Page 35 of Doctor Hot Mess

Inside, the cottage is unexpectedly cheerful and roomy. Warm, cozy, and distinctly Harper. The walls are painted a soft, creamy white, and the furniture is a mix of modern and vintage pieces, each one with character.

There’s a small kitchen with open shelving, and the couch has a throw blanket draped over the back, hinting at her love for comfort. A few personal touches—a stack of books, a pair of running shoes near the door, a vase of fresh flowers—make the space feel lived-in and welcoming.

“Well?” Harper asks, setting her bag down near the couch and turning to face me. “What’s the verdict?”

I shrug, walking further in and taking it all in. “I did notice some books. Should I arrange them?"

"Funny. Sure. But no bookshelves, they have to stay stacked."

"Noted. It's not bad at all. I like it.”

Her eyes narrow slightly into something that resembles amusement dancing in them. “You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised. Just… impressed. It suits you. It seems like a nice place for you while you're here. I imagine traveling and having a new home everywhere you go for however long gets old. Having somewhere nice to put your head at night must be nice.”

"How insightful of you, Dr. Bellinger. That is probably the hardest thing about traveling. I love switching it up, meeting new people, and trading them before they start getting on my nerves. But not having my own home, feeling like I’m always a visitor, that part is hard."

Her expression softens, and for a moment, the air between us shifts. There’s something there, unspoken but heavy, and it makes my pulse tick faster. I glance away, pretending to study the bright artwork hanging on the wall.

“Did you always know how to make a place feel like home?” I ask, running a finger along the edge of the cabinet where a large flat-screened television sits.

“Not really,” she says, moving to the kitchen. “But when you’re always on the go, you learn to make the most of wherever you land. It’s the little things that matter.”

“Like a vase of flowers?”

“Exactly.” She pulls a couple of glasses from the cabinet. “Tap water okay? Or you doing sparkling only?”

“Tap water’s fine, nerd,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I'm not that fancy, yet.”

She hands me a glass, and our fingers brush briefly. It’s nothing, just a moment, but it feels like more. I take a sip, needing the distraction.

“Thanks,” I say, nodding toward the glass. “So, is this your way of making me feel bad about my bachelor pad?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Your place probably has twice the square footage of this one.”

“Twice the space, half the personality,” I admit, setting my glass down. “Guess I’m not great at the whole making-a-house-a-home thing.”

“Shocker,” she teases, her voice light but her eyes warm.

Silence falls for a moment, comfortable but charged. I’m not sure what I expected when I stepped inside. But this feels better than I anticipated.

The silence between us settles, not uncomfortable, but unmistakable. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m standing in Harper’s space for the first time in what feels like forever, and it suits her perfectly. Warm, inviting, put-together without trying too hard—kind of like her.

There’s something in the air tonight—a shift. Not a resolution, not yet, but maybe the start of one. I'm just grateful to be able to hang out again, so I wouldn’t want to overanalyze it. But, it's a good day.

“Thanks for letting me check out your place,” I say eventually, straightening. I wish I could stay, but I think it would be awkward if I plop down on the sofa and start scrolling her Netflix.

“Glad you approve,” she says, walking me to the door. “And thanks for the ride. I'll think about the gym thing. I do need a good outlet while I'm here. I'll call to see if I can do a temporary thing.”

“Anytime,” I reply, stepping outside. "I told you you don't have to, but whatever you want. I'd love to have a workout partner."

The cool night air clears my head. I glance back over my shoulder—Harper’s still standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. Her expression is calm, but there’s something in her eyes I can’t quite place.

“Harper,” I say, stopping mid-step as I turn to face her. She lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

I hesitate for a beat, then offer a lopsided grin. “Thanks for kicking my ass in racquetball. You've always been good at bringing me down a notch. I need you in my life.”

I want to thank her for giving our friendship another chance, but I can't be that cheesy. She will probably get my point.

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