Page 43 of Our Ruined Beginnings

She’s all I think about, and by the next morning, it’s already driving me to distraction. I send Evan a message to see what he’s up to. The thought of Harper being here brings me too much comfort. I need to get out. I know she wouldn’t be here without a good reason, but I don’t know what that is.

Madden:You around?

Evan:Yeah, I’ll come over

For some reason, the message makes my body go stiff, and I find I don’t want him to know she’s here. I don’t want anyone to, not really. Like if no one knows, then it’s our little secret. If Evan knows, he’ll expect me to carry on the torment—to make her wish she wasn’t here through the break—but I want her to want to be here. Our home has always been her home, and if there’s one thing I know for sure that Caleb would chew me out over, it’s making it not be. I mean, he’d flip about everything so far, but I can give him this.

Madden:Nah. I’ll be at yours in a minute

I spend a couple hours shooting the shit with Evan, but my heart’s not really in it, and while I thought I needed to be away from the house to find peace, it just makes me think of Harper even more. What’s she doing? Is she in the movie room—one of her favorite places to chill on a winter’s day? Or has she lit the fire in the snug with the outside view? It’s still in the 60s but Harper never let a thing like the weather stop her from enjoying the traditional winter activities. I wonder how she likes the Maine seasons? God, I wish I knew.

The pang of homesickness—for her and for where she is right now—is so sudden and acute my chest aches. I murmur my goodbyes to Evan and head home. I’m not searching for her exactly, but I can’t deny I feel at ease when I spot her in the snug with my mom, the fire lit.

I watch from the doorway, even though I can’t hear them—only mumblings and the crack of the wood—but my mom has her arm around Harper on the sofa, and they’re looking at something on her lap. My mom squeezes her shoulders and then stands, not saying anything to me as she notices me standing here, watching. Instead, she walks past and out of the room, giving my fingers a squeeze as she leaves.

Harper stays hunched over her lap for a couple more minutes, and I watch. She looks so fucking small. Is that what I think I’m seeing, or has she lost weight? Why does she suddenly look so breakable?

She brings her hands to her face, and I realize she’s crying. She stands abruptly before I can say anything or let her know I’m here, and she gasps when she turns to see me in the doorway.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding to the large book in her hand at her side, but she shakes her head lightly.

“I was just…” She trails off almost guiltily, and I close the distance between us, taking it from her hand. It’s a photo album. Caleb’s.

I should’ve known.

One of my mom’s passions is compiling photo albums. We have so many—some for specific people, some for certain occasions. This one was lovingly labeledCaleb 10 – 15. Without even opening it, I know Harper will feature in most of these photos. Maybe even more than I did. It’d be the same for mine—she was always there, exactly where we wanted her.

A flare of irrational jealousy ignites at her looking through his album and not mine. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it.

“You weren’t Caleb’s,” I say, before I can think it through. “You were mine.”

She blinks up at me for a moment, those beautiful dark eyes assessing me like only she can. I bet she can still read me like a book.

“He wouldn’t have abandoned me,” she whispers, and I close my eyes against the blow that delivers. It’s worse because I know it’s true.

“Maybe he’s better than me. Maybe it was never meant to be me and you—maybe it was meant to be you two,” I offer bitterly, but she’s shaking her head.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?”

I think I hold my breath until she answers, and I’m not even sure why.

“I love Caleb, but it’ll always be you.” Her eyes widen as she registers what she’s said, immediately trying to correct herself. “I mean, itwas—”

Cupping her face, I cut off her words as I press my lips to hers, and I’m not sure if I’m trying to expel this want for her or show her how much I hold, but whatever it is, I pour it into this kiss. I can’t help it anymore. I can’t keep fighting against my instincts when it comes to her. So I don’t.

My lips move over hers, my tongue licking against the seam until she parts with a gasp and grants me access. I taste and savor her, reveling in what I’ve wanted for years, and as I wind an arm around her waist, she presses herself against me eagerly. I could so easily drown in this girl.

The thought is sobering, and I pull back, both of our pants mingling in the small space between us. My eyes flick from her swollen lips to her hooded eyes and back again. I use every bit of willpower I have to let my hands drop from her, then take a step back, willing my face to not show how much I want her right now.

Her face falls. “Who’s hiding now?”

She’s right. I am. I want too much from her. Too much for her to give, and too much for me to take. We can’t do this. It’s not on the cards for us anymore. Our promising beginning was ruined. But this break, this secret we have over the holidays, even just tonight, feels like a tiny reprieve.

“Let’s not hide, then,” I offer, and her eyes widen. “Just this time, we give each other everything.”

She doesn’t answer right away, searching my eyes for something—probably a sign it’s a trick or a way to torment her—but she mustn’t find either, because it’s not long before she pushes up onto her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine. I wanted that—that one moment of her giving in and showing me she was choosing this too—and I take it as the acceptance it is.

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