Page 69 of Tides That Bind

Harper brushes a loose, blonde lock from her face. “Sorry.”

I grip the grass with my toes because even though, unlike Harper, I’ve remained right side up things look a little different now.

The flush spares no inch of her face, not even her parted lips. The previously mauvy pink has brightened from the blood flow, as if her mouth has been smeared by a ripe, juicy strawberry. Gravity loosened her hair and more strands fall free. My instinct is to tuck it behind her ear because it covers her face and it feels sinful to curtain off Harper’s kind of beauty.

But the only sin going on here is how I’m looking at my best friend’s wife.

I’m not sure if it’s her flush or me just caught by surprise, but Harper—Nate’s wife or not—has gone from being objectively pretty in my eyes to outright gorgeous.

“I’m kind of rusty.”

“That’s yourusty?”

Harper steps back and I’m left in a cloud of her, a dusting of something sweet like honeysuckle and crisp ocean air. She unties her shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Is this you giving me a complement?”

“Where…when…” I laugh. “How did I not know this about you?”

Harper shrugs. “It’s not something I go around telling people.”

“Nate should’ve told me.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Why? Were you afraid someone would think you were some sort of circus freak?”

Harper drops her hands to her hips. “What if I was?” she challenges.

I realize by Harper’s tone and defensive demeanor maybe my remark was flippant even though there wasn’t menace behind it. But maybe someone at some point told her it was, and I don’t really like the idea of that. It might actually be the most interesting thing about Harper.

“I think that’s kind of cool. I actually love the circus. Not really the clowns though, they’re kind of creepy.” I pause to think, watching a softness return to Harper’s jaw. “Or the animals. I don’t think they’re all that happy.”

“If you don’t like the clowns or the animals, what’s left at the circus to like?”

Raising my hand to scratch the back of my head, I smirk. “I guess the acrobats.”

“A front handspring.”

Raising the can of beer to my lips, I wave Riley off before sitting on the steps beside him. “Child’s play.”

I jump and turn when Riley scoots closer to me, tilting his face closer to mine. “Can youjuggle?” he whispers, his voice unsure but laced with hope.

The childish side of Riley used to bother me, like at Lucas's birthday when he led a gang of second graders armed with water guns to take me down. And maybe it’s because I’m about to finish my second beer, but this time, I’m drawn to it. His eyes widen with the breath he holds and twinkle with some sort of wonder, like I might be the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

I’ve been staring at him too long, so I clear my throat and look down. “That’s like asking you if you can boogie board.”

“Anyone can boogie board. Not everyone can juggle.”

“Yes. I can juggle,” I say, but the look on Riley’s face tells me that my answer alone won’t satisfy him. Sighing, I peek over my shoulder at the remaining cans of the six-pack he brought out. I stand, grabbing three of them. “Don’t open these until tomorrow,” I warn, and then, much to Riley’s clear amusement, I perform.

Juggling is simply a rhythm dictated by the weight of whatever you’ve got in your hands. And we juggle all the time—work, relationships, friends, kids. Life is one big balancing act, and even though the cans I currently juggle are a piece of cake, my life has been anything but because the universe has thrown me a couple of boulders to manage on rhythm too.

Riley claps. “I am beyond impressed. Can you teach me?”

I lean my head and chest back to catch a can when I slow my pace to stop. “We’ll have to find a few balls. I don’t feel like power washing beer off the patio.”

“What? You don’t think I can do it?”

“I didn’t say that. It just takes practice is all.” I place the cans on a step below him, sighing when I feel his stare. “What? Don’t ask me to walk across the electric wire.”

---