Page 34 of Harper

“I promised I’d get you home safe, so he left you with me, but he was definitely in a huff.”

“God, I’m the worst,” she laments.

“Nah. You’re siblings. Hunter loves you. He’ll forgive you.” I snort. “Eventually.”

“What else?” she asks, her cheeks coloring.

“I think that’s about it,” I tell her.

“No, it’s not, Joe.”

“What do you mean?”

She clears her throat, staring at her glass of limeade, tracing beads of condensation with her fingertip.

“I woke up in my underwear and your T-shirt.”

“Oh,” I say. “That.”

She looks up. “Yeah. That.”

“You were—”

“Covered in vomit. I know. How’d I get changed, Joe?”

I toy with the idea of teasing her, then think better of it.

“It was totally innocent. I walked you into the bathroom, then left and told you to hand me your dirty clothes through the door. You gave them to me, and I passed you a clean T-shirt. When you came out of the bathroom, you were wearing it.”

She cocks her head to the side. “That’s it? You’re not leaving anything out?”

“Um. Well, actually, yes. I should add…you still have great stems.”

Her lips wobble like she wants to grin, but looks down instead. “Anything else?”

“You danced with a bunch of folks before we left the Happy Ending, but that was harmless. Everyone’s in high spirits on the Fourth. You puked a lot, but that doesn’t matter. And yeah, you owe Hunter an apology. I think that’s it.”

She leans up and stares at me, her eyes wide and her expression thoughtful. “Joe, this recap took all of five minutes. Why couldn’t you just tell me this morning?”

I stare back at her. I have nothing to hide.

“Spending time with you yesterday meant a lot to me. I wanted to see you again. I saw an opportunity and went for it.”

“Joe, we already talked about this,” she says, referring to our conversation at the beach yesterday. She takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t know each other anymore,” she says. Then adds, “You don’t know me.”

“I know you enough,” I tell her, some urgency entering my tone. I feel like this could be my only chance to get through to her, and I’ve got to make it count. “I know you well enough to know I never got over you. I’m thirty years old, Harper. I didn’t see you for five years and barely spoke to you for another five. If I’m not over you yet, I’m never going to be. I just want—”

“Stop,” she says, but she doesn’t get up to leave, which encourages me to ask a question that’s been torturing me.

“Is there someone else?” I ask, holding my breath. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Would it matter?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It would. To me.”

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