Her right foot slips forward, sending her reeling back.
I react without thinking, one arm sliding around her waist and pulling her back against my chest. We both wobble and spin a one-eighty but somehow manage to stay upright. She presses close to me, slightly out of breath from her near fall.
“You okay?” I ask, turning her around to face me.
“I’m fine.” She chuckles, still breathless. “Thank goodness you have the same reflexes out here as on the ice.”
“As if I’d ever let you fall.” I grin.
“My hero,” she says, clutching a hand to her chest, her mock dramatics making me laugh.
I reach up, brush a loose strand of hair from her face, and cup her chin, my thumb grazing her skin. “Tell me. How is it possible that you’re more beautiful than ever?” I murmur. “Even under these aggressively unflattering neon lights.”
I lean in and kiss her, slow and sure, and she melts into me for a heartbeat, before she pulls back, one hand flattening against my chest to steady herself. The squeak of her skates sounds like a protest.
“Don’t make this weird now,” she says, rolling her eyes, though her smile is shaky. “Come on, let’s go.”
My stomach tightens. Why does she always say things like that? Like we’re just kidding around. Like this doesn’t mean anything, when for me, it’s already everything. But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe it’s just me.
That’s it. I can’t keep dancing around these doubts. Maybe I should just ask her and finally get some clarity. While I know it’s not exactly the best time or place, at least in these skates, she won’t be able to run away and avoid my questions. At least, that’s what I’m going with.
I tug her hand gently. “Actually, can I talk to you for a second?”
Her smile falls, and she bites her lip. “Sure.”
We skate carefully toward the edge of the rink, fingers grazing the railing for support. Adler zooms past us, clearly far more comfortable now, as he shouts something triumphant that I ignore completely.
“What’s up?” Harper asks, not quite meeting my eyes.
“What are we doing?” My breath comes shallow. “This, us. Are we dating? Is it serious? Casual?” I swallow. “I know not everything needs a label, but I have to know where this relationship is going.”
“Where is this coming from?” she asks, dodging the question.
My jaw clenches. “You always joke about ‘not hating me.’ Or how you ‘tolerate me more than other people.’” My voice drops. “I guess I’m tired of pretending we’re just friends who kiss sometimes, when the truth is, I’m falling in love with you so hard, I’m scared I won’t be able to come back from it.”
Her face tightens, gaze dropping to the floor between our skates. “Baptiste, I don’t—”
“Please,” I say, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “If you don’t feel the same way, just say so. I’d rather know. Just… tell me if it’s only me.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “It’s not. I just…” She glances around, as if searching for the words. Miles and Marissa skate by, hands linked, laughter following in their wake. “I just have a hard time opening up. I’ve lost so much already.”
“But you’re not going to lose me,” I say quietly, inching closer despite the risk of falling. “I’m in love with you, Harper. I’ve never felt this way before. It scares me, but it’s the truth.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and she holds it this time, raw and unguarded. “It scares me too,” she whispers. “Because I feel exactly the same.”
My heart stills at her words. Careful not to throw us off balance, I lean forward and press my lips to hers—soft at first, then deeper. Her free hand slides up my chest as if to remind herself I’m real, thatthisis real. The rink, the pulsating lights, the deafening chatter—they all fade away as our mouths lock in a gentle dance. And as we kiss, unashamed, I realize I’ve never been happier than I am right now.
It wasn’t just me.
25
Harper
It’s official—I now have a boyfriend. After years of being proudly single, I finally broke the spell. Well, Baptiste did. And for once, I don’t think there will be any crazy orillegalsurprises awaiting me in this relationship. What we have feels right. Steady. Like everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.
A few days have passed since our weekend in the Hamptons, and I can still hear the roar of the waves. I’m truly glad I went. Especially because I gained something irreplaceable on that trip. Being with Baptiste feels… easy. Safe. Which is new. Slightly terrifying, but good.
Over the weekend, I was also able to bag some hair from Baptiste’s brush, since we shared a bathroom. I noticed the bulb was still attached on at least one strand, so it should do the trick. I felt weird sneaking around like that—my stomach twisted as I slipped it into a bag—but I had no choice. I tried to bring up the subject of his family again, and as usual, he shut it down.
