Tears came to Laurie’s eyes but there was happiness—hope—in her expression. “Yes. Yes, I’d like very much to believe that.”
Harper expelled a relieved breath. “Good, because my parents, they were wonderful, and I’d really love to believe they’re meeting Abbi right now and making her feel as welcome with them as you’ve made me feel here with you tonight.” She blushed, hoping the woman didn’t take what she was saying as a desperate—and perhaps unwanted—attempt to make her invite Harper back again or something like that. She laughed, feeling awkward. “I hope—”
“Oh, my darling girl.” Laurie’s voice broke as she pulled Harper to her in a
big hug. “I can’t tell you how much you’ve filled my heart by saying that. Thank you.”
Then they returned to the room, tearful but smiling, where the men were waiting for them, both with equally perplexed looks on their faces, to which Harper and Laurie responded with another bout of giggles.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Because of the newly falling snow—and that the plows weren’t out on Christmas—the ride to Harper’s apartment was slow and quiet, though pleasantly so. Harper was basking in the glow of having spent the happiest Christmas she could remember, and Jak looked happy too, a small smile curving his lips as he watched the snow streak by his window.
They pulled in front of the house where she rented a room, and Harper took his hand, laughing as they ran from the truck, the snow a white flurry all around them. She unlocked the door and they spilled inside, Harper taking her finger and bringing it to her lips as they tiptoed up the stairs.
The old house had been converted into a duplex, and the old woman who lived on the main floor was a distant relative of the original owners who had built the home. The studio apartment Harper rented, was up a flight of back stairs and featured a main room, a very small kitchenette, and a bathroom, nothing more. But it worked for Harper’s needs.
She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, and they entered her apartment, removing coats and scarves, though Jak left his new scarf on. He hadn’t taken it off since he’d received it. Harper loved how much he valued the gift. She was sure he’d keep it on indefinitely.
Harper watched as he looked around, moving from the small tree with twinkle lights in front of the window, to her bed, made up with an antique, handmade quilt she’d bought at an estate sale on the last day when prices for the remaining items had been slashed, to the thrifted furniture items she’d picked up for pennies and painted. He ran a hand over the high pile of books on her nightstand and then he peeked into the tiny kitchen and then the bathroom. She watched him, his eyes moving everywhere with interest. He looked . . . impressed, and she couldn’t help the smile that tilted her lips.
Jak walked to the window that featured a very small false balcony and opened the latch. There was a portico above the window that kept the snow from coming inside, and so although the wind whipped the curtain, the snow fell just beyond them.
“Don’t step onto that balcony,” she warned, coming up beside him. “It isn’t safe.”
He looked over at her and smiled, and then back out to the snow, watching as it swirled and tumbled, the lights of the town twinkling beyond, giving everything a dreamy glow. “It’s so beautiful here,” he said, a note of awe in his voice.
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his bicep and pulling him close, resting her head on his shoulder and looking into the twinkling white. She’d tried to make her small home pretty, despite having little money to spend on pretty things. But she had never considered it beautiful. Homey, yes. Hers, yes. As good as she could do with what little she had. But now, standing there as the lights and the snow blurred in front of her, the wind cold, but the warmth and comfort of home a few footfalls away, she realized it was beautiful. She had everything she needed. She’d done her best, and she was proud that she’d never stopped trying.
“It is, isn’t it?” she whispered, a small hitch in her voice at the emotion the whole night had elicited. She wanted to show him other things, experience everything that, for him, would be brand new—pie in diners at midnight, picnics in sunny parks, late-night movies, and a thousand other things people took for granted. She wanted to watch his face as he took it in, to see the delight in his eyes, the confusion, the understanding. She wanted to watch as he worked things out in that quick mind of his. And yet another part of her wanted him just the way he was, always—innocent, beautiful, untouched, hers.
He shut the window against the cold and turned to her, bringing his hands to her face and looking at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You make me see beauty where I didn’t see it before, Jak,” she said, turning her face and closing her eyes as she kissed his palm. “You make everything new. Even me.”
He tilted his head, and in the dim light of the room, shadows played over the lines of his face, his light eyes burning into hers, the only fire she needed to keep her warm. “Is that good?” he asked. “That I make you new?”
“Yes, it’s very, very good.” She was transforming, she realized, and she still wasn’t certain about all the ways he was helping her to grow, but it felt good. It felt right. Since he’d come into her life, more questions had arisen, and yet, it finally felt like she was figuring out her life when before she had been flailing. Maybe part of it was the deep gratitude he’d opened up in her. Maybe it was her perspective on her own life and the struggles she’d endured. She wasn’t entirely sure yet, but it had everything to do with him. She felt like a blooming flower, gently opening, her petals reaching for the sunlight she hadn’t even realized was there because she’d been curled up so tightly, a bud protecting herself from the very thing she needed to blossom.
“Did you enjoy tonight?” she whispered, her finger moving along the wool of his new scarf.
He nodded. “Yes. Very much.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “When you were in the kitchen, Agent Gallagher told me about the woman who raised me. He . . . found her. She was a refugee of a war. A . . . real one.” He looked away for a moment. “Isaac Driscoll used her. She was wrong too. But for some reason, I can’t hate her. She gave me what she could.”
Harper regarded him, considering his innate goodness. His gentle heart. Him. “I’m glad you’re getting answers, Jak. You deserve them.”
His eyes met hers, vulnerability filling his expression. “Everyone gave me away. No one kept me.”
Her heart stuttered, squeezed. “I’ll keep you,” she whispered, the words that had spilled from her lips making her feel shy suddenly. She looked down.
He nudged her chin up with his hand so her eyes met his once more. “Promise?” he asked.
She nodded, their gazes holding. And she knew she would. No matter what the future held. No matter whether he decided to keep her or . . . not. He would remain part of her. Forever. She’d keep him. She’d never let him go because she wouldn’t know how.
They stood at the window for a few minutes longer, living in the shared moment of vulnerability, looking out at the dark night. He traced her fingers, his hands moving up her arms, the heat of him all around her. Yes, she wanted him. Wanted every minute of the coming night.
She turned, kissing him slowly and he groaned, pressing himself toward her, their bodies meeting, her softness molding to his hardness so they became one—two perfect parts of a whole. Their tongues tangled and danced, and she pulled away, laughing, and yanking at his scarf. “I know you like this, but if I’m going to kiss you properly, you need to take it off.”
Harper had never seen a scarf come off so quickly.
Her laughter was cut short by his mouth.