Page 93 of The Summer We Lie

Relief floods Harper's features, but suspicion quickly follows. "What are you even doing here?"

"Same as everyone else." He shrugs. "Looking for some fun. Come on, let's go get a drink."

We move to the bar, an unspoken agreement to keep each other's secrets. Logan orders whiskey, Harper orders the same, while I stick with water. The conversation flows with surprising ease—Logan telling stories about his restaurants, Harper discussing her bakery dreams—but underneath runs the current of shared secrets.

As they talk, I find myself watching their interaction. They'd be cute together, both sharing a love for food, if not for the age gap and weirdness of him being her dad's best friend. But isn't that similar to my situation with her dad? Fuck, I wish I hadn't agreed to be the DD tonight because I really need a drink right now.

Harper laughs at something Logan says, the sound bright and relaxed despite the awkwardness of the situation. Logan's eyes linger on her for a moment too long before he catches himself and turns back to his drink. I wonder if Dom has any idea about the complicated web we're all weaving around him.

When we finally leave, Harper links her arm through mine, leaning close as we walk toward the exit.

"That was weird, right?" she whispers.

I think about Dom, about the room with the kneeling woman, about the web of connections binding us all together.

"Everything about tonight is weird," I answer truthfully. "But educational."

She raises an eyebrow. "Educational? Care to elaborate?"

I just shake my head, not ready to voice the awakening I've experienced. Some revelations need to be processed in private before being shared—even with your best friend.

The drive back to Dom's place is quiet. Harper nods off against the window, the excitement of the night catching up to her. My thoughts remain tangled in everything I've experienced—the club, the couple in the amber-lit room, the unexpected encounter with Logan, and most of all, the revelation that's still humming through my body like an electric current.

When we get home, Harper perks up with that special energy only tipsy people possess at two in the morning. Her heels click-clack against the kitchen tile as she hops onto one of the island barstools, swinging her legs like she did when we were kids.

"I'm starving," she announces, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Same." I kick off my shoes, relishing the cool floor beneath my feet as I head for the massive stainless-steel refrigerator. "Ice cream?" I ask, holding up a container of strawberry from the freezer.

Harper wrinkles her nose. "Is there any other flavor?"

I look back inside. "There's chocolate."

"Ooo, yes! Ice cream!" she cheers, clapping her hands together like she's just won a prize.

"Awesome." I pull out two bowls and spoons, working methodically in this kitchen that feels both foreign and familiar. I scoop chocolate for her, sliding the bowl across the island's sleek surface, then serve myself some strawberry. After returning the containers to the freezer, I settle on the stool beside her.

We devour our ice cream with frightening speed, spoons scraping against ceramic. The sugar rush is exactly what I need after tonight—something simple and sweet to ground me back in reality.

I take our empty bowls to the sink, rinsing them quickly. "Do you need help upstairs?" I ask, eyeing Harper who's now scrolling through her phone, her movements just a touch uncoordinated.

"I'm good," she assures me, sliding off the stool with exaggerated care.

"Okay, well, goodnight Harp."

"Night, Skye." She pauses at the kitchen entrance. "Love you."

"Love you too." I call back.

I head to my room—my temporary room—where I go straight to the bathroom. The face in the mirror looks different somehow. Same features, same freckles scattered across my nose, but my eyes hold something new—awareness, maybe. Or possibility.

I wash away the night's makeup, brush my teeth, and throw my hair up into a messy bun. Then I grab a change of clothes—just a simple t-shirt—and sneak out through the patio door, circling around to reenter through the back entrance. My bare feet navigate the stairs with practiced stealth, each step carefully placed to avoid any telltale creaks.

When I reach the third floor, I finally allow myself to breathe normally again. I walk to his door and slowly push it open. The room has a soft glow coming from what must be the bathroom light. Did he leave it on for me? The thought makes my chest tighten in a way that's becoming familiar whenever I think of Dom's small considerations.

I creep in and shut the door behind me, then look over at the bed where his form lies still beneath the covers. He's asleep. For a moment, I just watch the rise and fall of his chest, remembering how it felt beneath my hands earlier.

I walk to the other side of the bed and slip out of my dress, letting it fall in a soft heap on the floor. I pull on the t-shirt I brought and carefully climb into his bed, trying not to disturb him.