Page 70 of Ship Happens

“I promise you, my feelings for her are real.”

“I believe you,” she says, surprising me. “Which is why I’m only going to say this once: If you hurt her, or if this turns out to be some elaborate PR strategy or if your corporate bullshiteventually make you do something she cannot stand by, I will ensure that every environmental journalist and advocacy group in the country knows where you live.”

The protective fierceness in her voice is reassuring—Harper has people who care about her.

“I understand,” I say. “And I doubt you’ll need to dox me.”

“Good.” She hands me the wine bottle. “For what it’s worth, I think you might be good enough for her. But the jury’s still out for now.”

“Fair enough.”

When we return to the living room, Harper gives me a questioning look. I smile reassuringly, and the tension leaves her shoulders.

“Everything okay?” she asks as Zoe joins Lucas in the kitchen.

“Your friend loves you,” I tell her, brushing a kiss against her temple. “As she should.”

Later, in the car heading back to Manhattan, Harper leans against my shoulder, a smile playing at her lips.

“That went well,” she says. “Zoe only threatened you once, from what I could tell.”

“You were counting?”

“I know my best friend.” She looks up at me. “What did she say, exactly?”

“That she’ll dox me if I hurt you,” I summarize.

Harper laughs softly. “You don’t seem concerned.”

“Because I have no intention of hurting you,” I say. “Your friends are important to you, and now I know why. They’re good people, Harper.”

“They liked you,” she says, sounding amazed. “Zoe said you were ‘surprisingly nice for a corporate type’ when you were helping Lucas with the dishes.”

“Nice, huh?”

“From Zoe, nice is more than just nice.” She shifts closer. “This feels good, doesn’t it? You meeting my friends, them approving...”

“It is good,” I agree. “Next milestone. You meeting Alex without professional pretenses.”

“Your terrifying PR director? The one who arranged our fake relationship?” She looks alarmed.

“She’s excited to meet the woman who’s ‘humanized’ me,” I assure her. “Her words, not mine.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” Harper protests. “You were already human. Just... romantically stunted.”

“Stunted,” I repeat with a laugh. “A condition you’ve cured.”

“Hmmm.” She smiles up at me, and the simple happiness in her expression makes my chest tighten.

Back at my apartment, Harper is hanging her jacket in the closet, kicking off her shoes by the door, helping herself to water from the kitchen. Watching her, I’m struck by how quickly she’s become comfortable in my space, with my routine, and my life.

“What?” she asks, catching me watching her.

“Just thinking about how good this feels,” I admit. “You, here. Us.”

Her expression softens. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” I suggest, stepping closer.

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