buzzing around me. This is my territory. My kind of chaos. And yet, amid the familiar faces of teammates and their partners, I only have eyes for one person.
“Can I get you a drink?” I ask Harper as her fingers wrap around my hand like she’s anchoring herself to this moment.
“Just a water for now,” she replies, and I nod, because that’s fair. We’ve both been thrown into new territory, and she puts on a brave face, but I can see the nerves swirling underneath. As we approach the bar, I try to project calmness.
“Coming right up.” I give our order to the bartender and then turn my attention back to Harper. She looks beautiful, the kind of beautiful that makes my chest tighten. The way she carries herself—confident but still a little shy—only makes me want to hold her closer.
I lean in. “You okay?”
She smiles up at me. “Are you asking because I’m on a date with you, or because I’m surrounded by professional athletes with zero volume control?”
“If you only knew how valid both of those concerns are.” She laughs, squeezing my hand, and I feel it like a win. “You know I’m around these types all the time, right? It’s sort of in my job description.”
“You’re right. You are. No need for me to worry then. You ready to meet the crew?” I ask, half teasing, half serious.
“Am I?” she counters, glancing over her shoulder at the group. “It’s definitely a lot of first impressions all at once.”
“I promise they’re all friendly. Well, mostly,” I chuckle, recalling some of Barrett’s crabby antics.
We grab a high-top near the back, everyone crammed around it, drinks everywhere. August and Ella are already mid-argument about whose turn it is to pick the music.
“I picked last time,” August says.
“That was three weeks ago,” Ella counters. “And you chose sad indie rock.”
“It hasdepth.”
Barrett slides in beside me, Blakely at his side, and smirks. “So, Meers,” he says, loud enough for half the table to hear, “is this an official date or are we still pretending?”
