"I get the feeling that you don’t make a habit of that," I reply, and she shakes her head.
"Not if I can avoid it," she agrees, fluttering her lashes at me. Fuck, she looks so cute right now, it takes everything I have not to lean down and plant my lips against hers.
“So what changed?” I ask. "What made you come home after all of that?”
She pauses for a moment, and she lets her eyes slide to the left. I can see that there is something that she doesn’t want to come out and tell me, and I don’t want to push her to give me more than she is comfortable with.
"My mom," she whispers, finally. She says those words as though they are hard for her to get out, and I know at once what she is going to say.
"She got... sick," she explains, her voice cracking slightly. "While I was away. I thought that she’d recover quickly – we all did – but the more time went on, the more clear it became that she... that she wasn’t going to get better."
She takes a deep breath, and I slide my hands over hers. I can see the pain in her face, and it hurts to see her in so much agony. I know that I should say something, but I have no idea what I am meant to come out with right now.
"I moved back home to help out with her," she continues. "My dad couldn’t do it all on his own. And I didn’t want him to. I guess I didn’t really accept it till I was back with her again, but as soon as I saw her, I knew..."
She shakes her head, looks away from me. I know that this must be agony for her to go through all over again. I don’t want to force her to tell me, but she seems willing to keep talking, and I don’t want to trip her up.
"I knew that we were going to lose her," she continues. "I stayed there, until the end, and after it happened – well, after it happened, I knew that my father was in far too much pain to live by himself, all alone, so I stayed there with him. I’ve been there ever since. Helping out with the church, at home, all of that stuff. This is the first time I’ve had some time to myself in... well, in way too long."
I smooth a finger down her cheek and she offers me a slight smile; it’s tinged with sadness, and I know that it must be hard for her to tell the truth about what happened. I wonder how many people have seen her like this, have seen the truth of how bad she aches when she talks about her mother.
"I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Harper."
I’m not sure what to say to her, except to offer her my sincere words of comfort. I have never gone through a loss like that, and it seems unfair that someone so bright and so bubbly would have to. I hate that she’s suffered in that way. I hate that it hurts her as much as it does. She shakes her head.
"Me too," she replies. "But it happened. And I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life sitting at home trying to make it un-happen."
"You’ve done something so good, you know," I tell her, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Going home to Cherry Falls to look after your father. It can’t be easy, not when you’re dealing with all of that sadness in yourself, too."
"It’s downright awful, sometimes," she admits. "But I – I know that he needs me. And I know that my mom would have wanted me to be there for him."
"I bet she’s proud of you," I tell her, and she smiles at me.
"I know she is," she replies softly. "She wanted me to be happy. To do what made me happy."
"And what might that be?" I ask her. "Right now. What would make you happy?”
She looks up at me, and her eyes light up as soon as they lock onto mine.
"You know, I have a few ideas," she says as she lifts her mouth to mine. And, as soon as our lips meet, I know that my chances of not falling for this girl are next to nothing.
Chapter Eight
Harper
He winds his arms around me tight and pulls me close, as though he wants nothing more than to lose himself to the way that our mouths feel against each other right now. I can’t believe how close to him I feel, how comfortable. Normally, I would have been freaking out about the thought of someone so perfect having seen me so naked, but with him, it’s different. With him, I have nothing at all to fear.