Page 23 of If You Were Mine
“You remembered. It’s good to see you. Harper is in the back if you want to head over there. She’s been decorating cakes all day.”
I saw the frown on her face for a blink before she smiled, but I leaned forward anyway. “What’s wrong?”
Melody blinked. “It’s just good to see you.”
The worry in her tone dripped like syrup, and I ignored it. “Is Harper okay?”
“She’s just been baking. It’s what she does these days.”
That was weird because Harper usually worked up front. She loved talking with customers, figuring out their favorite desserts, and working them into her schedule. I suppose it made sense. As I could feel the stares on my back, people on pins and needles waiting to ask how I was, at least those who lived in town, it must be twice as bad for Harper.
She lived with it day in and day out. No wonder she wanted to stay in the back.
I cleared my throat—the stares on my body digging in. “I’ll go visit.”
“I think she needs that.”
I moved past Melody, ignoring the slight wince in my step, and walked to the back of the kitchen. Harper stood there, hands on hips as she frowned at the book in front of her, and I couldn’t help but smile at the studious look on her face.
“So…Wellesley. This is what you do all day? Frown at books and flour?”
Her gaze shot up, her eyes widening. “Oh. You’re here. Are you okay?”
I ground my teeth and told myself she didn’t mean anything by it. “Just here to say hi.”
“You called me Wellesley.” That little line between her eyebrows deepened, and I wanted to rub it away.
I hated when I got that urge, the same as that little squeezing thing that happened to my chest whenever I saw her. “What?” I asked, trying to remember what she said.
“You called me Wellesley,” she repeated, her eyes wide and her voice curious.
“I always used to call you Wellesley. Or Wells. It’s your name.”
“You’ve been calling me Harper. I mean, it’s my first name, but I always liked that you called me Wellesley.” Her cheeks pinked as she lowered her head and shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron. “Anyway. Is there something you need?”
She’d always been my Wellesley. Sure, she was Harper in my head too, but she was Wellesley too. And I hadn’t even realized I’d called her the wrong thing. I was a damn asshole and needed to get my head on straight. Her clipped tone could have been daggers for the way she looked, and I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I’m an ass. Yesterday, the past year. I’m sorry.”
She looked over my shoulder, a frown on her face.
I followed her gaze with a frown. “What is it?”
“I was just wondering if someone was there pushing you to say that.”
An odd feeling slammed into me. Was I that much of an asshole? Yes. Yes, I was. Joshua had asked me to do one thing in his life—to take care of his baby sister—and I’d been doing a shit job of it so far. “Nobody is pushing me to be here. I’m here because I want to be.”
Her eyes widened for an instant, and she swallowed hard. “Oh. That’s good. I’m glad you’re here. I know I didn’t sound it yesterday, but I am. And you’re allowed to be an ass. Of course, that’s not saying much, as am I.”
My lips twitched. “Language, Wellesley.”
“I’m an adult, Dorian. I probably curse more than you do.”
“I’m not quite sure about that. But why are you allowed to be an ass too?” I asked, tilting my head as I studied her face.
The circles under her eyes had darkened, but then again so had mine. But she was still so damn beautiful. She’d colored her hair darker since I had last seen her, and I liked it on her. It made her cheekbones pop, not that I would tell her that. It seemed like a weird thing to say to your best friend’s little sister.
But I had always liked Harper’s smile, and the way that she leaned into everything she did.
“I’m allowed to be an ass because my brother is dead and he was all that I had left,” she said point blank, pulling me out of my attentions.
