Sometimes Wes and I have hung out with Harper as well. After seeing us interact for one day, he turned to me, no joking in his eyes, and asked, “So when are you going to ask her out?” At the time, he didn’t know we’d known each other our entire lives and that moving from friends to more than that felt dangerous and risky—why ruin a good thing?
“Think of it. You two are essentially stranded together. You confess your feelings. She can’t run away and avoid you because it’s awkward. You two will be forced to work it out. Cara hated me before we were stranded at our layover together. Now look at us,” Wes says, referring to the same story he’s told me time and time again of how he met Cara. He’s a pilot, she’s a flight attendant. She had sworn off pilots after dating one who cheated on her, but during a work layover, Wes managed to win her over. The rest is history.
“And if she doesn’t feel the same way?” I raise an eyebrow, doubtful.
“Then sharing hotel rooms is going to beveryawkward.”
“Very helpful commentary. Keep it up!” I lay the sarcasm on thick.
This time it’s Wes who hurls the pillow at me. He gets up from the couch and goes to the fridge. I expect him to come back empty-handed again, but this time he pulls out a plate and some cold pizza. He motions to it, offering me some.
“All I’m saying.” He stops to take a bite. “Is that for once in your life you’re both single. You like her. You’ve always liked her. You’re going on a trip together. I’m not a romance expert—”
“You sure act like it,” I interrupt. He ignores me.
“It seems like the stars have aligned and you gotta shoot your shot.”
I give it some honest thought. Wes is right in a way. Harper and I have been in each other’s lives forever, but since we reached the age where romantic feelings might pop up, one of us has always been dating someone else. I’ve gone on plenty of dates with girls—even had a girlfriend here or there. But the spark was never there, and it was always broken off because the girl I was dating would get jealous of the relationship I had with Harper. Even I hadn’t seen Harper as anything more than a friend until Jessa—my girlfriend when I graduated from college—broke up with me because of the way I acted around Harper.
At first, I thought she was insinuating that I was cheating on her, but then I realized what Jessa meant. I’mdifferentaround Harper. My mood changes when I see her. My body physically reacts to her presence. I used to think my overprotectiveness was just a brother-sister type of bond, but it’s more than that. Iwant to be the one to fix her problems or the listening ear she needs when she’s struggling.
I’ve never liked any of her boyfriends. They didn’t do enough for her. And I think I felt that way not just because I care about her, but because I wanted to take their place.
Wes has been my sounding board ever since he made me realize that I’ve been getting worse and worse at hiding my feelings. And if Harper knows how I feel, she’s good at ignoring the problem, just like I am.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. And I will. Though I can’t think of a scenario in which I’d risk our friendship for the tiny chance that she feels the same. I will consider talking to Harper, but if my feelings are so obvious to everyone else, wouldn’t Harper already know too?
Chapter 4
Harper
Ava has finally gotten the hint and stopped poking fun at me for going on a non-romantic trip with Luke. It took a couple death glares to get there, but I’m finally able to pack in peace.
I text him photos of my fully packed and ready-to-go suitcase, and in return he sends me a photo of his closet, which has a few hangers with clothes, and a large pile of laundry on the floor. Luke is the master of procrastination.
You need do laundry!I send.
It’s all clean.
I roll my eyes and text back,Then fold it.
Why would I fold it if I’m going to be putting it in a suitcase?
I send him an eyeroll emoji.
We leave tomorrow, and unfortunately for us, our flight is overnight. On the bright side, it’s a direct flight, so hopefully we can fall asleep on the plane and wake up ready for Iceland.
I’m double-checking everything in my carry-on when I get another text from Luke. This time it’s just a photo. He’s taken some of his shirts and laid them out on the floor to spell SOS.
I grab my purse and keys to head to his apartment. He opens the door for me as I approach, a huge grin on his face.
“Didn’t know you could use dirty clothes to send messages,” I say, laughing.
“I told you, they’re clean.”
“You’re hopeless.” I move past him to his room.
I’ve been to his place plenty of times since I helped him move in two years ago. It was me, in fact, who organized his closet. Perhaps it’s a little weird that I know Luke is a boxer guy, and that he owns only seven T-shirts because he believes that you need one for each day of the week. When he buys a new shirt, he only does it if he’s willing to part with an old one.
