Our hands brush.
My heart jumps.
“I—” I start, but he chuckles low, letting me take it.
“No, you first,” he says. But our fingers linger on the fry for a moment, a little too long, and I feel a jolt straight through my arm.
We both laugh softly, embarrassed. The tension between us humming. I take a breath, forcing myself to focus on something less volatile.
“Well, you sound proud of your team. Of your family,” I say, trying to keep things light. “Which is great. It makes you seem…approachable. You know, like you’re not just some sexy hockey god.”
Harrison laughs, a soft, low chuckle that makes my chest tingle. “I’m approachable. I promise.” His eyes lift and catch my gaze just before he adds, “You just have to come close enough to see it.”
I really want to come close enough.
I really want to see it.
I look down at my water glass, pretending not to feel it. Our lunch continues, peppered with playful jokes and easy chatter. We share stories about Connor, the kids from the youth program, even laugh at the idea of me trying to coach a hockey drill. And through it all, there’s that constant undercurrent of wanting, of something unspoken hovering between us.
We’re halfway through lunch when I reach for a fry absentmindedly. Harrison does the same, and our hands collide again. This time, we don’t pull away. I glance at him, and there’s that spark in his eyes.
Soft, deliberate, full of understanding.
I freeze, swallowing hard. The warmth from him spreads through me, gentle but electric, and I have to look away. By the time lunch winds down, Harrison stands first, offering his hand to help me out of the booth. Our fingers brush briefly as he pulls me to my feet, my stomach flutters.
“Can I walk you back to the office?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
I catch a hint of nerves behind the calm in his eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
We step outside, the sun warm on our shoulders, and the walk is quiet at first. Neither of us wants to ruin the fragile bubble of tension we’ve built. But every step is electric.
The brushing of arms that lingers a second too long.
The glances that drop to lips before darting away.
The way he occasionally drifts just close enough that part of our hips touch.
So close I can smell his cologne that smells like the comforting warmth of an ocean breeze.
When we reach the building, we pause at the doors. I hesitate, feeling the space between us shrink in a way that makes my heart pound. Harrison’s hands are casually in his pockets, but there’s tension in his shoulders.
“Lunch was…” he starts, and then stops, his eyes darkening as they hold mine. “Better than I expected. Thank you.”
“Me too,” I admit. My chest tightens and I have to look down, catching my breath as heat pools low in my belly..
He tilts his head toward me. “See you tomorrow? For the game?”
I nod. “We’ll be there.”
He steps closer, just enough that I feel his warmth, and take pleasure in the scent of him, the tension thickening between us. I want to reach out and press my palm against his chest.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
He leans farther and places a chaste kiss on my forehead that’s both too innocent and too intimate. “Bye, Harper,” he says softly, his voice low, private, meant only for me.
“Bye, H,” I murmur, letting my fingers brush the doorframe as I walk inside, heart racing.
