Page 15 of Spring Tide

Something leadsme to believe that Harper is an actual woodland fairy.

The front door to her fourth-floor apartment is wrapped in muted pink wallpaper. Tiny sparkling lights are tucked along the frame, with her unit number scrawled in painted gold script across the middle. It’s a stark contrast to the stained gray carpet beneath the soles of my shoes.

If Harper hadn’t already texted me the number, I think I would’ve inherently known this was it. The girl lacks subtlety. It’s not an intrinsic personality flaw—and I certainly don’t fault her for it—but it sure does raise a red flag.

I’m beginning to think this was all a terrible idea; enlisting Harper’s help was an ill-fated decision made out of pure desperation. She’s not the type of person who can harbor a secret from her friends. She hates lying. Or, rather, she won’t admit that she’s willing to deceive others for personal gain.

Unfortunately, she’s my last resort.

My hand is poised to knock, knuckles tucked tightly against one palm, when the door swings open in my face.

“Oh!” Harper’s brows scrunch together. “I’m so sorry, Luca. Are you okay?”

She takes a step closer, gently brushing one thumb across my jawline. Her fingertips caress my chin as she tilts my face to examine the damage. Left. Right. Center. My head rests entirely in her open palms now. Her tongue peeks out between her lips, and a steady look of concentration fills her gaze.

I clear my throat, resisting the urge to flinch away from the featherlight touch.

“Harper,” I mutter gruffly, jaw clenched against her small palm.

Those blue-gray eyes widen, a sense of panic washing over the last ashes of a fire. I picture the gears ticking away inside her head. It’s like she’s suddenly realized exactly where she is and what she’s been doing for the last few moments, as if she needed a verbal reminder to maintain personal boundaries.

“So sorry.” She takes a timid step backward. “Are you—did I hurt you? I mean, your face looks completely fine. Good, even.”

The corner of my lip twitches. “I’m fine.”

“Great! Well, you should come in.” She motions toward the open doorway, and I take her lead. “My roommate, Stella, she’s still at work right now. Actually, she waits tables down at the Surfbreak Grill. You may have seen her there. Beachy blonde hair, wildly beautiful, about five foot nine or so?”

That must be the same waitress from the bonfire. I recall spotting the two of them drunkenly stumbling down the beach together. They were wrapped up tightly in each other’s arms that night. And now, safely tucked inside this apartment, dozens of their pictures line the walls.

My gaze flits across the gold-framed photographs. Stella and Harper are smiling wide in every shot—happily embracing, nuzzling close, gazing fondly at one another.

“You two are open?” I ask, brows knit in confusion.

“Open?”

“In an open relationship?” I clarify, smoothing a hand over my forehead. “You agreed to tell your friends we were dating.”

“Oh! Stella and I aren’t together like that.” Her lips curve into a full-out grin. “She has a girlfriend, actually. Lai’Lani. They’ve been dating for a few months now. But Stell and I are just best friends. Well, notjust. Our friendship is really important.”

“Yet you’re completely fine with lying to her?”

“I mean, I’d really prefer not to.” Her grin fades, fingers twisting into an errant strand of hair. “Not with Stell, anyway. So maybe I could just tell—”

“No, Harper,” I harshly cut in. “This was our deal. Your secret for mine. No exceptions.”

She’s bouncing on the heels of her feet, gaze nervously shifting from my face to the wall of picture frames behind me. “But Eden and Stell, they already know about themiscommunicationwith Professor Gill. They know that you and I aren’t actually together.”

“Then tell them you came clean with me and we’ve started talking.” There’s a heavy note of exasperation in my voice. “Tell them I asked you to spend time with me, and one thing led to another. I don’t care what story you make up, just as long as it’s not the truth.”

Her shoulders droop. “I’m a bad liar, Luca.”

“You can solve that problem,” I insist impatiently. “Just stop telling yourself that you’re doing something wrong.”

“But itiswrong.”

Her gaze meets mine. In an instant, I’m swept up by the raging swirl of emotion in her eyes. The minor hints of color—all the various hues of blue—seem to fade away, revealing the thick, gray clouds of a thunderstorm.

“Tell me right now, Harper.” I push the harsh words past the sudden lump in my throat. “Are we doing this or not?”

---