A sudden cheer ripples through the crowd as the first firework shoots into the sky, a bright streak cutting through the darkness before exploding into a shower of white and gold.
Harper jolts slightly beside me at the unexpected boom, her shoulder bumping into my arm. She laughs under her breath.
“Sorry,” she says.
“It’s okay,” I reply, my voice lower than I expect.
Another firework goes off—red this time, blooming wide—and she instinctively leans closer. Our shoulders are fully touching now, and I’m fully aware of her warmth radiating through the thin fabric of her shirt, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing.
I turn my head at the same moment she does.
We’re suddenly close.
Too close.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. Mine drops to hers. The world narrows to the space between us, the boom and crackle of fireworks dulling, fading.
Just an inch closer—
Then, a massive firework detonates right overhead, the sound ripping through the air, lighting up the sky in blinding cobalt.
Harper startles, laughing again and pulling back just enough to break the moment.
“Wow.” She tears her eyes from mine and looks skyward. “That one was loud.”
“Yeah,” I manage, forcing myself to breathe, to watch the sky instead of her.
The fireworks continue, filling the night with dazzling color and chest-shaking booms under the oohs and aahs of the crowd.
All the while, I sit there beside Harper, heart pounding, wondering how long I can keep pretending that I’m not falling for her.
10
Harper
Okay, the festival wasn’t that bad. We had fun, and I’m glad I fought the urge to stay in. Making good on their promise, the guys took us all to dinner last night, and I don’t remember the last time I laughed that much.
“Why did you go?” Grandma grunts from the other end of the line when I tell her about dinner with Baptiste and his friends. “Was it for an article or something?”
My brows furrow. “What do you mean? Hanging out with them?”
“They’re up to something shady, aren’t they? Come on, spill the beans.”
I chuckle,rolling onto my back on the hotel bed and staring at the ceiling. “No, they’re just nice people, Grandma. I didn’t think I’d like them, but I do.”
“Mm-hmm,” Grandma hums skeptically. “That’s not like you at all, making friends and all that, but I guess it’s good for you. Just be careful. You know how these people are. We’re not from the same mold.”
I twist my mouth to the side. “Actually, I think we are. They all come from modest backgrounds and are surprisingly down-to-earth. If you didn’t know it, you wouldn’t even realize they’re famous.”
“Still,” she says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Harper.”
I know exactly why she’s standing her ground on this, so I don’t insist. Instead, I tell her about Lois, Beth’s grandma, and encourage her to introduce herself, maybe make a friend of her own, but Grandma is even more set in her ways than I am. Which makes sense—she’s been entrenched in them for way longer than me.
I spend the rest of the day working on the interview, having received several head shots from Baptiste’s PR team. I choose one where he’s not in hockey gear, for a change—relaxed, approachable—and send the content to my boss before heading to the arena for the game.
Getting to the arena is an experience in itself. The streets are buzzing with chaotic energy. Fans in jerseys stream toward the entrances, music thumps from speakers outside, and the air feels electric with anticipation. I can feel the vibration of the crowdbefore I even step inside, the distant roar fighting through concrete and steel.
I’m in an area reserved for the press, and I’m glad to see it comes with a nice VIP lounge, complete with a sprawling buffet that offers up everything you could dream of, including lobster.
