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“Thanks for doing this.”
I gave her a curt nod before walking out of there.
Wondering if I’d made a huge fucking mistake.
* * *
“What do you think she’s doing up there?” Scottie asked me as he meticulously arranged his hockey card collection out on the kitchen table.
“Sleeping it off, maybe?” I shrugged, eyes flicking to the door.
It had been almost forty minutes since we left her up there. Mom would be home soon, and that was a conversation I didn’t want to have. Ever.
I’d never brought a girl home before, so I knew she’d have a field day with this.
“Do you think she’s okay? What if she—”
“I’ll go check.” I shot up out of my chair.
“Don’t shout at her.”
“What?” My brows knitted.
“Harper. Don’t shout at her. Like you did before.”
I frowned. “When did I shout at her?”
“At the diner when we had brunch.”
“Buddy, I didn’t shout.”
“You used the tone. I don’t like it when you use the tone. Harper probably didn’t like it either.”
“Bud, come on, I was annoyed.”
“At Harper.” He looked at me, really looked. As if he was trying to understand, trying to join the dots and connect the wires that got so messed up in his head sometimes.
“She had no right to suggest we take you skating. She doesn’t know you like—”
“Hey.”
We both whipped our heads around to find Harper standing in the door.
“Hey.” I gave her a tight smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Embarrassed, but okay. Thanks again for all the supplies.” She held the bag up. “I’ll pay you back. I can—”
“No, it’s fine.”
Tension stretched between us, filling the kitchen with a heaviness that wasn’t here before.
“Wanna see my cards?” Scottie asked.
“Is that your collection?”
“It is.” He beamed.
“Wow, it’s amazing.” She came closer, running her eyes over the cards, homing in on one of the cards in a protective cover. “Holy crap, is that a 1979 Wayne Gretzky Rookie Card?”
