Page 53 of One More Chance
Jensen
I can’t saythis morning didn’t sting. It definitely did. But if Harper only wanted a hookup, I have to respect it. It’s a little surprising though, coming from her. I guess I just assumed more would come of it. Even if assumption is rude. She’s entitled to what she wants, regardless of her past or how I feel.
Lucky for me, she left the farm a little while ago and I have an amazing view of the property from this little bench under a tree near the orchard. My fingers strum the strings of the guitar, trying to recall the melody of the song for the wedding. I’ve almost got it down. I should have it today if I can focus, and I figure now is as good a time as any to crack down.
I also took the liberty of scheduling my flight out of here for the day after the wedding. I called my boss and asked for somewhere warm, somewhere near an ocean if at all possible, so he’s sending me to an account close to my current home in North Carolina. Hopefully after client meetings, I can sneak away to the beach for a few days. That will recharge me.
My thoughts float back to Harper, how she’s never seen the ocean, how I wish I could show it to her. Now I really am crazy. I shake my head violently and turn back to strumming the guitar when I hear a car coming down the gravel driveway.
I peak over my shoulder even though I know it’s probably Lyla and Harper coming back. They’ve been gone for a while now and I don’t think anyone else is gone or expected. Sure enough, I’m right. Between the tint of the windows and the reflecting sun, I can’t see inside the car, so I stare as they pull up and exit. It takes all of two seconds to realize Harper’s hair is gone. Well, not all of it, but from where I am, about half. Her golden locks fall just below her shoulder now, no longer cascading down her back and swaying as she walks. I swallow, choking on my sudden intake of breath catching in my throat. Good god.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I stand and walk toward them. Harper’s back is to me as she twists her now shorter locks around her fingers. Lyla’s eyes catch mine as I approach and she presses her lips together in a sly smile, retreating toward the house.
Harper turns to face me, her eyes meeting mine with a hesitant smile. “Hey.”
“Hi there.” My eyes sweep over her face and hair, taking in her appearance, her face somehow glowing.
“I got a haircut,” she says, as if it isn’t obvious.
“I see that. I like it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, it looks great. Why did you decide to cut it?”
Harper bites her lip, reaching up and taking her short hair in her hand. She can’t seem to leave it alone. “Because I never have before, aside from trims. Because Charles never wanted me to.”
“Well, I’m glad you did then.”
Harper smiles, fully, her rosy cheeks bright and warm under my words. “Are you sure it looks okay?”
“Harper, I don’t think it matters what anyone thinks but you. You have to love it. That’s the point, right?”
She tilts her head at me, considering my words for several long moments. “You’re right.”
“But for the record,” I say, pausing for effect. I lean in close to her, giving her my low voice, the one that pinks her cheeks. “I think it’s fucking hot.”
Harper presses her lips together and pushes me back, shaking her head. “Don’t do that. I can’t think when you do that.”
“Then my work here is done.”
“What are you doing with your guitar?” she asks, changing the subject.
“Practicing for the wedding. Almost there,” I say proudly.
This is awkward. Or at least, it doesn’t feel like it did before. Did we fuck it up? Did sex make it weird between us?
I watch Harper dig the toe of her shoe into the gravel and I know we fucked it up.
“I don’t like tomatoes,” I blurt.
Harper laughs, nodding her head. And even though I don’t think it actually happened, I would swear her shoulders eased a bit. “I don’t like wearing socks,” she says.
In this quiet moment, our game continues on as it has before. I quite enjoy it. It may be my favorite thing about this entire trip, surpassing both the promised open bar and the sex. Not that the sex wasn’t amazing. But this feels special.
She taps her foot again, her hand rising to touch her short blunt bob. “Well, I better go get ready.”
“For what?”