Page 102 of Spring Tide

My concern for my little brother is growing by the day. Harper’s been helping me stay calm since we talked things over, sending me daily affirmations and working hard to distract me. It all helps, but the tension won’t resolve until I confront the issue head-on.

Luckily, Taylor and I have already concocted a foolproof action plan. We’re going to wait until Elio’s trapped at home during Thanksgiving break. It gives us the opportunity to host a mini-intervention after dinner, especially since he’s not likely to miss out on his favorite meal of the year.

Until then, I’m attempting to clear all thoughts of the situation from my mind. It’s a problem for another day. Right now, my brain needs to fully focus on my girlfriend, her father, and how to discreetly find the cheapest meal on an unmarked menu.

Blowing out a breath, I take one last look in the mirror before ducking out of the house. I dressed in the same dorky button-up and trousers that Taylor picked out months ago. I may not feel like myself, but at least I look somewhat presentable, I guess.

Honestly, I never usually think about what I’m wearing or how it might look on me, but what I do know is that Harper called me handsome the last time I wore this. That’s reason enough to throw it on a second time.

By the time I pull up to the restaurant, Harper has sent me a text saying they’ve already been seated. Thankfully, I’m not technically late, but it did take me a few extra minutes to avoid the valet out front.

While a hostess leads me to their table, I stuff my hands into my pockets and tap one thumb against my thigh. Three beats on, three beats off—it’s a rhythmic trick to get me to calm the fuck down.

It doesn’t work.

“Hey!” Harper’s chipper voice greets me as I sidle up to the pair of them.

She stands, pulling me in for a hug, placing a chaste kiss to my cheek. I free my hands from my pockets—eyes quickly trailing over her gorgeous frame—before turning to shake her dad’s hand across the table.

“Mr. St. James—”

“Christopher,” he says with a smile, cutting me off.

“Christopher, sir, thank you for inviting me to join you.”

“Sure thing.” He nods, taking a long sip from his glass. It appears to be whiskey served in a thick Glencairn, neat, and there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s top-shelf. “My little girl speaks highly of you.”

“I consider myself very lucky to have her.”

“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve met a boyfriend of my daughter’s.” He nudges Harper, tipping his glass toward me in a faux toast. “Honestly, I thought she was into girls.”

Out of my peripheral vision, Harper’s eyes go wide.

“Ah.” I clear my throat, attempting to keep the bitterness from my voice. “I hear you can like both.”

“Yeah, Dad, come on.” Harper’s voice is pleading, but it still carries the same light, airy tone as usual. She’s not irritated with him for his comment, even though she probably should be. “We’ve been over this a million times.”

“Oh, I know.” He laughs, taking another drawn-out sip. “I just thought you preferred them, that’s all. You change your mind with the seasons, anyway. Well, actually, a little more frequently than that, right?”

Harper’s smile slowly fades, one corner of her mouth tipping into a frown. “Not really.”

“Oh, sorry, honey.” There’s a casual wave of one hand, immediately dismissing her. “You know I’m just messing around. Your mother and I always liked that about you—your ability to flit from one thing to the next.”

“I mean, I’ve had the same career aspirations since Uncle Allan took me to that Carolina baseball game. I was only, like, sixteen at the time.” She looks straight at me while she explains, like the prospect of convincing her dad is already a lost cause. “I watched Darnell Williams get wheeled out on a stretcher, and I’ve been gunning for sports medicine ever since.”

“Of course, sweetie.” He smiles, wide and unassuming. “And you have plenty of time to change your mind if you like. You’re only twenty-one, after all.”

She closes her eyes for what must only be a few quick seconds. Still, I swear I can almost see her float outside of herself. When she comes back, she gives her dad a soft smile and says, “I probably won’t, though,” in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard from her.

“With all due respect, sir, Harper’s one of the most dedicated students I know.”

“Right.” He laughs again. This time, it grates on my fucking patience. “And when I was her age, I was dedicated to many things that have nothing to do with my career. Namely, partying and girls.”

I clench my fists, suddenly sick of biting my tongue. “Sorry, but—”

“Dad, let’s just change the subject.” Harper cuts me off before I can make an actual mess of everything. “Shall we?”

She places a warm, comforting palm against my thigh, and I pat the top of her hand under the table. It barely takes the edge off. My girlfriend may be good at letting things go, but it’s certainly not my specialty.

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