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She coughed lightly. “Oh, uh… of course it is.”
I slumped. “Um… thanks. I’ll let you know if I need to… you know.”
“Yeah. Anytime.”
Ugh. She was really good. And it was just me being weird that was making things… well, weird.
I felt like the world’s biggest loser heading out of the house and across the street, and dutifully, I trudged around to the back, the tiny brick courtyard lined with thin poplars and streetlamps, doors to all the residential lofts of the commercial block. Harper’s little secret neighborhood. She always had some drama about someone here—Steve always bringing the girl he was definitely cheating on his wife with into the shop, Fong always ticking off the neighbors by practicing her singing late at night. I wondered if Harper was going to tell any of them before she left, or if she’d just… disappear.
God, I hated this.
I tried Harper’s door, and she’d locked it, and there was no way I was climbing a tree with an armload of food, so I jimmied the window open and climbed through, taking the stairs up tothe second floor and knocking on the doorframe into the living room. From the kitchen, I heard Harper jolt, banging something against the counter and muttering a curse.
“Paisley?” she called. “God dammit, that’s you, isn’t it?”
“I brought you dinner.”
“You did what?”
“Pulled pork sandwiches. With coleslaw! Potato salad, too.”
After a quiet second, I heard her trudging towards me, and she came around the corner, wearing a royal blue nightrobe tied at the waist, her hair a mess. I blinked as she gestured me into the living room.
“Sure… I was just getting hungry. Thanks. You could have tried texting me instead of breaking into my house.”
“Did you just take a nap?”
“Nope. Just wrapped myself up in bed to watch TV.”
“And you didn’t invite me?”
She sighed, turning away. I realized a little too late that it wasn’t the best thing to say when I’d already kissed her and gotten rejected earlier today. If she didn’t want to kiss me in her floating camper, she probably didn’t want to snuggle in bed together, either.
I really did want to snuggle her in bed, though. The thought was kind of scary.
Harper still didn’t say anything, so I filled the silence as I followed her into the kitchen. “So… uh… what were you watching?”
“What do you think? GBBO.”
“Do you ever watch it and just cringe at all the things you and you alone know they’re doing wrong?”
She laughed. “It’s not like I don’t cringe sometimes, but… mostly I watch it to turn off my brain and look at pretty desserts. Do you want something to drink with food? I’m not havingany more alcohol today, but you can help yourself, I’ve got that pineapple shandy you like.”
Oh, god.Any more?I didn’t think she realized the slip, but I wallowed in the realization that I’d gotten her to go drink alone.
It hadn’t felt like anything serious at the time—I’d wanted to kiss her, so I had—but her pulling away made it seem realer, ass-backwards as it was. My whole life felt kind of ass-backwards right now. And the more time passed, the more I sat with it, the more the weight of it was strangulating.
Why did I keep wanting to kiss her? And why had she let me twice but not a third time? She’d said it was because she was leaving, but we could have sex again before she left. Or if she wanted something more—if she wanted me—then wouldn’t she… stay?
I realized I’d been quiet for just half a second too long, and I blurted the first thing to mind. “Orange juice.”
“Orange juice. I never know what to expect with you. Sure, you got it.”
I didn’t want orange juice. But here we were.
The food was good, and the orange juice was not my favorite, but at least Harper seemed to love the food. She remarked on the tenderness of the pork, how rich the sauce was, the snap of the coleslaw, and then all of a sudden looked like her pet had died in her arms, going quiet and picking at her food. I blinked.
“Uh… you good? If you suddenly just converted to Islam, I can totally swap out the pork for something else.”
