Page 141 of The Truth of Us

My hand shook as I reached out, my finger trailing over the stack. I picked one up, the ‌oldest in the bunch, which was just before I was born. Will’s writing was similar, but chunkier, less refined.

Elliot’s large hand covered mine over the book, stealing my attention. I looked up at him, his blue eyes so kind and loving.

“Do you want me to go so you can read them?” He asked before adding, “I can go get dinner started, give you some privacy.”

I immediately shook my head no. The last thing I wanted was for Elliot to leave my side.

I swallowed hard and answered, “No… I…” I took a deep breath, knowing this is what I needed, “Can you read them to me?”

Elliot pulled me in, wrapping me in his arms, saying, “Of course, Harper, whatever you need.”

And still wrapped in his arms, Elliot read Will's first journal, which turns out my mom got for him to work through how he felt about having a baby sister, instead of the brother he asked for. I laughed and cried, but I felt parts of my heart healing.

And when my stomach grumbled loudly and Elliot and I came to an agreement that he would continue reading if I made dinner, we walked out of the room, hand in hand, with a few of Will’s journals clutched safely in Elliot's arm, and the door to Will’s room was left open.

Reading his journals became ‌part of our routine, just as cooking from my mom's book had.

Piece by piece, Elliot was slowly putting my heart back together, something I had realized ‌was broken long before he ever got his hands on it.

38

ELLIOT

Amonth of dating Harper like a ‘regular person’ had me constantly searching for regular people's date ideas. And, yes, that is a popular search prompt.

I had called Caleb when community service activities popped up in my search.

Because, how was cleaning up garbage sexy?

But apparently, being good to your community and the environment is an attractive quality.

So I went with it, and Harper seemed to have a great time, slowly coming out of her shell, chatting with strangers who did not know they were talking to the sole heir of one of the wealthiest American families.

Tonight we were at the Art School end-of-year fundraiser show, Harper tucked snugly at my side. I loved that she was allowing me to hold her again, openly being affectionate with her.

Was I taking daily cold showers? Absolutely.

Because even though my brain understood her need to do this slowly and have me earn back her trust… my cock was not on board. He wanted the steamy sexuality Harper, and I had enjoyed, before I blew it all up. But I wanted to prove to her that I loved her for more than her body.

The event is intimate, with low lighting, except for the spotlights on certain pieces around the room.

Harper seemed lighter since she opened up Will’s room, like she was finally giving herself permission to live fully.

She stopped by a large canvas of bold colours, her head titling from side to side, her lips twitching, like she was trying hard to find something positive to comment on from the piece that looked like a leftover paint can was knocked over and the artist had and called it a day.

So I pulled her closer and whispered into her ear, "That's either a profound commentary on capitalism or someone dropped paint."

The bark of laughter that comes out of her is pure joy, and I feel my heart swell.

I made her laugh like that.

People turn to look in our direction, and I nod at them in return. My eyes say, “Yes, I see you seeing us, but you will not be ruining this for her.”

We keep moving, Harper giggling into her drink as I keep her close.

This feels like the version of us we should have been from the beginning, playful with a side of that heat and tension, and witty banter we loved to challenge each other.

I continue to run whispered commentary in Harper's ear, and she continues to gift me with her laugh. And then I see it coming in real time: a young woman, maybe twenty, recognizes Harper. She looks nervous, excited, and absolutely star-struck.