Page 14 of One More Chance

Jensen

“Hey, with a smiley face?”I laugh.

“What’s wrong with that?” Harper asks.

“You can’t be serious,” I say.

She shrugs her shoulders and messages the guy back. Actually messages the guy back, if you can believe it.

“I have to get some practice in, anyway. Even if he isn’t a winner,” she says.

Practice? What kind of practice is she talking about? I study her face for a few minutes as she navigates back to the screen where you scroll through people. “Practice?” I decide to ask.

“It’s your turn, I think,” she says, clearly trying to detract from my question.

“In high school, I had a crush on the most popular girl in school. I mean, she was the prom queen and everything. Her boyfriend didn’t like it too much, not that I was a threat. He broke into the band room and wrecked my saxophone. My guitar too,” I say.

“You weren’t popular in high school?” she asks, her tone giving the impression she’s a little shocked.

“Not exactly. Unless band kids who don’t play any sports and go to college still as virgins are what you’d call popular,” I say, laughing.

Harper’s face is sheer shock at this point. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“I guess you could say a lot changed my freshman year of college.” I think back to when I met the few decent popular guys I did, and how they helped me bloom. I put some weight on, which filled out my tall frame. Then I learned how to dress, talk to people, and be more confident in myself.

“I was prom queen,” she says, cutting into my thoughts.

I look Harper up and down, taking in her petite frame, golden hair, and overall demeanor. “I can see that.”

She looks down at her feet, as if my words have bothered her. “You wanna go sit out on the porch?”

I nod, following her out to the swing we’d sat on the previous day. “Wow, look at that sky. You’d never see a sky like that in Boston or another big city.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Harper says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been looking at the same sky my whole life. I don’t know any other skies.”

I think about that for a few minutes, leaning back against the porch swing and listening to it sway.

“When I said I needed to practice earlier?” she says.

Here it comes.“Yeah?” I ask, turning to give her my full attention.

“I meant I was with Charles since high school and I’ve never dated anyone else.”

I blink at her several times, processing what she just said. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me see if I have this straight. You? Have only been with one man? Your entire life?” I ask, punctuating my statement to give it the necessary emphasis to portray my bewilderment.

“That’s correct,” she says.

“A man named Charles?”

“Yes,” she says.

“So, let me see if I have this. You divorced a man named Charles and you’re gonna practice dating with a guy named Steve? Because you’ve only been with one guy ever. And you basically have to learn how to like…do what we’re doing now?” I ask, looking at her quizzically.

“Well, I mean I guess,” she says.

---