"Dean." Something in her voice makes me sit up straighter. "Are you still in town?"
"Just leaving. Why?"
"It’s Harper.That cheating bastard ex of hers showed up. He followed her inside, and he's shouting, and the door's locked. She's not answering her phone. Why the hell did you drive off so fast?"
The truck's already turning around before she finishes speaking. Blood pounds in my ears as I remember Harper's quiet voice that first night, telling me how she'd found him with his co-worker. How he'd tried to explain it away as a "mistake" while planning their wedding behind her back.
"How long?" My voice sounds strange, even to me.
"Just a few minutes. I tried the door but—"
I hang up, hitting the gas. Three minutes. That's all it takes to get back to her building. It feels like hours.
Through the storefront windows, I can see them – Harper backed against the far wall, hands raised in a placating gesture. The man advancing on her is wearing an expensive coat, his face twisted with anger.
"I tracked your credit cards of course, remember I have all your logins," his voice carries through the glass. "But everything's different now. I've changed."
The lock gives way under my shoulder. Pain shoots through my arm, but I barely notice.
He spins around, and I recognize him just from her description: perfectly pressed suit, carefully styled hair. The kind of man who thinks he can have whatever he wants.
Not this time.
I move between them, my back to Harper. I can feel her trembling behind me.
"This is a private conversation," he says, straightening his coat. "You need to leave."
"Funny." My voice is deadly calm. "I was about to say the same thing to you."
He looks me up and down, taking in my work clothes, the sawdust probably still in my hair. His lip curls. "This doesn't concern you. Harper and I have things to discuss. Our history—"
"Your history?" I take a step forward. "You mean how you betrayed her? How you tried to control her dreams while screwing around behind her back?"
His face reddens. "That was a misunderstanding."
"The only misunderstanding here is you thinking you have any right to be near her."
"Harper." He tries to look around me. "Baby, please. What we had—"
"What you had," I cut in, "is over. What you are doing now is trespassing."
Something in my face must finally get through to him, because he backs up a step.
"This is ridiculous." He straightens his tie. "Harper, when you're done playing house with this... carpenter, call me. We both know you'll come to your senses eventually."
I feel Harper's hand slip into mine, her fingers threading through mine like they belong there. Because they do.
"The only sense I've come to," she says, her voice steady now, "is that I deserve better than someone who lies to me. Someone who cheats on me. Someone who thinks my dreams are childish."
"I have someone now who believes in me," she continues. "Who supports my dreams instead of trying to change them. Who shows up when I need him." She squeezes my hand. "Who makes me feel safe."
The ex looks between us, his face darkening. "You can't be serious. This guy? He's nobody."
"He's mine." Harper's voice rings with certainty. "And I'm his. And you need to leave. Now."
We watch him go, his expensive shoes clicking against the sidewalk. Through the window, I see Emma giving him a look that could curdle milk.
Harper's hand is still in mine.
