Page 3 of Reeve

“Better than Quinn, who’s loved her since the fifth grade? Is that even possible?”

“No one’s lovedmesince the fifth grade,” I point out, my voice soft and small.

“And more’s the better,” says Harper. “You’re in no rush.”

Maybe I am, I think, feeling increasingly irritated. “I’d like to meet someone.”

“And you will! I’m positive there’s someone wonderful out there for you!” she says. “But Reeve, you were still a teenager until last month. Slow down, huh? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“Harp,” I say, unhooking my arm from hers as we turn left onto Eighth Street. “You do realize that there are only four years between me and Parker, right? Parker. Our sister. Who’s married. With a kid.”

“Of course.”

“And there are onlythree yearsbetween me and Sawyer.”

“What’s your point?”

“Parker’s a mom, and Sawyer’s about to propose, but I’ve never even had a proper boyfriend, which makes no—”

Her sharp gasp makes me swallow the rest of my words.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Hesworeme to secrecy!

“Wait! What? What are you talking about?” Harper stops walking and turns to face me, taking my forearms in the tight grip of her gloved hands. “Sawyer’s…Sawyer’s about to—”

“Propose? Yes.” I yank my arms away. “You can’t be that surprised, Harp! He and Ivy have been together for a year now. And he’s loved her forever.”

“Oh, my god! He’sproposing?” She searches my face. “Why did he tellyou? Why didn’t he tellme?”

“Huh. Wow,” I mutter, trying not to be offended by her implication. “Maybe he told me because you and Parker and Tanner all have babies now…and Hunter lives a lot of the year in Seattle! I’m the one sibling left who—”

She whips her phone out, pulls off a glove with her teeth and opens a text chat to Sawyer. I grab the phone out of her hand just as she starts typing.

“No,” I growl, shaking my head.

“Reeve!”

“No, Harp.”

“Reeve, give me my phone.”

“Absolutely not,” I tell her. “He toldme. Not you. And he didn’t give me permission to tell anyone else. It just slipped out.”

“And now I know, so—”

“Sonothing,” I say, shoving her phone down my turtleneck where it lands snugly between my boobs, encased in my sports bra. I know it’s childish, but I can’t help it. “You’re not getting involved unless he reaches out to you.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Stop being a brat. Give me the phone.”

“No way,” I say.

“Reeve Caroline Stewart, you give me back my phone!” she snarls, her eyes shiny and serious in the moonlight.

This is Harper’s “mama-bear” voice, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m affected by it. Always have been. But (sorry, not sorry!) not affected enough to give her the phone so she can barge into Sawyer’s personal life without an invitation.

“Forget it!” I say, turning around and sprinting toward Broadway.

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