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The sight of that smile had something monstrously big brewing in my chest.
“I told her this was a terrible idea,” Harlow said. “I know how much you hate surprises.”
After so many years, her voice almost knocked me to my knees.
I stepped out onto the front porch, attempting to unlock all the tension I suddenly held in my jaw. “Poppy,” I said under my breath, “it’s time for you to go home.”
Maybe my sister’s face morphed into surprise or annoyance, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from my friend’s long enough to check. Poppy, young though she was, could still read a room, and she let out a low whistle, then backed away with her keys jingling in her hand.
“Right,” she said slowly. “I’ll just … go elsewhere.”
Harlow let out a massive breath, hitching a laptop bag over her shoulder. Her eyes briefly darted to my sister so she could nod her assent. Like Poppy needed permission to go, to leave Harlow alone with me.
Which was laughable because the hours we’d spent alone in middle school and high school were beyond my ability to count. Talking when we were supposed to be studying. Playing video games when I let her win because I liked her smile when she did. Sharing our dreams and burdens.
When my dad died, hers was the voice I wanted to hear when I pulled my suit on for his funeral, and when I watched Mom toss her handful of dirt onto his sleek navy coffin.
Words crowded my throat, questions of where she’d been, what life had happened to her in my absence, what losses she’d had that I missed.
We stood like that, staring at each other until Harlow nudged her chin up slightly and took the remaining few steps up the front porch. Her willingness to close the gap between us reminded me exactly how strong she was. The gap was created and upheld by both of us, and now it was summarily destroyed by a meddling sister who I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at.
Harlow’s gaze touched lightly over my face, cataloging the same changes that time had wrought on me. My hair was long now, always tied back, and my face covered in a beard, something she’d never seen on me before.
Slowly, she eased the laptop bag off her shoulder and set it down on the porch.
I waited for a snarky comment about a man bun, or my lumberjack shirt or the beard. I waited for her to give me shit, for that sharp tongue of hers to talk to me like nothing had changed between us, but she stayed silent. Those dark chocolate eyes pulled away from mine and focused on the porch, a soft smile curling her lips.
“Your house is?—”
I didn’t let her finish. “Get over here, Harlow.”
At the urgent request, her head snapped up. My arms opened wide.
The sound she exhaled was part laugh, part ragged sob of relief, and I swept her up into my embrace on a sigh that held the weight of seventeen years.
God, she felt good. I’d missed her. I’d missed my friend so fucking much.
Harlow’s arms were tight around my neck, and with my arms banded around her middle, I squeezed, lifting her slightly until her feet didn’t touch the floor. In my ear, she laughed.
When I set her down, her smile was so wide and happy that I found myself mirroring her expression.
She cupped my face in her hands. They were warm and soft, and I couldn’t help but notice. “You have a man bun, Ian, what the hell?”
Despite my laugh, I rolled my eyes. “I was waiting for that.”
Harlow shook her head, her gaze warm and open and full of amazement. “You inviting me in or not?”
“I don’t know, sparky, can you be nice about my complete lack of decor? I moved in a week ago, so it’s a little sparse.”
“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises,” she said gravely, but her eyes glittered at my old nickname for her.
Instinct clawed at me as we walked to the door, the urge strong to wrap my arm around her shoulders like I used to, see if she’d wrap an arm around my waist like she used to. But I didn’t. Instead, I pulled the door open for her, my hand hovering awkwardly behind her back, not daring to settle just yet.
When she walked into the house, she stopped so quickly that I almost ran into her.
“A little sparse?” she said.
“It’s a work in progress.”
