Chapter 64 HARPER
By the time Mark showed up at my house, I’d changed clothes twice, fixed my hair three times, and still didn’t know why I cared. I wasn’t dressing for him—at least that’s what I told myself. Mostly, I just needed something to do with my hands so I wouldn’t sit and think about how Tyler barely looked at me this morning.
Mark leaned against the porch railing when I stepped outside, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, dark curls brushing his eyebrows. He smiled when he saw me—genuine, warm, easy in that Mark way.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Rough day?”
I exhaled. “You could say that.”
“Well…” He straightened with a grin that was almost boyish. “Then I’m fixing it. Grab your jacket.”
I blinked. “Why? Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He opened the passenger door of his car for me, like he’d rehearsed it or like that’s just who he’d always been, and I slid in as my heart gave a little flutter.
We ended up at a teen club near the waterfront—a place with neon lights, loud music, and the faint smell of soda and perfume floating through the air. The kind of place where nobody cared if you were dancing too close or laughing too loud.
I stared up at the glowing sign. “Really?”
Mark laughed. “Come on, Harper, You need fun. Not brooding.”
“I don’t brood.”
He gave me a look that said yes, you absolutely do. I sighed, but a smile pulled at my mouth anyway.
Inside, the air vibrated with bass. Clusters of teens danced in pockets of shifting lights. The DJ blended one beat into another without pause, keeping everything pulsing, alive.
“You okay?” Mark asked, leaning closer so I could hear him.
“I’m good,” I said quickly. “I just—haven’t done this kind of thing in a while.”
A warmth touched his eyes. “Then you’re overdue.”
We got drinks—sodas at first—and sat in one of the booths along the wall. He tapped his fingers on the table to the music.
“So,” he said, “tell me something you’ve never told me.”
I snorted. “Like what?”
“Anything. I wanna know you better.” His voice softened. “Last night was… nice.”
My stomach tightened. “Yeah. It was.”
He studied me for a second too long. “You sounded sad when you called.”
I picked at the straw wrapper. “I guess I was. Or confused. Or something.”
He leaned forward slightly. “About what?”
You.
No.
Not you.
Tyler.
But I couldn’t say that. So I shrugged. “I keep getting stuck on things. Feelings I thought I had figured out.”
Mark’s gaze softened in a way that made my heart twist and ache for all the wrong reasons. “Hey. You don’t have to hide things from me. If you’re scared you’re gonna push me away or something—don’t be.”
“I’m not,” I murmured. But I was. Because the person I wanted wasn’t him.
Still, the way he looked at me made me feel seen.
“Tell me what’s messing with your head,” he said gently.
I exhaled through my nose. “It’s like… I keep liking someone who feels close one second and a million miles away the next. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”
A flicker of understanding lit his face—except it wasn’t understanding. It was hope. He thought I meant him.
“And when you’re with him…” he said slowly, “does it feel—easy? Or complicated?”
So many images flashed through my mind: Tyler laughing as I teased him during stretches. Tyler’s eyes softening when he thought I wasn’t looking. Tyler pulling away this morning like touching me might burn him.
“It feels…” I swallowed. “Like something I want to figure out. Even when I’m mad about it.”
Mark’s breath hitched a little. “Then that means something. And maybe he’s scared too.”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” he said, voice warming again, “maybe today isn’t about figuring him out. Maybe today is about letting yourself breathe.”
We kept talking. About school, about my parents’ custody fight, about how the last few weeks had been a blur. His questions were gentle but deliberate, like he was slowly trying to piece me together without forcing anything.
And little by little, my shoulders loosened.
At some point, Mark ordered more drinks—this time, something stronger hidden under the guise of fruity sweetness. I didn’t notice until the third sip that my head felt too airy.
“Is this—?"
“Relax,” he said with a half-grin. “It’s barely anything.”
Barely anything still hit me faster than expected. The music felt bigger, brighter. My laugh came smoother. My chest felt less tight.
When Mark stood and extended his hand, the room spun—just a little.
“Dance with me?” he asked.
Normally, I’d say no. Normally, I’d overthink. But right now…
“Yeah,” I heard myself say.
His smile lit up.
He pulled me into the crowd, and I let him. The beat thumped through my veins, and the lights smeared into color around us. Mark moved easily, confidently, guiding us without being pushy.
And I let myself lean in.
Not because he was who I wanted. But because for once, being wanted back felt… nice.
“Hey,” he said above the music, breath brushing my ear. “Harper?”
“Hmm?”
“You know I like you, right?”
My heart twisted painfully. I knew. And he didn’t know I wasn’t talking about him earlier.
“I… yeah,” I whispered.
“And I really want to take you out. Properly. Like—officially.”
The room tilted. My thoughts tangled. I should’ve said no. I should’ve said I wasn’t ready. I should’ve said I didn’t want to hurt him.
But the alcohol softened every edge inside me.
“Yes,” I breathed before I could stop myself.
Mark froze. “Yeah? You don't mind me being your boyfriend?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
His answering smile was pure joy. And then he kissed me—quick at first, like he was checking if it was okay. When I didn’t pull away, he kissed me again, deeper this time.
The floor didn’t tilt anymore. Or maybe I just stopped caring.
We got back to my house late, laughing too loudly as we stumbled up the steps. Mark kept an arm around my waist to keep me steady, and I didn’t push it away.
The porch light cast everything in soft gold.
“Tonight was…” he started, running a hand through his curls. “Really good. Better than I thought it would be.”
I breathed out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. It was.”
“You sure you meant what you said?” he asked, voice quieter, searching. “About us?”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second. He didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t want to.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Relief washed over his face. “Good.”
He cupped my cheek gently, thumb brushing my skin like I was something fragile.
The kiss started slow. Sweet. Then the porch door clicked shut behind us as we stumbled inside, lips still pressed together, his hands at my waist, keeping me upright.
My back hit the hallway wall softly, his breath warm against my mouth.
And everything—every doubt, every ache, every thought of Tyler—faded under the rush of heat and need and the feeling of finally being wanted without hesitation.
When he leaned in again, I didn’t stop him.