Connor giggles. “Moo-Moo Meadows it is. Come on!”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Meers,” Antoni says as he steps past me. “We hear a lot about you around this place. Big fans, of course.”
“Yeah, uh, sorry,” I say feeling a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean to have an attitude.”
He laughs. “Of course, you did, but it’s all good. Nice to know Connor’s got someone looking out for him.” He picks up a video game controller from the coffee table while Connor sets up their game and leans toward me one more time to say, “And don’t worry about me. I won’t get in the way of whatever’s going on here.” He gestures between Harper and me. “I don’t play for team papaya if you get my drift. I’m more of an eggplant guy.”
Antoni winks and then takes a seat next to Connor on the couch.
Harper’s gaze flicks past me to the kitchen table and my stomach tightens because I already know what she’s looking for. The photos are still scattered right where Connor left them earlier. Right after he asked—with all the tact of a ten-year-old boy—why his mom had a bunch of old lovey-dovey photos with me. Harper walks into the kitchen like she’s approaching a crime scene and I follow quietly behind her.
“I can explain,” she blurts at a whisper hastily picking up the photos from the table.
I lean against the counter, crossing my arms but keeping my voice gentle. “You don’t have to?—”
“No, I do.” She presses her fingertips to her temples. “I left them out. I didn’t mean to. I had to run out to meet a client and then…ugh…God, Harrison, I’m so sorry.”
“Harper.” I step closer to help her pick up the remaining photos. “It’s fine.”
She huffs out a breath. “It’s a little mortifying.”
I look down at the photos in my hand.
Us.
Sunburned and stupid on spring break.
Her in my T-shirt, my arm around her waist.
Her kissing my jaw.
Me kissing her neck.
Us tangled in a hammock.
Her laughing into my mouth.
They’re a punch to the chest for sure. I’d forgotten how young we were. How easy everything felt.
How quickly I knew she was the one.
I pick up another, a Polaroid of her sitting on my lap on the beach, her hand in my hair, my smile pressed against her shoulder. My chest tightens just looking at the moment I so vividly remember.
“You kept all these.”
“Yeah.” She winces like the word stings. “I mean, I shouldn’t have. But I just…” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t throw them away.”
My pulse trips. “Why did you have them out?”
She swallows, throat working. “I was looking for something, and I…got distracted.”
“What were you looking for?”
She pauses. “I don’t know. A memory, I think. That week…it was the last time I remember feeling that—” She cuts herself off. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” I answer quickly, my voice dipping without permission. “What were you feeling?”
Her eyes lift slowly, reluctantly, like she’s terrified of the truth waiting between us.
