Page 28 of One More Chance
Harper
Maybe I’m dreaming.Light flickers behind my eyelids and I don’t know if it’s real. The faint sound of a guitar strumming fills my ears. A muffled voice hums a melody, sings a few lines of a familiar song under their breath. They sound far away. Not too far, but not next to me either.
I blink my eyes open. The light blue fabric of the tent wall is so close to my face, I snap back, startled. Then I turn, realizing Jensen isn’t in the tent. I hear more strumming, a voice growing louder as they sing. Is that Jensen?
Straining my ears as I sit up, I remember he must still have his guitar with him from yesterday. I can’t be sure, but his voice sounds like it’s traveling from somewhere around the campfire.
What time is it? How long has he been awake? So many questions as I pat for my shoes at the end of the sleeping bag, still listening to his loverly voice. It’s deep and warm with just a hint of rasp. So surprising. I know he said he sang but I didn’t expect it to be so well.
I peek my head out from the tent and see his back is to me. He’s leaned over the guitar in his lap, looking at something on his phone and placing his hands on the strings of the guitar. His voice starts again, and I realize it’s Lyla and Gentry’s wedding song. Presumably, he’s looking down at it on his phone and attempting to learn it.
I gently step the rest of the way out of the tent, trying my best not to disrupt him. I’m halfway to him before I realize I’m practically sneaking up on him and now I’m not sure how to announce myself without startling him or being obvious. “Good morning,” I say, a little too abruptly.
Jensen jerks toward me. “Jesus, are you part ninja?” He laughs.
“Sorry, I was just listening to you play and didn’t want to interrupt. You have a beautiful voice.” And face. And mouth. I like your mouth. Oh, wow. Okay, Harper.
“Thanks. Just trying to learn this song,” he says. “Want some breakfast before we head back in a bit?”
“Sure.”
Jensen reaches into one of the coolers and pulls out sausage links and pancake mix. He weaves the links onto the spears from last night and hands them to me, then grabs a skillet and sets it in the edge of the fire. “You roast the breakfast weenies,” he says. “I’ll make the breakfast buns.”
“Breakfast hot dogs?” I ask.
“Basically. And instead of ketchup, I have syrup. Pretty brilliant, huh?”
I have to admit, it is. I give him my most approving nod and focus my attention on the sausages.
“So, about last night,” he says. Oh god. Oh no. “I know I woke up a few times spooning you. I don’t know if you noticed. I’m sorry about that. You’re just very warm, and small. So you fit very well.”
I giggle until my giggle turns into a full-blown laugh so loud he’s staring at me. “God, I thought you were about to say something about the kissing. Now I find out you spooned me all night. This is getting so weird,” I say, still laughing.
Jensen rubs the back of his neck. “I guess it is a little weird, huh?”
“You think?”
“We can be less weird friends if you want?” he says, offering up his best attempt to steer this shipwreck waiting to happen away from the iceberg.
I tilt my head back and forth, wondering if that would even be fun, if that would even feel like friendship at this point. I guess becoming used to this hasn’t exactly helped. Can I be friends with Jensen the way I’m friends with Gentry? I inwardly snarl my lip. That doesn’t seem right. But maybe what’s best isn’t always what’s right. Is that a thing?
“Maybe it’s best?” I question back.
“Maybe. I guess we can’t let this get too muddy,” he says.
“Time for me to spread my wings. Prepare to fly.”
“Isn’t that a Mariah Carey song?” he asks, starting to laugh at me.
“Her song is about butterflies. I’m clearly talking about dating.” I giggle again, trying to press my lips together into a serious straight line.
“Whatever you say.” He laughs.
We finish cooking and eating breakfast, then we pack everything up, which admittedly is the worst part of camping. It’s all fun and games when you’re unpacking to set up camp. Packing up camp to leave, however, just really sucks. With a little effort, and maybe some whining on my part, we get it done and hop into the truck.
I grab my phone to check my messages. I didn’t even realize I left it in here until this morning. I must have been having a pretty good time to not even think about checking it. Lyla sent me three texts, all of which suggest I should wear the lingerie and then follow up with how my silence must be a good thing. There’s one text from Gentry telling me to ignore Lyla and do what I want. And then I see three messages from Steve.
We’ve been messaging on and off since I messaged him back. It’s been going pretty well.