Page 53 of Dear Ripley

I jumped slightly, stepping away from her hand and looking her over. “Yes. Sorry. What’s up?”

She laughed. “Where are you? I was calling your name and, just, nothing. No sign of life.”

I winced internally, imagining exactly what she’d say if she knew I’d been thinking about Ripley. “Sorry. I was miles away. Just being jealous of this awesome view, I guess.” I waved my hand at the window and the world beyond it. Enough of the statement was true that it didn’t sound at all like a lie, so I guessed it wasn’t. It had, after all, begun the thought that led me down the Ripley path, but, here in Jackson Point, few thoughts didn’t lead to her. She still, somehow, seemed to be the core that everything in my life led to.

She’d always been that way. When I first realized it, I just hadn’t expected things to end this way. Though, what constituted an end? If she still felt like the center of everything, was that even really an ending of any kind?

“You’ve gone again,” Harlow laughed, gripping my arm. “What’s going on with you?”

“Oh, nothing. Sorry.” I fought hard not to blush, knowing it was a foolish endeavor. “I’m just really happy and excited for you. This place seems great. And, you know, there’s so much going on lately, that everything just feels…big.”

She smiled softly at me, her free hand moving to her stomach. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded dreamy and about as far away as I had just been, but better because she really was getting everything she wanted.

I adjusted her grip on me so I could squeeze her hand. “I’m proud of you, and really happy for you.”

She looked at me, her eyes glossy with unshed emotion. “Thanks. I think this is the one.”

I smiled, looking around the apartment again. If she’d sent me out to pick an apartment for her, this is the one I’d have chosen. The others we’d seen had been lovely, but none of them had felt like Harlow’s home until this one. “I think it is too.”

She beamed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “Yeah? You want to see the nursery? You know I’m going to need your help setting it up.”

I laughed, letting her tow me off in the direction of the bedrooms. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

We passed the realtor, who, after seven different apartments, seemed perfectly aware of our relationship—or lack thereof, in the romantic sense, at least—but who was still looking politely away as if afraid of intruding on a private moment. Perhaps that was kind. People could have all kinds of private, emotional moments. They didn’t need to be romantic to be intruded upon. It was just that I’d only ever had someone look like that around me when I was with Ripley. The move was ingrained as something attached to romantic couples. How odd that I’d never experienced it when I was out with Gabe.

Or, perhaps, it wasn’t odd at all. Perhaps the whole world had known that wasn’t a real relationship. Perhaps I should have realized sooner.

I grinned as we entered the nursery, thoughts of Gabe pushed easily out of my mind. “It’s perfect,” I whispered, as if already fearful of waking the baby.

“Right?” Harlow replied, her voice hushed and filled with magical awe. I knew she was imagining it, too—watching her child grow in here, the way she’d arrange it and decorate it, the way it would change over the years as the little one grew. And how many nights Harlow would spend here, responding to a screaming baby in desperate need of milk.

This was the apartment.

“I’m going to put an offer in,” she said, looking at me excitedly.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Definitely. I think this place is our home.”

A feeling of warmth flooded through me. Harlow had been happy enough over the years, but this was where she was supposed to be. It was hard to notice the ways someone had been very slightly off until you saw them slotting into their life in the exact place they were supposed to be. She looked complete and content in a way I hadn’t seen from her in a very long time.

“Don’t you want to see the master bedroom first?” I asked. This was the home, but if the master bedroom happened to be awful, she might need to negotiate a little bit first.

She snorted, turning to roll her eyes at me. “I already did. While you were staring out of the window and into the middle distance.”

“Ah.”

She laughed. “Want to explain what that was about now?”

“Not really.” I turned towards the door. “Let’s go see the master bedroom. Again, for you, I guess.”

She followed after me. Cornering me before I made it. “Nice try. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I insisted, not quite able to hold her gaze when she stood close to me, watching intently.

“Liar.” She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “You ran into Ripley again.”

How could she possibly know that?

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