I wanted to pull her in close, shield her from the world. But this was hers to steer, so I fell in beside her, matching her pace. At the checkout, fate was kind—some kid from up the Keys, earbuds in, half-listening. He scanned the test, looked up, and recognized neither of us, then mumbled the total. I pulled my card, tapped, and glanced at Harper. For the briefest second, our eyes met—both aware of theabsurd weight of the little paper bag, the relief that it wasn’t Lori from the beauty shop behind the counter.
I opened her car door for her, then slid behind the wheel. The paper bag was clutched in her lap. I reached for her hand, settling my palm over hers on the crumpled paper.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I said quietly. “But whatever that test says, I’m here.”
Her grip on my fingers was tight. I thought of Jarod. The abandonment. The years she’d lived with that particular wound. I squeezed back, every muscle in my body broadcasting,
I’m not him. I won’t run.
Back at the cottage, Harper was already halfway to the bathroom before I’d killed the ignition. She held the bag to her chest, moving with purpose, her back straight, every inch a woman refusing to shrink from uncertainty. I found myself pacing in the living room—through the kitchen, by the fridge, back to the couch, then to the small hallway outside the bathroom. Finally, I waited just outside, every part of me restless and wired.
Harper opened the door, watch in hand. “Now we wait a few minutes.”
She set an alarm, placed it face-up on the edge of the counter, and stepped into my arms. I held her tight to my chest. Her skin felt warm, shaky. My heart hammered out a rhythm neither of us could ignore.
After an eternity, the alarm chirped.
We moved together, inching into the tiny bathroom. The wand lay on the counter, its window so starkly marked.
Two lines, clear as sunrise.
Harper’s face was complicated. Hope, fear, disbelief, maybe the echo of some old, deeper grief all flashedthrough her. Tears shimmered, unshed. But below all that, there was a steadiness I’d never seen in her before. She looked at me—truly looked—waiting for my reaction.
I reached for the test. It trembled a little in my fingers, but those two lines didn’t change. I swallowed as I searched her face, trying to make her see it.
The awe and joy splitting me wide open.
She saw it. The bracing for disaster melted away, second by second, as she read the happiness in me. Something shifted. Her shoulders loosened. Her mouth turned up, slow and wobbly. A breath hitched and left her, almost a laugh.
She trusted me.
She understood I was happy about this.
She knew I wasn’t going to run.
The realization hit me harder than anything. Her trust in me was the answer I’d wanted more than anything.
The test slipped from my hand to the counter. I hauled her to me, crushed her tight. For a heartbeat, I lifted her clear off the ground, spinning us until she gasped, half-laugh, half-sob.
“Oh my God, are you okay? This is—wow. This is amazing.” My voice was rough, leaking emotion all over the place.
She clung to me, laughing, crying, barely able to catch her breath. “Two lines, Chase! I still can’t believe it.”
I set her down, cupping her face, brushing her hair back so I could see her eyes. I let every bit of happiness I felt shine for her. “Best news ever. Are you okay? Really okay?”
She stared back, steady as the tide, her voice clear but tremulous, as if letting go of all the old fear at once. “Yes. The idea scared me at first… Old habits die hard. But seeing your face…” She gestured between us, lips twitching. “I’mstill a little scared. But I know it’s okay, Chase. We’re okay.”
There was no distance left between us, only the certainty that came from facing the truth and finding the other person exactly where you needed them to be.
I don’t know how long we stood there, arms around each other, anchored in a wave of disbelief and dizzy happiness, the echo of Harper’s “We’re okay” ringing louder than any test result. The world outside the cottage could have been spinning or standing still, for all I cared. Here, everything felt brand new.
Harper stepped back, still touching my arm, her gaze drifting to the living room. Finn’s LEGO spaceship lay on the coffee table next to my T square. She blew out a trembling laugh and pressed the heel of her hand to her cheek, blinking hard. “Well, I don’t need to worry about birth control anymore.”
Her doctor hadn’t wanted her on the pill, so we’d been using the good old withdrawal method until she got an IUD placed.
“Yeah, guess you were more prime time than we thought.”
Her eyes were still glazed as she darted a look toward the bathroom and its life-changing news lying on the counter. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re on solid footing. And you’ve moved in already. No one can accuse us of rushing there.” Her eyes flicked to the tangle of my running shoes, laptop cords trailing from the couch. “Makes planning a future a little easier.”
