He remembered.
Harley remembered. He remembered the stupid brownies in a mug and made them a staple in his life. He made them a thing with his daughter.
Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I had one—besides the dinner with Harley and Aria.
That single fact screwed with my head. Even days later, I was still stuck on it. Because once upon a time, it’d been something I used to take care of him. To make him feel good. At the time, it’d been such a silly little thing—drunken brownies in a mug. A little aftercare to soothe his anxiety.
And yet… apparently, it hadn’t been so silly.
Somewhere along the way, Harley had decided it was worth keeping. Not just as a memory but as an active practice. Had he clung to it all these years without me knowing? Or was it something he brought back into his life for a specific reason? Did he think of me every time?
That whole realization had brought things to the surface that I hadn’t been prepared for. I’d spent years putting myself back together from the messy chapters of our lives. But now I was stuck on whether our story was actually over, like I’d thought it was. Were there unfinished chapters?Or was our friendship the conclusion to everything?
The longer I sat with everything, the harder it became to pretend like the ending didn’t matter to me. Because the truth was… I still loved Harley. They weren’t words I could say out loud—not yet. And maybe never.
And then there was Aria. She was bright and loud and fearless. I liked being around her, which was a weird thing probably to say about someone else’s kid, but I did. She was such a cool little kid, and it was an honor to be a little part of her life.
My heart was a mess of emotions that I struggled to untangle them from one another. What I had was good. I liked my life. I’d been happy for a long time. I worried that if I entertained this thing with Harley… if I reopened our history like that… would I jeopardize that?
“Can I show you something?”
I glanced up at the sound of Carson’s voice and instantly smiled at the sight of him. He stood in the doorway, hugging his tablet to his chest as he waited for me to reply.
“Always,” I said enthusiastically and scooted my chair back in an invitation for him to join me. He hurried over while I pushed my keyboard up a bit on my desk. “Show me what you’ve got, kid.”
“Do you know how cool this is?” he demanded as he set his tablet down. I scooted closer to better look over his shoulder while he flipped open the case. He went straight to his collection of drawings that he had saved.
“Yeah?” I asked. “Are you liking it? I don’t know how hard this is compared to all your sketchbooks.”
What followed was an almost ten-minute monologue about the differences between digital and traditional art. Truthfully, I didn’t have a clue what he was saying, but I was amazed at the sheer number of words he said. I’d never heard him talk so much in his life. He talked about pen pressure and brush types and color profiles. Where he learned it all was beyond me, but I listened to every word and asked a few questions along the way.
“I haven’t figured out the art part yet,” he told me.
“What do you mean you haven’t figured out the art part yet?” I replied with a frown. “It sounds to me like you have.”
“Digital art is hard,” Carson said. As he flipped through a few pictures, his frustrated expression grew. “It doesn’t look the same.”
“It’s not going to look the same,” I reminded him gently. “That’s like working in sidewalk chalk and expecting it to look like paint. They’re different, kid. It’ll take a while to figure out how to make it work for you.”
“Yeah.”
“Hey.” I ruffled his hair affectionately. “All of that is still wall-worthy because I think it looks damn impressive.”
“Yeah?” He glanced at me, and I nodded. “Mommy needs a better printer. Hers doesn’t have colored ink.”
“Sounds about right,” I replied with a chuckle. “What if I look into art printers?”
“What?”
“There’s got to be a place you can get digital art printed,” I told him.And a way to alleviate the cost of maintaining a printer for Roxy.“I’ll look into somewhere we can send your stuff off to for printing, okay?”
“You really think it’s good enough to print?” Carson made a face as he moved between pictures.
“Yeah, I do,” I reassured him. “Remember, practice makes progress. You’re doing just fine.”
“Can I set you up at my desk to do some art while your uncle and I talk?” Roxy asked as she walked into my office, interrupting our conversation.
“Well, that’s not daunting,” I muttered under my breath.
