Not A Temporary Love | Finley & Harlyn #1

Chapter 21

"That's fair," Max says. "If you want me to be there when - if - you do, I will be."

"Thank you." We reach the city wall and cross under the roundabout. "How are you doing? After Friday night?"

He takes a long time to answer, and we're passing a tattoo shop when he finally speaks up and points at it. "I think I'm going to get a tattoo."

"Excuse me?" I cough.

"Well, you know I've always wanted one," he reminds me.

"I mean, yes. Just seems very out of the blue right this moment," I say. He's talked about it for a couple of years now, always going back and forth between what he actually wanted to get.

He laughs. "Well, I don't mean I'm going to get it right now. But I was going to ask if you want to come with me next Saturday. We don't have anything planned. Well, we're doing the coast with Harlyn and Elly in the morning but nothing in the afternoon."

"If you want me to, sure." We reach another crossing and wait. "Have you decided what you want to get? And where? You've had a lot of ideas."

"Mm, I'm deciding between two. It'll be a surprise for you," he announces.

"Going to get my name across your back, right?" I ask, nudging him with my elbow.

"Of course, darling," he says, drawing the words out in a garish English accent and staring at me over his glasses.

He doesn't bring up Friday again, and I don't ask.

***

As soon as Harlyn's bedroom door is closed behind me, he pulls me into his arms and squeezes tight.

"Hello," I say, squeezing him back.

He sighs. "Hi." And then he pulls back. "Sorry. That was a lot."

There's hesitation and anxiety on his face again, the same look he gave me on Friday when he told me he didn't know how to do this. Being in his room alone is another new thing. I'm very aware of the newness of this, of the weirdness. That even though we all but cuddled Friday night, we're still not completely comfortable with...whatever this is. But it's Harlyn. And I haven't been alone with him in three days. And all I wanted to do at lunch was hold his hand. And he's right here. He doesn't need to apologize for anything.

"Harlyn," I whisper, stepping up to him and taking his face in my hands. "It's ok. I promise I'll let you know if it's too much."

He nods. The anxiety sticks. But he pulls me onto his bed and into his lap, burying his face in the back of my neck. His breath raises goosebumps. He clings to me like he thinks I might run if he lets go just a little.

"Everything alright?" I ask. He nods. "You sure?"

"Just missed you. Haven't been alone since Friday night. That's three whole days."

"I know." I rub his arm. "And to think, this time last week, I was just coming to get a notebook."

He laughs. "Yes, that night ended up different, didn't it?"

"That's an understatement."

We sit in silence for a moment. And I take the chance to look around his room. It's the first time I've been in here at all. It's bigger than Max's, but it's almost identical. His bed is pushed up against the wall, there's a desk next to it, and a dresser and wardrobe on the other side of the room. It feels like Harlyn, though. There are posters all over the walls, books piled up on the desk, plastic glow in the dark stars stuck on the ceiling, and what I think is one of Elly's hair scarves draped over the back of his swivel chair. It's like his room is hugging me, too.