There’s surprise in her eyes. "So that's where they disappeared to."
She runs her fingers through her hair. The hair tie she’s currentlywearing comes loose. Her hair flows down around her face. She makes a point of sliding the hair tie around her wrist.
But she doesn’t always do so. Many times, it drops to the floor, and she doesn’t notice.
She notices my pointed gaze and rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. I’m a bit forgetful with them. It’s why I buy them by the dozens."
She glances down at the collection in the palm of my hand, then reaches out and picks up a pink colored one. It has a tiny butterfly attached to it. "I always wondered where that went." She holds it up. A thoughtful expression on her face. “The last time I saw this was the night we met. It was my favorite. It matched the color of the dress I had on."
She lowers her hand and turns her gaze to mine. "You've kept it for all these years?"
I stay silent.
"And you still carry it with you?"
The answer to that is yes. And now that she’s pointed it out, I’m aware of how creepy that feels.
"It, uh, smelled of you." I shrug.
She brings it to her nose, then makes a face. "I can’t smell anything."
She places it back in the palm of my hand. The contact is so brief, it leaves me aching. I lift it, breathing in coconut, vanilla, and the faint, clean scent of her. It’s a sensory overload that makes my jaw ache with suppressed lust. But beneath the hunger is a terrifying, undeniable pull.
An electric current that short-circuits my control. It’s more than her beauty, though that is a weapon in its own right. It’s her kindness, her gentleness, which cuts through my armor and finds the jagged edges of my soul, smoothing them over.
There is a quiet light in her, a gentleness that shouldn’t exist in my world, yet somehow, it fits perfectly into the cracks I’ve spent years hiding.
For a man who has lived in a storm, she is the first breath of still air. She makes me want to stop running. She feels like the only place I’ve ever wanted to belong. She feels like home.
I raise my gaze to find her watching me with wide eyes. There’s confusion and longing, and that edge of need in them which mirrors mine.
"James," she whispers.
I hold onto her gaze like a drowning man holds onto the only firm thing at sea. Like a blade finds the angle it was forged for. Like a dish finds salt and tastes complete. "I love you, Harper."
Her lower lip trembles. She opens her mouth, but no words emerge.
"I love you." I stare down at the pink hair tie and the others similar to it, they steady me in my declaration. "I do."
She places her palm over mine, and when I grip it, she gasps and seems to emerge from wherever she’s gone to in her head. "I love you too."
I tug on her hand, pulling her toward me.
I close the distance so my lips are millimeters from hers, drawing in her essence. "I’m sorry it took me so long to say that to you." I look into her sparkling green eyes like the most precious of emeralds. "I think I fell in love with you when you walked into my kitchen dripping water onto the floor."
She huffs. "I could have sworn you hated me then."
"I didn’t like the fact that you waltzed into my life and turned it upside down. But then I realized, it was always you, Harper. There could be no one but you. There was no avoiding what you made me feel when I saw you again. And that pissed me off. Of course, I fought it. I wasn’t just going to come out and tell you how I felt the moment I realized it."
"And the fake marriage agreement?" Her pupils dilate. The pulse at the base of her throat flutters like the wings of a hummingbird. She’s turned on by my nearness. She wants me. It calms something deep inside me. She was the one who had the courage to leave.
She took the risk, knowing there was a good chance I might never be able to voice my feelings for her. If I were in her position, could I have done the same? I’m not sure. But it was the right thing.
It made me think deeply about us. About how much I want her. About what she means to me. How my life could not go forward without her. And seeing her barely able to hold back confirms to me that she still feels the same way.
"I was a coward. I couldn’t confess my feelings to myself, let alone, you. I found another way to bind you to me."
Her fingers trace my cheekbone. The tenderness in her touch heals the wounds inside me.
