It might very well be the last time ever because she hates me, but after talking to Noah and Graham, I admit she needs to know the truth.
No matter how shitty it is.
The hotel and casino are hopping. A few eyes notice me, but I ignore them, following groups of people to the elevators.
Pushing the button to the eighth floor, I try to gather my thoughts on what I’m going to tell Harper.
Finding her room when I get out of the elevator, I take a deep breath and knock. There’s no answer. No sounds from inside.
Did she leave?
Just when I consider knocking again, the door swings open.
There’s Harper.
In nothing but a towel wrapped around her torso and her blonde hair dripping down over her shoulders.
“Oh. It’s you.”
She goes to close the door, but I throw a hand out to stop her. “Why’d you answer the door in a towel?”
“Because I thought you were room service.”
Harper slinks inside the room, and the fact that she’s not slamming the door in my face is a good sign.
Well, one I interpret as a good sign.
“I know you want to head to the chapel, but would you rather talk now or later?”
“Let me finish changing.”
Harper disappears into the bathroom with her clothes before I get an answer out of her.
Shit. This really isn’t going well.
Stalking toward the wall of windows that overlooks the strip, I stuff my hands in my pockets. There has to be a way to break this stalemate.
Christ. I scrub a hand over my face and watch the cars and people down below. Signs from the strip are flashing. The sun is blazing hot as it floods the room. Fountains dance on the other side of the street. If we were down there, we’d be jostled by all the people walking with tall drinks in hand.
Pressing a hand to the window, I remember the last time that Harper and I were here.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
Then one call changed everything. The woman in the next room is practically a stranger now. I have no idea what’s happened to Harper these last seven years. Where has she lived? Has she been a teacher this entire time? Does she have the same friends?
And God forbid, has she dated?
The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
I have no right to any opinion. I lost it when I walked out. But the thought that Harper could have moved on with someone else doesn’t sit well with me.
“You want to talk?”
That sweet voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. I spin on my heel, and the sight of her takes my breath away.
Blonde hair is now dry and flowing over her shoulder. Her lips are shiny, likely from her strawberry shortcake lip balm that she always used. She’s in a simple pair of black jeans and a sleeveless denim shirt.
It pulls a smile from my face. She told me it was alwaysher favorite outfit. That it made her feel like she could take on the world.
