Leo
I look at my phone for the hundredth time in the last almost twenty-four hours and sigh.
Because I’ve been fighting an inner battle I know I won’t win.
Which is why I’m here, parked in one of the guest spots in front of Harper’s apartment, food sitting in the passenger’s seat slowly getting cold.
And being a chicken shit, too scared to knock on her door.
All because Smitty mentioned—okay, he’d texted and told me to get my head out of my ass and bring Harper dinner because she’d mentioned she’d been craving Chinese food for the last couple of days.
I was looking for an excuse to see her.
So, I picked some up.
Even though she didn’t text me back last night.
A pretty clear message to keep my distance, I figure.
Hence me being a chicken shit who’s hiding in my car.
A flicker of movement catches my focus and I look up just in time to see Harper come out her front door, hitching her purse over her shoulder. She has her planner tucked under her other arm and she turns toward her car, the lights flashing as she unlocks it.
“Shit,” I mutter, grabbing the bag then popping my door and getting out. “Harper!”
She jerks to a halt, her planner falling to the ground.
“Shit,” I mutter again, hurrying over to her. I pick it up, hand it to her.
She takes it wordlessly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What are you doing here?” Her question is a little suspicious.
“I brought Chinese.” I hold up the bag.
Her eyes flick down then back up to mine. “I was just going out to grab some from Lotus. How did you know I—?” A shake of her head, her mouth curving. “Smitty.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “He might have mentioned you had a craving.”
“Right,” she says quietly. “I, uh, well, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.” I hitch my head toward the building. “I’ll carry it inside for you then leave you to your night.”
She studies me for several moments then nods. “Okay.”
Disappointment lashes through me—I bought enough food for both of us (and was hoping she would invite me to stay and eat with her)—but I just follow her into the apartment.
She sets her stuff on the counter, takes the bag from me, places it beside her planner, then tears open the top and starts unloading the contents. “This smells amazing.”
“You shouldn’t wait too long to eat that,” I tell her. “You don’t want it to get cold.”
Her mouth curves into a ghost of a smile. “No. I definitely wouldn’t want that.”
“Right,” I say into the silence that falls. “Well”—I hitch my thumb over my shoulder—“I should go.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
