He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Harper chose a basement kitchen as her makeshift hospital.
There was no particular reason for this, other than the fact that the kitchen was quiet. Bronze pans and baskets of herbs dangled from the ceiling, scenting the air with fresh basil. Harper stood at the sink, rinsing two clean rags that she'd located under the sink. Lawson watched her with steady eyes.
"Have you patched up people before?"
He was sitting at the table. Well, bleeding all over the table, Harper thought, although he didn't seem to notice. Maybe he was in shock.
Harper wrung out the cloth. "You're my first."
"I'm honoured."
She moved closer. "Hold still."
Harper dabbed the bloodied corner of his mouth. Lawson's jaw tensed, but he didn't flinch. Standing this close to him, she could smell the damp rain and the iron-scent of blood clinging to his clothes.
"I'm sorry," Lawson murmured.
She paused. "For which part?"
"All of it." His mouth moved under her hands. "The secrecy, the mixed signals, the lies about Paige... I should have been honest with you from the beginning. I should have told you everything in that airing cupboard."
"I'm sorry, too," Harper said. "I never should have lied to Jake that day in the park, and I definitely shouldn't have asked you to keep everything from Griffin." She pulled back. "It wasn't fair to you."
"He hates me," Lawson said.
He was looking up at her for once, his long legs dangling off the stool; Harper could see every line on his forehead. Every fleck of amber in his eyes.
She searched his gaze. "You don't really believe that."
"No," Lawson said. "I suppose I don't."
Harper crossed to the freezer. She dumped the rags in the sink, pulling out a bag of frozen peas. Lawson shrugged off his suit jacket — bloodied and slick with wet grass — and rolled up his sleeves. She tossed him the bag, and Lawson caught it easily, the veins in his arms flexing as he raised it to his cheek.
Their earlier conversation seemed to hang in the space between them, a curious, shifting spectre.
It frightens me. What I am to you. What you are to me.
And what's that?
Something irreplaceable.
Harper braced herself. "What you were saying earlier — when we were dancing—"
"Forget about it," Lawson said.
She took a step closer. "What if I don't want to?"
