They sat for a while longer, the breeze rustling the bushes surrounding nearby headstones. Gale felt a calmness settle over him, a clarity he hadn’t experienced in months. Something about her presence made the chaos in his head quiet down, made his muscles unwind one by one.
“I need to talk to Brooke,” he said finally. “Really talk, you know? About him, about Mom... about everything.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. The simple touch shot straight through him, made his breath catch. “It’s going to hurt, opening all that up. Do you want me to be there?”
He shook his head slowly, fighting the urge to turn his hand over, to ask for more. “No, but... thank you.” His throat felt tight with everything unsaid. “I think this needs to be just us. Just family. Even if we do it badly.” He glanced over at her, caught by something in her eyes that made his skin prickle. “Maybe I’ll call you after, though?”
Harriet nodded. “Any time.”
The certainty in her voice settled into his bones, made him ache for more than he could ask for.
As they pulled out of the cemetery, Gale gripped the wheel a little harder, his knuckles whitening. The silence felt different now—charged with something. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual despite the knot in his stomach, “you want to grab a coffee or something? At my place, I mean. Just... don’t feel like being alone right now.”
“Your place? Okay. Sure,” Harriet replied, her voice soft but steady. She was looking straight ahead, and he couldn’t read her expression.
The drive was quiet, but Gale’s mind raced louder than the engine. Every few seconds, he’d glance at Harriet, then quickly back at the road. Her profile was familiar after all these years of friendship, but somehow different in the fading afternoon light. Was he reading too much into things? Maybe she just pitied him.
But there was something about the way she sat there, calm and present, that made his racing thoughts slow just a little. Like maybe he didn’t have to figure it all out right this second. Likemaybe it was okay to just drive, and breathe, and let whatever this was unfold in its own time.
Pulling into his driveway, he cut the engine and turned to her. His heart was pounding like he was about to step onto the ice for sudden death overtime.
“I want to say something,” he started, his voice rough with nerves, but he needed to speak his piece, release the pressure that had been building.
“Gale,” Harriet said, her expression unreadable in the shadows of his car. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “Before you continue, there’s something I need to say first.”
His stomach dropped. All the air seemed to leave his lungs at once. “Okay...”
Harriet took a deep breath. When she turned to face him, her eyes were fierce with something that made his pulse jump. “There is clearly something going on here. We don’t keep crashing into each other’s mouths for nothing.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, throat tight. “I know. And I get that it’s...”
“Complicated?” Harriet offered.
“Exactly.” Everything they’d been building—not just this past week but their entire shared history—felt balanced on this moment.
They sat in silence, rain beginning to patter against the windshield. When Harriet spoke, her voice was rough with emotion she’d clearly been holding back for too long.
“I’m not asking for promises. But I’m interested in exploring where this goes. You?”
He nodded, warmth spreading through his chest. “I am. It’s just—I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Me too.” There was a history in those two words—all the looks that had gone on a little too long, all the conversations that hadskirted the edge of something more. She glanced out the windshield as the rain began to fall harder. “We should head in.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, good idea.” His voice was hoarse.
As they got out of the truck, the rain started to fall in earnest. They quickened their pace toward the house, Gale suddenly aware of every inch of space between them, of the way Harriet’s shoulder brushed his as they hurried through the downpour.
At the door, he paused. “Harriet, I—”
She cut him off with a look that left him struggling to remember how to breathe. “Go inside, okay? We can talk more. Or not.”
His fingers went clumsy on the door code. He’d thought about this moment so many times, but now that it was happening, his brain felt waterlogged. He took a deep breath, got the door open, and stepped aside to let Harriet in. This was it. No more careful distance. Whatever came next, at least he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore.
Chapter Seventeen
The second I cross Gale’s threshold and slide off my ballerina flats, a flutter starts deep in my stomach. The quiet of his house presses in around us, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the windows. I can feel him behind me, not touching, but close enough that each breath feels like it might tip us over some invisible edge we’ve been balancing on. My heart hammers against my ribs—all those late-night fantasies about taking control, about making him beg, and now here we are. What if I got it wrong? What if I’d misread those little signals, the way he yielded when I kissed him, how his breath hitched when I gave orders?
“Hold up,” he says, flicking on the foyer light—his large wooden chandelier hangs above us, its oak arms extending outward to hold several glass-shaded lights, casting a warm glow throughout the entryway. I don’t miss the fact that his ears are red or that he is looking in every direction except my gaze. God, the way he’s avoiding eye contact makes my mouth go dry, makes me want to grab his chin and force him to look at me.
