Page 53

Brody Calloway has saved me in more ways than one.
14
BRODY
It feels like we’ve both taken our first real breath in days. Harper sits curled on the porch swing, knees tucked under her chin, absently tracing the wood pattern with her fingertips. She’s calmer but still too caught in her pretty little head. I watch her from the kitchen window, noting the tiny crease of worry that hasn’t faded since she escaped Micah. I’d give anything to wipe it all away.
Glancing toward the pantry, I see a dusty bottle of tequila tucked at the back, still unopened. An idea forms, and I reach out, pulling the bottle into the sunlight and turning it thoughtfully in my hands.
“You know …” I say casually, stepping onto the porch and letting the tequila bottle swing from my fingertips as I move toward her. I lean against the railing, blocking her view of the backyard. “I think this calls for a celebration.”
Harper looks up at me, eyebrows arching skeptically, and then she notices the bottle. “Tequila, Calloway? Didn’t peg you as the type.”
I grin, shrugging. “You clearly haven’t been paying attention.”
She gives me a laugh, shaking her head. “Day drinking won’t solve my problems.”
“No,” I agree, tilting my head playfully. “But it’s damn good at distracting you from them.”
Her smile becomes warmer and more genuine. “Fair point. You’re definitely an expert in distractions.”
“Trust me, Harp,” I say. “I have something in mind.”
She tilts her head curiously, glancing between me and the tequila. “And what exactly would that be?”
I extend my free hand toward her. “Come on. You’ll see.”
Harper hesitates only briefly, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she slips her hand into mine. I pull her to her feet, then reluctantly let go, already missing the warmth of her palm against mine.
“Let me grab a blanket.”
“Okay,” she says.
I rush inside, pulling the quilt off the back of the couch and throwing it over my shoulder. I join her, and we step off the porch then take the trail. Harper walks beside me, close enough that our knuckles brush lightly every few steps. It sends tiny jolts of electricity soaring through me each time.
My eyes drift over, and I take her in. Light catches her brown hair, and it frames her face in warm gold. She’s stunning, effortlessly beautiful—so much more than even she realizes.
She notices me stealing glances, but doesn’t call me on it, just smiles.
Her eyes brighten with curiosity. “Are you gonna tell me where we’re headed, Calloway?”
“Patience, Sleeping Beauty,” I tease, forcing my attention back to the path ahead. “You’ll know soon enough.”
She smiles, shaking her head, clearly amused. But she doesn’t press further, trusting me to lead her into whatever awaits us.
The trail ahead is filled with the soft rhythm of our footsteps on fallen leaves and the muted whispers of the breeze through the branches. I don’t speak. I rarely do. It’s easier to just listen and observe while absorbing every detail around me. Especially when Harper is close.
I notice everything about her. The light freckles that brush her nose, the little dip in her bottom lip, and how her eyes sparkle when she’s genuinely happy. Like right now.
Our shoulders brush as the path narrows, and heat climbs slowly up my spine. I let myself glance sideways just for a moment, taking her in one more time. Sunrays cling to her skin, touches the curves of her cheekbones, dances along the honeyed strands of her hair.
I turn away, forcing myself to breathe, my jaw tightening as I fix my eyes forward again.
I don’t look at her again—at least not directly. But I feel every tiny shift she makes, every shallow breath, every glance she steals at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. She doesn’t have to say a single word to pull me in, to draw me toward her like a moth to a flame. It’s a dangerous kind of pull, one I’m done fighting.
The weight of the tequila bottle swings easily at my side, the thick blanket slung casually over my shoulder. I focus on the familiar trail, letting its winding path steady my heartbeat as we walk deeper into the woods.
When the trees finally thin, opening into a small, sunlit clearing, I slow to a stop. The pond sits perfectly still, reflecting the sky like polished glass, and I hear Harper’s soft inhale of breath beside me. I glance toward her, watching silently as surprise brightens her expression. For a second, I forget how to breathe.