Page 91 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
"I'm really happy."
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. "Me too, Harper. Me too."
The semester barrels toward finals, and Harper and I fall into that intense rhythm of studying together, stress-eating takeout, and stealing moments of distraction when the pressure gets too high. She quizzes me on business concepts while I help her rehearse presentations. We're a team in a way I never expected to need or want.
One night, we're at the library at two in the morning—because apparently that's what we've become, people who voluntarily stay at the library until ungodly hours. Harper is half-asleep on her textbook when I lean over and whisper, "Come on, let's go home."
"Can't," she mumbles. "Have to finish this chapter."
"You've read that same page four times. Your brain is fried."
"Your brain is fried."
"Devastating comeback. Really showed me."
She lifts her head, squinting at me through bleary eyes. "Take me home, boyfriend."
"That's what I've been trying to do."
We pack up our stuff and head out into the cold December night. The campus is quiet, most students either asleep or holed up in their own study spots. Harper leans into my side as we walk, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
"Only two more weeks until break," she says.
"You counting down?"
"Desperately. I love school, but I'm so ready to not think about marketing strategies for a while." She looks up at me. "You're still coming over for Christmas, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
We've been doing this—making plans that extend beyond the immediate future, weaving our lives together in ways that feel both natural and monumental. Harper knows my schedule for next semester. I know when her internship applications aredue. We talk about spring break like it's a given we'll spend it together.
This is what love looks like, I realize. Not just the big moments or grand gestures, but the accumulation of small daily choices to show up for each other.
Back at my place, Harper immediately claims the shower while I let Rex out and check my phone. There's a message from Liam in our team group chat about practice times, strictly professional. We've maintained this careful dance of being teammates without being best friends anymore, and so far it's working.
Mostly.
Harper emerges from the bathroom in one of my t-shirts, hair damp, looking more beautiful than anyone has a right to at two in the morning.
"Bed?" she asks.
"Bed," I agree.
We curl up together, her back to my chest, my arm around her waist. She's asleep within minutes, but I lie awake a little longer, thinking about how much has changed since that disastrous team dinner months ago.
I chose to forgive her. She chose me. And every day since, we've chosen each other again.
It's not always easy. There are moments where I can see the ghost of Liam in her eyes, fleeting seconds where I wonder if she thinks about what might have been. But then she looks at me with that smile that's only mine, says she loves me like she means it with everything she has, and the doubts fade.
This is the real deal.
39
The End of The Year
Harper
FebruarybleedsintoMarch,and suddenly we're at that point in the semester where time does this weird thing—moving too fast and too slow all at once. Cole and I have fallen into a rhythm that feels less like dating and more like living. Not in the literal sense, since I still share a dorm with Maddie, but in all the ways that matter.
