Page 113 of Almost Ours
But I wasn’t ready. That wound… it didn’t matter how many years had passed–it still bled if I touched it. And talking about Kyle meant pulling the scab right off.
The other option would’ve been to tell her the whole truth. Get it over with and see the way her face changed when she looked at me. I couldn’t risk that. Not yet.
I just hoped I hadn’t screwed things up by shutting down on her like that.
And then there was the memory of Harper’s Christmas Day email that still lingered. It wasn’t like I thought about it every minute of the day, but when things got quiet, it crept in.
I hadn’t meant to see it, but I’d caught a glimpse that afternoon when her phone buzzed, and she’d gone pale reading it.Reid. The name was burned into my brain. I didn’t need a full sentence to know the email wasn’t anything good. Harper had shut her phone quickly, but the tension in her shoulders had told me everything I needed to know–Reid had the power to rattle her.
She’d been different for a couple of weeks after that. Quieter. Distant, sometimes. Like she was carrying something too heavy to set down. I’d wanted to ask, but every time I started to bring it up, I’d see that wall she put up so effortlessly and decide against it. She’d talk to me when she was ready. I had to trust her on that, even if it killed me to see her hurting and not know how to help.
Maybe that’s why we got along so well… we both had things from our past we were keeping to ourselves.
The bellover the bakery door jingled, and the smell of sugar and butter hit me like a freight train. Harper was behind the counter, boxing cinnamon buns like she was training for a speed competition.
She looked up, spotted me, and her brow went up immediately.
I walked up, holding out the coffee like it was some kind of trophy. “Morning.”
Her eyes narrowed just enough to make me wonder if I should’ve added a muffin to the peace offering. “Ryan, I work at a bakery… with an espresso machine.”
“I know,” I said, setting the cup in front of her. “But this is… different.”
“Different how?”
“It’s… uh…” I cleared my throat, searching for anything but the truth–that I didn’t know how to saysorry I dodged your questions yesterday and used sex as a way outwithout actually saying it. “It’s better coffee. Because… I made it myself.”
She crossed her arms, lips twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Better coffee, huh?”
“Definitely,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Also, I’m not sure you’d want me messing with your espresso machine. I’d break it. Or burn the place down.”
That earned me a laugh–small, but real–and some of the tightness in my chest eased.
She took the cup, her fingers brushing mine for just a second, then took a sip. “Hmm. I’ll give it a six out of ten.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Six? That’s harsh. I risked my life out there for this.”
“It’s drizzling.”
“Exactly. Treacherous conditions. I’m used to snow.”
Her laugh came easier this time, and I let myself watch her for a beat too long, the way the corners of her mouth softened, the way her eyes lit up when she was trying not to grin.
I glanced past her to the tray of still-warm scones cooling on the counter. “Are those…?”
She caught me looking and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
But I was already reaching, swiping one off the tray before she could stop me.
“Ryan!”
“What?” I took a bite, not even pretending to be sorry. “It’s good. I’m doing quality control for your customers.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, but I brought you coffee, so…” I shrugged, licking a stray crumb from my thumb.
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her mouth twitched again, the corners threatening to give me another smile.
