Page 54 of Never Been Worse

“Yeah, it was barely anything,” she says.

There’s a faint mark on her forehead, but nothing crazy. Still, because she’s close and I can’t pass up the opportunity, I press my lips to the spot where we met.

“All better,” I whisper. Her eyes go hazy the way they seem to do when I kiss her before they go confused, her brows furrowing. “What?”

“What is that?” she asks, leaning down, this time ducking to avoid my head. It’s then I remember why I knelt to grab my wallet so quickly: because something fell out. Before I can stop her, her fingers are holding onto a photo, lifting and inspecting it, the worn edges and the spots where my wallet has worn the image almost to the backing paper.

“Is this…?” she starts but doesn’t finish.

I don’t answer because it’s obvious.

It’s a photo from over two years ago in a night club in South Jersey, all the guys and Stella in the shot, plus Ava and Jules.

And, of course, Harper right next to me, a shit-eating grin on her lips, red hair lit with the nightclub lights. It’s folded so Harper and I are on one side, the rest of the group on the other.

I told myself I printed it because it was the first shot we had with the whole band and Stella since we were kids, but even I knew that was a lie. We have photos from Stella and Riggs’s wedding, all of us dressed up, the setting more idyllic, and the lighting perfect.

But those didn’t have Harper in them.

“Why do you have this?” she asks, looking up at me.

“Ava sent it to Stella, Stella sent it to all of us.” She looks at me, a look ofdon’t be an idioton her face. I sigh, then give her another lie, biting my lip. “It was the first picture I had of the whole band and Stella in a long time.”

“I’m not a moron, Wes,” she says.

I stare at her, trying to decide what to do, what to say next, before finally, I give in with a sigh.

“No, you’re not.”

“So you kept this photo…”

“I’ve had that photo in my wallet since Stella printed it out for me.” She stares at me, and I hope she’ll drop it there, but this is my Harper, my Harper, who, even though she thinks she’s predictable and a pushover, the only thing predictable about her is how stubborn she is.

“Which was?”

I roll my lips into my mouth, biting down before confessing.

“I don’t know, a year ago? It was a joke because I kept asking about the pretty redhead she was friends with, the bridesmaid at Jamie’s wedding.” Her breathing goes short and quick, and I feel the need to continue and explain. “It wasn’t weird, I swear.”

It feels like a lie because obviously, having a photo of a relative stranger in your wallet is a bit weird, even if you did end up marrying her. “It was a joke. She gave it to me for Christmas and said it was for my wallet, so I slid it in there.”

Harper plays with the worn corners, then looks at me again.

“But…”

“But…but then I left it here. I like it. I like everyone in it, figured...figured it was a good photo.” God, why am I so embarrassed by this? I try to be cool for Harper, to keep things easy and not overwhelm her, and this isabsolutelygoing to overwhelm her.

“So you’ve had a photo of me in your wallet for over a year?”

I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid and weird, then move to step back. I’m surprised when she doesn’t let me, when an arm goes around my neck, holding me close, the photo between us lost. For a moment, I want to argue, to tell her the photo is precious and I don’t want it to get hurt, but then she smiles, and I can’t think of anything but the woman in my arms.

I can’t focus on anything but the all-consuming need to kiss her.

So I do.

Eventually, the kiss breaks, and her eyes ease open, head tipping back as she looks at me with a wide smile.

“Oh, my god. You like me,” she whispers, awe in the word, and I pull her in close again.

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