Harper pauses in putting on his shoe, carefully tilting his head as if to dissect me. “Surprisingly, I do.”
“I know you won’t tell me the medical condition, but I assume there are certain things you can’t do. Can you give me a list?”
A scowl appears quickly on Harper’s face. “The list is long.”
“Do you have a list of things you can’t do but wish you could? If it was safe?”
Harper finishes putting on his shoes, tugs a leg up and rests his chin thoughtfully on his knee. The pose is so soft, so sweet, that my already enamored heart falls just a little more for the sarcastic punk. After a few thoughtful moments, Harper lifts his gaze back to mine.
“I’ve always wanted to go clubbing, ride a motorcycle, camp by myself in the middle of the woods, and well… there’ssomething else too but I’m not telling you that one.” He ticks off each wish on his thin fingers. Everything seems easy to make safe for him. I can’t force him to tell me what his condition is, but I can make his life joyful, and fun, until he feels safe confiding in me.
“You want to go camping?” Really, it’s the only wish that stands out to me because it seems so unlike him.
Harper turns to the side to help Honey put her service vest on, revealing the long line of his elegant throat. His skin is so creamy-pale, absolutely not a single blemish. I wonder what his skin tastes like, how it would feel under my palms, reddening after I’ve pinched him, or spanked him. Would he like that? Jesus, Jackson, get yourself together, man.
“It’s less about the camping, and more about being alone where I’m not nearby for medical help. It would be nice to just once in my life… just once…” Harper trails off and distractedly pats Honey on the head once the vest is secured. “It’s just a silly wish.”
I hate that he even for a moment thinks his wishes might be silly. Nothing he ever asks for is silly. With a clearly annoyed sigh, he unfurls from the sofa and strides toward me. My eyes get caught on the sway of his hips for a second, before trailing back up to his forest-green gaze.
“Shall we go?” Harper asks curiously, head tilted to the side.
“Yes,” I reply, voice just barely not cracking.
Once we’re all safely loaded into the car, I point us in the direction of the city. If Harper is curious, he doesn’t ask any questions, which seems at odds with what I know about him so far.
“Do you have a certain kind of music you prefer?” I scroll through the satellite radio stations, trying to land on something worth listening to.
“I like anything but country.”
“Curious considering where you were raised.”
Harper laughs bitterly. “That’s probably why I hate it. I can only hear about someone thinking a tractor is sexy so many times before I want to throw myself off a cliff.”
“Wait, that song is catchy,” I point out.
Harper rolls his eyes so hard that I’m afraid they’ll get stuck that way. “You can’t be serious. Oh wait, I love this song!”
Quickly taking my hand off the radio, I almost laugh when I realize it landed on a romance ballad station. Harper softly hums along to the Celine Dion song, eyes trained on the scenery outside his window. He has no idea the power he has over me already. I stay quiet through the drive into the city just to listen to him. When he loves a particular song, he turns the dial up a little louder, but I can still hear his soft hums perfectly matching the melody.
When I park in front of the large event mall, Harper leans forward with a curious frown. “You brought me into touristville?”
“I sure did.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer him. Harper and Honey quietly follow me into the mall-like structure. Thankfully it’s early enough that it’s not busy yet, which is exactly why I chose to bring Harper at this time of day. I hold the door open for them both, then take Harper’s hand in mine to guide us toward the rage room. Andy had told me about it when I’d asked her about fun things to do around town. If she’d known it was for me and Harper, she hadn’t let on, but she’d been all too happy to help me out.
Surprisingly, Harper doesn’t tug his hand from mine. He grips my hand tightly, clearly unsure about his surroundings. People pass by us, and I note a few looking quizzically at Honey, but I do my best to shelter them from stares. I want Harper tofeel safe and have fun, but I don’t want him to feel on display, which is exactly why I called ahead.
The sign is flipped to “closed” on the rage room door, but I knock on the door anyway.
Harper tugs on my hand. “It says closed, Jackson.”
I wink. “Closed for us.”
“What…” But Harper trails off when the door opens.
A sweet young woman grins at us. “Jackson and Harper?”
