"You're a good man, Harper Fontenot. Don't let anyone tell you different." I held his gaze, my voice soft but fierce. "Especially not yourself." I let the words land.
Then I slipped inside, the screen door closing behind me, and leaned against the wall with my heart pounding and the taste of moonshine still on my lips. Through the window, I watched him stand there for a long moment, staring at my door like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Then he turned and walked back to his truck, his shoulders straighter than I'd ever seen them, something lighter in his step.
Gumbo rumbled from somewhere in the darkness outside, a low sound of what might have been approval.
"Yeah." I whispered to no one, pressing my fingers to my still-tingling lips, the phantom feel of his hands in my hair making me shiver. "I know."
One down. Two to go.
I couldn't wait to see what happened next.
Chapter Twelve
Artemis
The week between Harper's date and Remy's felt like it lasted a month.
Thursday's meeting had been... tense. Not bad, exactly, but charged with something new. Harper kept looking at me with those dark, knowing eyes, and every time our gazes met, I felt the ghost of his mouth on mine. Remy noticed. Of course he noticed—he noticed everything, even when he pretended not to. His smile had been a little too bright, his jokes a little too sharp, his eyes tracking every interaction between Harper and me like he was cataloging evidence.
Silas had watched all of us with that unnerving stillness, saying nothing, seeing everything.
Now it was Saturday again, and I was staring at my closet like it held the secrets of the universe.
"What does one wear to a date with a man who's terrified of being real?" I asked Gumbo, who was sunning himself on the dock, completely uninterested in my fashion crisis.
He didn't even blink.
"Helpful as always." I muttered, pulling out a red sundress and holding it up against myself in the mirror, the fabric bright against my skin. Too bold. I wanted him comfortable, not intimidated. I tossed it aside and reached for something softer—a pale yellow dress with tiny flowers embroidered along the hem, casual enough to say I hadn't tried too hard, pretty enough to say I cared.
The sound of a motorcycle made my pulse jump. I glanced at the clock. Five minutes early. Not as early as Harper, but early enough to mean something. I walked out onto the porch and watched him pull up, the bike gleaming chrome and black in the late afternoon light. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment, running a hand through his honey-blond curls, his shoulders rising and falling with what looked like a deep breath.
When he climbed off the bike, my stomach did a slow flip. He was wearing dark jeans and a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to show tanned forearms, the collar open just enough to reveal a hint of collarbone. His curls were loose and sun-kissed, his jaw sporting a shadow of stubble that made him look less polished than usual. Less perfect.
He stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and looked up at me, and for once, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Hey, chere." His voice was softer than usual, his accent thick, and he shoved his hands in his pockets like he didn't know what to do with them, his amber eyes searching my face with something that looked almost like fear.
"Hey yourself." I leaned against the porch railing, tilting my head as I studied him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the way his usual easy confidence seemed muted. "You look nervous." I said it gently, the same way I'd said it to Harper, giving him space to admit it or deny it.
"Terrified, actually." He laughed, but it came out shaky, his dimples appearing and disappearing too quickly. "Turns out it'sa lot harder to be real when you've spent your whole life being whatever people wanted you to be." He climbed the first step, then stopped, his amber eyes finding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "I almost called to cancel. Three times." He admitted, his voice dropping low, his jaw tight with the confession.
"Why didn't you?" I asked softly, not moving from my spot against the railing, my fingers curling around the weathered wood as I watched him struggle with words he wasn't used to saying, letting him come to me at his own pace.
"Because you asked me not to perform." He climbed another step, then another, until he was standing in front of me, close enough that his scent wrapped around me—river water and honey and warm cinnamon, sharpened with something that smelled like nervous energy. "And I realized that was the scariest thing anyone's ever asked me to do." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I was starting to recognize as his tell for genuine vulnerability. "Perform, I can do. Charm, I can do. But just... be myself?" He shook his head slowly, his curls catching the light. "I'm not sure I even know who that is anymore." He finished quietly, his amber eyes holding mine with a rawness that made my chest ache.
I reached out and took his hand, threading my fingers through his, feeling the calluses on his fingertips—guitar calluses, I realized. Evidence of the music that lived inside him.
"Then let's find out together." I squeezed his hand gently, letting warmth color my voice. "Where are you taking me?" I asked, tilting my head with genuine curiosity. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or relief that I wasn't pushing harder.
"Somewhere I've never taken anyone." He said it quietly, his thumb tracing a nervous pattern on the back of my hand. "Somewhere I go when I need to remember who I was beforeI learned to be someone else." He tugged gently on my hand, leading me toward the motorcycle, his steps lighter now that we were moving. "You ever been on one of these?" He asked, gesturing to the bike with his free hand, a hint of his usual smile creeping back.
"Once or twice." I looked at the sleek machine, then back at him. "Should I be worried?" I raised an eyebrow, letting a teasing note enter my voice.
"Only about falling for me." The words slipped out with a flash of his old charm, but then he winced, like he'd caught himself performing. "Sorry. That was—I'm trying not to do that." He ran his free hand through his curls, frustration flickering across his handsome features.
"It's okay." I squeezed his hand again, watching the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. "Old habits. I get it." I let understanding warm my voice. "Just... let me see the cracks, okay? That's all I'm asking." I held his gaze, letting him see that I meant it. He stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes—walls coming down, brick by brick.
"Yeah." He said finally, his voice rough around the edges. "Yeah, I can try." He handed me a helmet, his fingers brushing mine as I took it, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. I climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of him through the thin linen of his shirt. He tensed for just a moment at the contact, then relaxed, his hand coming down to cover mine where they rested against his stomach.
