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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The storm dragged on for the whole day.
And the next day.
And the next.
They fell into a routine. During the day, Harper would look over seating charts and try to do any wedding prep she could without WiFi, signal, or power. Lawson read, and then rummaged in the pantry with a flashlight — which, to Harper's amusement, he called a "torch" — and sourced food. Rice cakes and nut butter for lunch. Crackers, canned tuna and apples for dinner. They roasted marshmallows over the fire, dunking them in chocolate pudding cups.
In the evening, they played board games. Chess. Scategories. A dusty game of Pictionary. Harper usually won, although Lawson took the victory for anything involving drawing ("It's nice to finally win," he told her. "Usually, Paige wins and then doesn't let us forget about it for weeks.").
A part of Harper was aware that she should be getting nervous. There was a cocktail party on Thursday, followed by the wedding on Saturday. Half the wedding prep had yet to be sorted, and none of the guests had arrived. She hadn't even been able to reach Diana on the phone with the signal out.
And yet.
For the first time in ages, Harper felt almost...
Resigned?
Relaxed?
She glanced at Lawson, who was carefully measuring two fingers of whisky into each of their glasses. He was dressed in a white shirt this evening, his dark hair sticking up, as if he'd been combing his fingers through it. He rubbed absently at his jaw, his fingers brushing three-day-old stubble.
"Let's play poker," she said.
Lawson glanced up. "No offense, but you'd make a terrible poker player."
"Why?"
"Because," Lawson said, passing her a glass, "I can read every thought going through your head."
Their fingers brushed, and Harper shivered. "You'd be surprised." She turned back to the table, shuffling a deck of cards. "There need to be stakes."
Lawson made a noise of amusement. "Besides our pride?"
"Do you have cash?"
He took a sip. "Who carries money around anymore?"
"Coins?"
"That's the same thing," Lawson said, settling into his usual armchair. He shook a packet of chocolate-covered almonds — their lastpacket, Harper realized in dismay. "Why don't we play for chocolate?"
She paused her shuffling to give him a look. "No, I mean actualstakes. Things that mean something to you."
Lawson pressed a hand to his chest. "I can assure you that chocolate means a great deal to me."
