The elevator doors open and Harper waltzes in. She’s holding a bottle of wine, rocking skintight leggings and a crop top. Her hair is piled on top of her head and her face is clear of makeup.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m supposed to trust you again, remember?”
I laugh. “That wasn’t a line; it was the fucking truth.”
Harper rolls her eyes and plants the wine bottle down on my kitchen island. She sits on a barstool. Turning, I grab a stack of takeout containers and line them up in front of her. “We’ve got poppers—”
“A personal fave.”
“And nachos.” I open another container. “Mozzarella sticks.”
Harper whistles.
“And”—I pop the lid on the final box—“quesadillas.”
“This is perfect,” she comments, grabbing a quesadilla.
I pour two glasses of wine and pass her one. “Tomorrow night will be fancy.”
“Where are you taking me?” Her eyes sparkle.
“Strickland’s.” I reference the top steakhouse in Knoxville.
She grins but shakes her head. “You don’t really have to wine and dine me, you know?”
“I want to. I want to fix so many things.” I sigh. “I wish I could go back and not mess it up from the start.”
“Me too,” she admits.
I study her, watch how she picks at a chunk of melted cheese and pops it into her mouth. “Why are you letting me off so easily?”
She chews thoughtfully. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to. I had full intentions of slapping you if you tried to talk to me again.”
“Good,” I comment dryly.
“I spent that whole weekend crying my eyes out. Got drunk with Mila and Maisy.”
Fuck, that hurts to hear. But, “I’m glad you found friends in them.”
“Me too. I wracked my brain for every snippet of conversation…” She shakes her head. “I kept trying to figure out what happened. Why did you throw up a wall?”
“What did you decide?” I ask, curious to know what she thinks went wrong.
“That you’ve never done this before.” She shrugs simply. “Things with you were always one step forward, two steps back. We hooked up at my reunion and the next morning, you sent me a text calling me buddy.” Her nose wrinkles with disgust.
“Shit.” I hang my head.
“Whenever we got too close, you pulled back. It was a pattern.” She takes a sip of wine. “And it hurt to be on the receiving end of that.”
I reach for her hand. “Harper, I’m so fucking—”
She holds up a hand, stopping my apology. “I know. I don’t need you to keep apologizing. I need you to let me in. Share your scary with me. Whatever is freaking you out, whatever is making you worry, tell me. Give me a chance to navigate this with you.”
I tug her closer and plant a soft kiss on her lips. “I promise.”
“And I will do my best to have patience.” She smiles.
I laugh.
And then, we eat dinner out of takeout containers and drink late into the night, catching up on the past week, out on my balcony. When it’s after midnight, I escort her back to her apartment and kiss her good night.
“See you tomorrow?” she asks.
“I’ll knock on your door at 7 PM.”
Harper smiles and it’s breathtaking. Something shifts in my chest and for the first time since my parents’ anniversary party, I feel like I can breathe again. “I’ll be ready.”
“Good night, sweet girl.”
“‘Night, Damien.”
I wait until I hear the lock on her door slide into place. Then, I go back to my penthouse and clean up the kitchen.
My phone buzzes with a text and I smile when I see my sister’s name. I spoke to my nephew earlier, but Fiona and I have been playing phone tag.
Fiona: I’m sorry for what I said about you and Harper when we were at Mom and Dad’s house. I was hurting and projected my shit with Gary onto your relationship. I shouldn’t have done it, Damien. I hope you get the girl. Harper’s really great. My eyes are closing but I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks for FaceTiming with Garrett. You made his day. We love you.
Me: Thanks Fi. I appreciate your saying that. I’m trying my damnedest and I hope I get the girl too. Let’s talk tomorrow. Give Garrett a goodnight kiss from me. Love you.
Even though I don’t need Fiona’s words to know that fighting for Harper is right for me, it’s still nice to receive her message. As shitty as her situation with Gary is, it’s not my reality with Harper and I’m glad Fiona recognizes it.
Before I call it a night, I dial my dad.
“Damien?” He answers on the first ring.
“Dad, I’ve got a date tomorrow night.”
His laughter rolls through the line, easy and sincere.
“Damien?” my mom’s voice sounds through the line.
I pull the phone away from my ear, frowning.
“You’re on speaker, son,” Dad clarifies.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, a little confused.
“Did you get her back?” Mom asks, surprising me further.
“I hope so,” I say, telling my parents about where I’m taking Harper for dinner tomorrow night.
“Bring her flowers,” Mom suggests.
“I thought you didn’t really like Harper,” I say, truthfully.
Mom sighs. “I never gave her a chance. Having Fiona living here, we’ve been talking and…well, your dad spoke to me about the company.” Mom lets out a big sigh. “I’m sorry, Damien. It’s easy to get caught up in things without truly evaluating them and that’s what I did. I had a vision for what I wanted your, Fiona’s, and Charlie’s lives to look like. I didn’t want the three of you to struggle, the way your father and I have.”
“And we did for many years, Damien,” Dad interjects.
“But I was wrong. And I’m sorry. I hope after Harper gives you another chance, she’ll give me one.”
“We’re coming down for the Rib Shack,” Dad reminds me.
I shake my head, truly shocked by this turn of events.
Mom’s silent on the other end of the line. Waiting.
I clear my throat. “I’ll ask her, Mom, but I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
Mom lets out the breath she was holding. “I’d like that. If it’s okay with you, send me her number. I’d like to call her. Talk to her myself.”
Dad coughs in the background to conceal his chuckle.
Smiling, I agree and forward Harper’s number to Mom. “Just give it a few days. Let’s make sure I can pull off this date.”
“You got it,” Mom agrees. “I’ll let you talk to Dad now.”
“Good night, Mom.”
“Love you, Damien.”
“Love you too,” I say, realizing how much I mean the words, even when I haven’t said them in years.
Dad comes back on the line. We talk more about my date with Harper, and I don’t shoot down any of his suggestions.
I’m nervous.
My palms feel clammy. My stomach churns, almost violently. My fingers clasp the bouquet of flowers tightly. I pace the hallway, loitering in front of Harper’s door, too nervous to knock.
I never want to take her for granted. I never want to hurt her again.
I don’t want to be the kind of man who doesn’t know how to treasure the greatest reward in the world—love. I want to be the kind of man, boyfriend, future husband, who excels at commitment, who makes Harper feel cherished and special, who gives her the world.
I let out a long exhale and pause in front of her door. This is the first step to moving down that path. Even if Harper doesn’t realize it, I’ll never not be there for her again.
In her mind, this is our first date. In mine, this is the start of our forever.
I knock on the door.
A few seconds of silence tick by and I grin that she’s not waiting for me, that she’s going to make me sweat a little.
The door opens and I fall into her deep blue gaze.
“You brought flowers.” She smiles as I thrust them into her hands.
“You look beautiful, Harper.” I tell her the truth, drinking in the happiness that flares in her eyes. I love that I can make her happy, that I possess the ability to make her feel safe.
I’ll never not honor that again.
“And you look very dapper,” she says, placing the flowers down on a console inside her apartment.
She reaches for me, grasps the lapels of my blazer, and gives a friendly tug. I move closer to her, my hands finding her hips, my eyes pinned to hers.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says.
“About what?”
“If we’re going to give this a real go…”
My stomach tightens painfully as I wait for her next words. Does she have faith in us? Does she think we can make each other happy?
“Then we need to let go of the past. We need to move forward. Start with as much of a clean slate as possible.” She releases a shaky exhale. “So, hi, I’m Harper. Harper Henderson.”
My hands squeeze her hips and I grin. “I like the alliteration.”
She laughs and draws me even closer. Her eyes hold mine, playful and sparkling. She bites her bottom lip and I nearly groan at the visual.
“God, I missed you, babe,” I tell her the truth.
She giggles. “It’s our first date, Damien.”
“You’ve had every one of my firsts that really matters, Harp,” I give her the truth.
She pulls back slightly, studies my expression. Then she shifts forward and her mouth lands on mine. She kisses me softly, testing it out carefully. It’s nothing like the first night she kissed me but it’s sweet. Lined with meaning, rounded out with hope.
Harper shuffles closer into my frame and I wrap my arms around her lower back, slanting my head to deepen the kiss. To show her how much I want her. Need her. Love her.
Her fingers lace behind my neck and I draw her up into my arms until I’m carrying her. I hold her close and kiss her hard, giving her my apology and desire. “I love you, Harper. I think I have from that first night on the balcony.”
She smiles up at me as she slides down my body. Even once her feet are planted on the floor, I keep my arms around her. “I love you, too.” Her eyes dazzle, hopping from one of my eyes to the other and back again. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
Tossing my head back, I laugh. I scoop my beautiful woman up in my arms and carry her over to her couch. “Damien Barnes.”
“What do you do, Damien?”
I set her down so she can put on her heels.
“I’m a hockey player.”
Her mouth drops open in mock surprise. “Really? Oh wow. I had no idea.”
I snort. “You’re such a goof.”
She grins. “You like it.”
I kiss her again, taking her shoe and slipping it onto her foot. “I fucking love it.”
When her heels are strapped in place, she stands, and I take her hand.
I escort her to my car, helping her slip into the low seat. “You ready for this?” I ask as she stares up at me.
Harper’s hands glide over the soft material of her dress. She arches an eyebrow. “For dinner?”
I smirk. “To be relationship goals.”
She laughs. “I like your confidence, Barnes.”
“I like your everything, Henderson.”
She laughs as I shut the car door and slip into the driver’s side. I start the car and Harper turns to me, her eyes serious. “We already are, you know?”
I turn to her and pause. “Are what?”
“Relationship goals.” She reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “Not every guy would admit he was wrong, would take responsibility for his actions and want to try again.”
“Not every woman would give the guy another shot.”
“She would if she truly loved him,” Harper admits quietly.
“And he would earn her trust, over and over and over again, if he was crazy in love with her.” I squeeze her hand, lean across the center console to give her a quick peck. “You’re the greatest treasure of my life, Harp. I won’t lose you again.”
She smiles and lifts her chin. “See? Relationship goals.”
I chuckle and pull out of the parking garage.
Harper and I drive to dinner, toward our future, hand in hand.
And I silently vow to never let her go.