Chapter Eighteen
HARPER
I loggedthe final approval for the new poolside loungers into our renovation tracker, a satisfied smile tugging at my lips. The spreadsheet before me was showing more green check marks than red flags for once. My gaze drifted to the small stack of paint swatches on the corner of my desk, each labeled in Chase’s precise handwriting. I ran my finger across the top one, the soft blue-gray that would transform our tired guest rooms into something fresh and inviting. Just like he had transformed so many quiet evenings into something I looked forward to.
A knock sounded at my open door. Jules leaned against the doorframe, her dark hair pulled back in its customary bun.
“You’re smiling at a spreadsheet.” One beautifully arched eyebrow lifted. “Should I be concerned?”
“I’m smiling because, for once, we’re not hemorrhaging money or time.” I turned my laptop toward her. “Room Block One is on schedule, and the pool remodel is actually ahead.”
“Don’t jinx it.” Jules stepped into my office, her eyes scanning the renovation tracker with the same intensity she applied to our financial statements. “That is a very reassuring progress report. Speaking of which, I’ve finished the quarterly projections. Want to review them tomorrow morning? I’ve got dinner plans tonight.”
“Oh? You and Eli having a date night?”
“We are.” A smile softened Jules’s features. “We’re heading to that new seafood place on Big Pine Key.”
“Have fun.” I saved my work and began shutting down my computer. “I’ve got plans too.”
“More construction meetings with our architect?”
I laughed but didn’t rise to her bait. I didn’t need to. Jules knew more than most about the intricacies of becoming involved with someone you worked with. “Chase is bringing over the flooring samples for Room Block One tonight. We need to finalize the selection before the installer schedules the job.”
What I didn’t mention was the pizza waiting in my fridge or the way my skin tingled with anticipation at the thought of Chase’s hands on me later, after Finn was asleep.
The past two weeks had flown by in a blur of renovation meetings interspersed with moments that felt like sunshine breaking through clouds I hadn’t even realized were there. Little things, casual interactions that somehow filled spaces inside me I’d forgotten were empty.
Like Tuesday last week, when we’d stolen away for lunch during a chaotic day. We’d ended up at a tiny sandwich shop, crammed at a corner table, blueprints spread between our turkey clubs.
“This is seriously the best sandwich I’ve ever had,”Chase had declared, somehow making the statement sound both utterly sincere and slightly ridiculous.
“You said that about the Cuban at Tropical Hops last Thursday,” I’d countered, wiping a bit of mayo from the corner of his mouth with my thumb, the casual intimacy of the gesture making our eyes lock for a long beat.
His eyes had darkened as he caught my hand, pressing a quick kiss to my palm—quick but deliberate enough to make my breath catch. “I’m a man of varied and excellent tastes.”
There had been dozens of other stolen moments—text messages that threatened to make me laugh out loud during tedious staff meetings, the way he’d started carrying my coffee order in his head as easily as ceiling heights and square footage calculations.
And then there were the nights. After Finn was tucked in, those late-evening conversations on my porch swing or curled up on my couch meandered from resort business to philosophical debates about the best movie trilogies. Conversations that inevitably led to more.
The physical part. God, the physical part was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Not just the intensity, though there was certainly that. It was the attentiveness, the way Chase approached my body like an architect approaches a challenging but inspiring project—with curiosity, enthusiasm, and a determination to understand what made it sing.
Last Sunday night, he’d walked me backward toward my bedroom, his lips never leaving mine as he whispered, “Tell me what you like, Harper. I want to know everything you like.”
And for once in my life, I had.
But there was more than just the physical connection. There was the way he’d sat at my kitchen table three nightsago, patiently helping Finn with a kindergarten alphabet project, his big hands guiding my son’s much smaller ones as they traced letters onto construction paper.
I hadn’t meant to let myself hope. I really hadn’t. Six years of being Finn’s only parent had taught me the value of self-sufficiency, the danger of expectations. But watching them together, seeing Chase fold himself into our little world with such natural ease, I couldn’t help the tender shoot of possibility that had taken root inside me.
My phone buzzed with a text notification, pulling me back to my office and the present moment. I smiled as Chase’s name flashed on the screen.
Chase: Flooring samples secured. ETA your place 6:30. Pizza and professional opinions to follow. Maybe other things too…
I bit my lip, warmth spreading through me as I typed back a quick response.
Jules appeared in my doorway again, purse in hand. “I’m heading out. Don’t stay too late.”
“I’m on my way too. Have fun with Eli.”
