Brief Encounters

Part 33

Idina was convinced I needed another day of babysitting. She'd followed me back to my apartment, acting like my self-appointed life coach. Surely, I didn't look that miserable? Besides, I was the good. She was the wicked. That had to count for something, right?

"I'm happy if you're happy. But you're not happy-you're in love. Big difference, Jeanna," she said pointedly as we sat on the couch, her tone sharp, no-nonsense, and unmistakably Idina.

"I don't know, Dee," I replied, doing my best impression of someone who had it together. "I think I'm in a decent place."

Her eyebrow shot up, the kind of expression only a close friend could master-equal parts skeptical and affectionate. "Decent" wasn't going to fly. Not with her.

Idina didn't have patience for hopeless romantics. If something felt off in a relationship, she'd cut it loose without a second thought. "Not good for the economy," she'd joke, and I'd laugh because, well, she wasn't wrong.

To anyone else, her life looked effortless. Tyson. Walker. The career. She wore it all like it was no big deal, a perfectly balanced juggling act. But I'd seen the cracks-the fleeting moments when the weight of it all showed, even if only for a second. And she only let those moments slip around me, after the lights were down and the world had turned its attention elsewhere.

We sat in silence, her words lingering like a curtain call that wouldn't end. The air felt heavy, filled with everything I wasn't saying.

Then, the doorbell rang.

I sighed and pushed myself up from the couch. "Hello?" I called as I opened the door.

"Hey, Jeanna, it's Harry." His voice carried that familiar mix of charm and uncertainty, like he wasn't entirely sure he should be here.

I opened the door to find him standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers like a modern-day Prince Charming.

"Well, if it isn't Harry Windsor," I said, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing smile. "Flowers? For me? Let me guess-late congratulations for preview night?"

Before he could answer, Idina's voice cut through the moment like a well-placed spotlight.

"Harry, you're late."

She appeared beside me, arms crossed, her smirk a masterclass in playful interrogation.

Harry's grin faltered for just a second before he recovered. "Late? I didn't realize there was a schedule."

"With Jeanna, there's always a schedule," Idina quipped, brushing past me to inspect the flowers. "Roses? Really? A bit predictable, don't you think?"

"Hey," Harry protested, holding the bouquet just out of her reach. "These are for Jeanna... Actually, these are from William"

"Sure they are," she replied with a wink, turning back to me.

Harry chuckled, "Alright, you got me. They're from me. I couldn't let your big moment pass without something for my future sister-in-law."

"Well, don't just stand there. Let him in before the neighbours think you've opened a florist." Idina said.

Our eyes met for a brief, wordless exchange-a silent declaration that this was going into her mental scrapbook for later.

I rolled my eyes but stepped aside, motioning for him to come in.

Harry entered, somehow managing to feel both casual and deliberate, like he belonged but wasn't sure if he was overstaying.

But why Harry? Why now?

Something in my gut whispered that his intentions weren't entirely pure-but I brushed the thought aside. Surely, I was imagining things. Harry was William's brother, for God's sake. He wouldn't cross that line.

The way he looked at me felt... different, sure. Different since the football match. But maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe the flowers were just a friendly gesture, and I was the one reading too much into this.

The unspoken tension I thought I felt was probably in my head. It had to be.

Because Harry knew. He knew about William. About us. He wouldn't come here, wouldn't look at me like that, wouldn't bring roses, of all things, unless it was completely innocent. Right?

It didn't sit right, but I told myself it was nothing.

I couldn't jump to conclusions. I wouldn't.