Page 29 of Almost Ours
I paid for my groceries, loaded them into the truck, and headed home to unload. The whole time, my thoughts kept circling back to Harper.
We didn’t know each other well–barely more than a few run-ins, some shared rink time, and a couple of conversations. Something about the way she reacted when Connor mentioned his Dad… it stuck with me.
She’d gone still. Not visibly shaken, not dramatic. Just… guarded. Like she’d tucked part of herself away in the blink of an eye, trained to do it without thinking. I’d seen that look before–in players who’d been through too much, who carried more weight than they let anyone see.
I shoved the milk into the fridge, tossed a frozen dinner into the freezer, and leaned against the counter, jaw tight.
I wanted to help. Wanted to fix it, even if I had no idea whatitwas.
That was always my problem.
I couldn’t stand to see someone hurting and not try to make it better–especially when I knew that pain. The kind that didn’t show on the surface. The kind that sat heavy in your chest no matter how hard you tried to breathe past it.
Fixing things for other people? That was the easy part. Fixing myself? Wanting something for me? Yeah. That was a different story.
By the time I climbed back into the truck and turned onto her street, I was still trying to shove the thoughts aside. I wasn’t going there to get involved. I was just helping out with a plumbing issue. That was it.
Just a favour.
Nothing more.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder, and I glanced down to see Shane’s name lighting up the screen. I sighed and hit answer, lifting it to my ear.
“Yo.”
“You in for a pint tonight?” Shane asked without preamble. “Figure we should talk strategy after the ass-kicking we took yesterday.”
I smirked. “Tempting, but I’m actually heading to Harper and Connor’s right now. She’s got a sink that needs fixing.”
There was a pause. Then, “Oh, so now you only work Sundays for the pretty ones?”
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“Where’s she live?”
“Just outside of town. On Banks.”
Another pause. “Ah, must be the Wallace place. Man, they used to throw the wildest Halloween parties back in the day. Fake spiders in the vent. One year, someone rigged the toilet to scream when you lifted the lid. Shit was legendary.”
I chuckled despite myself. “Sounds like something you’d be behind.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Enjoy your… plumbing. Give me a call when you’re done and we can meet up.”
He hung up before I could respond, and I shook my head, tucking the phone away.
I pulled up to Harper’s house and climbed out of the truck, toolbox in hand. It looked just like I thought it would: cozy, inviting, with little details that made it feel like a real home.
A wreath hung on the door, Christmas a little over a month away, and a snowman figurine perched on the windowsill, its cheerful grin staring out at the quiet street. The warm glow from inside spilled through the curtains, and I could almost smell the faint trace of something sweet, like sugar and cinnamon. Just like at the bakery.
Before I could even knock, the door swung open, and Harper stood there, Connor bouncing excitedly at her side.
“Hey,” Harper said, stepping back to let me through. “Come in. And, uh, sorry–it’s a mess and kind of bare in here still. We haven’t really finished unpacking.”
I stepped inside, and instantly felt a kind of warmth settle over me. Sure, the walls were mostly empty and the furniture looked like it had been here for years, but there were little signs of life–Connor’s jacket tossed on the banister, a pair of snow boots by the door, and a candle burning faintly on the coffee table.
It wasn’t full of decor or noise. Still, the space carried the feeling of a home in progress, one slowly taking shape.
“It’s nice,” I said, honestly, toeing off my boots. “Feels… cozy.”
