Page 8

Yeah, I’m no longer naïve enough to believe that.

* * *

There’s this truly awesome coffee shop located about two miles from campus. Most days I hit it up after my run, but today is my day off, so I walk. The morning air is crisp and makes me instantly regret leaving my hair wet. However, by the time I arrive at the coffee shop, it’s dry so that’s a bonus I guess.

As I’m standing in line to place my order, I receive a text message from my sister, Zoe. Every time I see her name flash across my screen, tension ravels through my body. It’s purely instinctual like a shiver against the icy cold air.

Zoe Bear: Hey, are you awake?

My brother and I started calling her Zoe Bear after she developed this obsession with the care bears when she was like ten. She loved the name then but despises it now. We still call her it sometimes, though, because that’s who I always want her to be to me; sweet Zoe who cares about everyone, who laughs and cries too, sometimes too much, but only because she cares that much.

I hesitate to respond to her message, my fingers hovering over the screen. I love my sister—I do—and I feel bad for her in so many ways. But lately, every time she messages me, she needs a favor, and I don’t have time for that. Plus, her favors usually come with a lot of emotional strings attached to them that she likes to pluck at until my arms and legs grow tired.

“What can I get you?” the barista behind the counter asks me.

I look up from my phone and realize I’ve made it to the front of the line. I order a chocolate cold brew and also a vanilla latte for Zayla then move over to the pickup area and wait with my phone out, staring at the screen.

Either text her back or put your phone away.

“Order for Harper,” the guy behind the counter calls out.

He’s around my age with sandy blond hair and he’s on the taller side with this sweet, cute, nice guy vibe. If Zayla was here, she’d more than likely flirt with him.

“That’s me,” I say as I grab a straw.

“Harper,” he muses. “That’s a pretty name.”

I push the straw into my drink. “It’s a pretty average name.”

“Um… but….” He grows a bit flustered. “Well, it kind of reminds me of a name you’d give a bunny.”

I elevate a brow as I collect my drink and Zayla’s. “You’re comparing me to a bunny?”

“What—no… That’s not what I meant. I just…” He mutters something underneath his breath. “Never mind. Sorry I bothered you.”

I feel a tiny bit bad that I hassled him.

Maybe Zayla was right about me. I am going to end up lonely.

“Poor guy,” someone says as I start to walk away. “He works up the courage to tell a woman her name is pretty and she stomps on his heart with her boots.” Wylder standing in line with a small smile on his face.

He’s wearing athletic shorts, and a hoodie, so I’m guessing he’s been working out. Or maybe didn’t feel up to putting anything else on. He was partying last night and who the hell gets up and works out after partying?

“You mean stomped on his heart with my sneakers,” I correct. “I’m not wearing boots.”

He steals a quick glance at my shoes then rubs his hand over his mouth. “Do you have a snarky comeback for everything?”

I shrug. “I’m sure there’s someone clever enough out there to throw me off my game, but I haven’t met them yet.”

He chuckles. “You know, I think you might’ve meant that as an insult, but I’m not going to take it that way.”

I eye him over, wondering what his angle is here because most people would back off from being around me at this point. “Well, you should.”

“Nah.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “I’m going to take it as a challenge.”

“To what? Throw me off my game?” I snort a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

He grins. “We’ll see.”