Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHASE
I’d grown usedto this—Harper’s kitchen in the golden slipstream of morning, the faint scent of toast mingling with ocean salt and fresh coffee. The place looked like us now. My sleek black espresso maker sat next to her battered drip pot, Harper’s to-do lists tangled up with Finn’s drawings beneath the shark magnet. It felt easy, familiar, the kind of belonging you only notice when you realize how much you used to live without it. A couple of weeks back, I would have worried I was overstepping. Now, in the low hush before the day’s tumult, I simply felt settled.
The machine pinged, and I sipped from the rich brew as I contemplated how Harper had gone from a woman I’d known for years to the woman I couldn’t live without. I crossed to my bag on the table and opened it. A smile raised my lips at what lay inside. Waiting. Plans were in motion, but I could bide my time.
Her footsteps came next, quieterthan usual, slow. I quickly prepared her cup out of habit. Harper always insisted on plain coffee in the mornings, but I’d started to sneak in a drizzle of honey. The sweetness was more for me. A simple way of loving her.
I glanced up and she filled the doorway in her faded blue robe, hair loose about her shoulders, the light behind her gilding her edges. She was paler than normal, almost wan, and even before she spoke, something in me flickered—a note struck off-key.
“Morning, Sunshine.” I kept my voice easy, sliding her mug into her hand as my eyes lingered on hers.
No snappy comeback. Instead, she pressed the mug to her lips with both hands, steadying herself. She managed a weak half-smile. “Sunshine might be a stretch. Maybe more like partly cloudy with a chance of sprinkles.”
Her eyes dropped to my laptop screen on the table—my open render of the lobby reno and expansion. She stared at it with a glazed look. When she finally blinked, the gesture looked like it took effort.
“Tough night?” I asked.
She hummed, vague. “A bit. Just work stress. Employee reviews start today. My brain staged a marathon and wouldn’t quit.” Her lips lifted, but it fell short of a real joke.
I crossed to the fridge. “I know what you need. Let me make you some breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast. You need it if you’re about to take on the full staff circus.”
She shook her head, her nose wrinkling a little. “Thanks, but maybe just toast. I’m not hungry. Stomach’s a little off.”
I stopped, bread in hand, taking her in again. No appetite, the robe still on when she’d usually be wrangling Finn’s backpack and arranging to get him from Grandma’s. Something nudged at the edge of my brain,sharpening all my internal lines. I fixed the toast anyway, fussing with the dial, giving her space. Meanwhile, my mind ticked over the data—exhausted, not hungry, pale, a bit nauseated. And as always, too ready to blame herself.
And suddenly—stupidly, logically, inevitably—the pieces connected.
I turned around and leaned against the counter. “Harper, are you sure everything’s okay?”
She frowned, undoubtedly getting ready to tell me how fine she was. But I held her gaze when her eyes met mine.
I made sure my voice came out careful, gentle, when I asked, “When was your last period?”
The kitchen contracted around us. For a heartbeat, her face was all confusion of wrinkled brow, unfocused eyes, her hand halfway to her hair.
Then her eyes locked on mine. Startled, suddenly still. Then fear tightened the delicate muscles around her mouth.
Time snapped taut.
I didn’t say anything more, waiting, not trusting myself to fill the quiet with anything but presence. She blinked. Her gaze darted down, then to her coffee cup as her mind worked the numbers. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her shoulders, always squared to the world, seemed impossibly narrow just then.
When Harper’s eyes snapped up to mine, they were clear—no denial, no panic, just shock and something bracing underneath. “Okay. You’re right. I’m late. A week. Well, closer to two.” The words landed between us, heavy and undeniable. She pushed back her chair, steadying herself with both hands on the table. “I need… I need to get a pregnancy test. Like, now.”
It was my cue. I didn’t hesitate. “Good idea. I’ll drive.”
My keys were in my hand before I’d even registeredstanding up. The thing that mattered was her, what she needed. My heart was pounding, but I didn’t let it bleed into my words.
Harper nodded, a breath puffing out of her chest, almost like relief. “Yes. Please. I’ll go change.”
Outside, the day felt inappropriately bright, the air thick with that pre-storm humidity that always made my skin feel tight. We walked to the car in silence, her in leggings and a big tee, me running through logistics. Grocery store. Main Street.
I glanced over as she buckled in. She stared straight ahead, mouth pressed flat, one hand white-knuckled on the strap of her seat belt. The drive lasted four minutes. It felt like forty. The parking lot outside Island Market was mostly empty, still early enough for a sliver of privacy. Inside, the world looked the same as always with its fluorescent lights and stacked pineapples. Every normal detail seemed offensive in its ordinariness. We went straight for the pharmacy aisle, and she grabbed the first test within arm’s reach. I paused, glancing at the sea of boxes. Early Response, Super Accuracy, Over 99% Reliable.
I tried a weak joke as I picked up a white box with pink lettering. “Want me to analyze the data for precision? I’m partial to this one. It has a bar graph on the back.”
She gave me a side-eye. Her mouth twitched, almost a laugh, before settling back into something rawer. “If it can tell me yes or no, I don’t care if it has Bluetooth.”
