Coffee

Previous chapter.

The whole story from the beginning can be found here.

*****

Steve dropped back into the rhythm of mowing, pushing hard, rows lining up fast and clean. The promise of two o’clock had him working quicker than usual, and before long the yard lay neat, blades trimmed down to uniform green. He cut the motor, wiped the sweat from his brow, and glanced toward the porch just as the screen door creaked open.

His grandmother stepped out, her sharp eyes softening when they landed on him. “Thanks so much, Stevie,” she called, her voice carrying that blend of pride and expectation she always seemed to have. “You want to come in for some milk and cookies?”

He rested an arm on the mower handle, chest still rising and falling from the push, and managed a grin. “I’ll take a raincheck, Grandma. Something came up I need to take care of.” He kept it vague, though he knew she would hear it through the grapevine soon enough, but his tone carried enough warmth to keep it from sounding like a brush off. “I’ll come by another time, spend a little longer with you.”

Her eyes lingered on him a moment, like she was weighing whether to press, then she gave a small nod. “Alright. Let me just pack up those cookies for you.”

Steve’s smile widened. “Thanks, Grandma.”

A few minutes later she came back out with a tin foil wrapped bundle, pressing it into his hands. He kissed her cheek in thanks, then heaved the mower back into the bed of his truck, the metal thumping into place. The smell of cut grass clung to him, sweat still drying on his skin, but underneath it all was the steady thrum of anticipation. Two o’clock was only a couple of hours away.

Steve slid the mower into place and slammed the tailgate shut with a solid clank, dust puffing up off the truck. The wrapped bundle of cookies sat on the passenger seat already, the foil catching little flashes of sunlight every time he moved. He climbed into the truck, the seat hot under him, and started the engine.

The drive back to his place was short, barely ten minutes, but every minute ticked sharper than usual. He caught himself glancing at the clock, doing the math, home by twelve thirty, shower, shave, clean clothes. That’d give him plenty of time before two, but the restless energy under his skin made it feel like the hours were slipping away too fast.

At his place, he parked and hauled the mower into the garage, letting it settle with the rest of his tools. The house was quiet when he stepped in, only the ticking of the kitchen clock filling the air. He dropped the cookies onto the counter, washed his hands at the sink, and then caught sight of himself in the reflection off the darkened microwave door, shirt plastered with sweat, hair damp, streak of grass stuck to his forearm. He looked like hell, but nothing a shower couldn’t fix.

Heading down the hall, he peeled the shirt off as he went, letting it fall to the floor with a damp slap. In the bathroom the mirror fogged almost instantly after he twisted the knobs and steam rolled out. He stepped under the spray, the water pounding heat across his shoulders, sluicing sweat and grit away. He let it run over him for longer than he usually did, standing there with his head tipped forward, palms braced against the tile.

Her voice replayed in his head, soft, a little shaky at first, then warming as they talked. It’s a date. The way she said it wasn’t casual, wasn’t just words. It carried weight, a promise, maybe even a little hope. He let that thought stick, let it sharpen the grin pulling at his mouth.

When he stepped out, toweling his hair roughly, the clock was pushing one. He shaved, careful and steady, then padded into his bedroom, the towel looped low around his waist. He swung open the closet, fingers sliding across the hangers. Something casual, he’d told her. Jeans, clean and dark. A simple gray tshirt. Boots polished enough to look intentional, but not like he was trying too hard.

By the time he dressed, watch strapped on his wrist, keys jingling in his pocket, it was nearly one thirty. He glanced once at the cookie bundle on the counter, chuckled to himself, and grabbed it. No sense showing up empty handed, even if it was just Grandma’s cookies.

Sliding into the truck, he turned the ignition and let the engine settle into its low rumble. Two o’clock was just around the corner, and the thought of pulling up to Harper’s place, of seeing her again so soon, sent a tight, charged energy thrumming through him.

The road stretched open ahead, sunlight bright and steady. He tapped the wheel with one hand, a rhythm that matched the restless beat in his chest. Every mile brought him closer, the kind of anticipation that made the air feel charged, like the world itself was leaning toward what came next.

The drive carried him through the quiet streets he’d known all his life, the kind where everyone waved whether they knew you or not, where the storefronts along Main looked nearly the same as they had twenty years ago, only with a fresh coat of paint here and there. His truck rattled over a pothole, the bundle of cookies shifting on the seat beside him. He glanced at it, half smiling. It was a little thing, but it felt right, something to hand over at the door instead of standing there empty handed like some awkward teenager.

By the time he turned onto Harper’s street, the clock on his dash read 1:58. Perfect timing. He slowed, scanning the row of houses until he spotted the Sullivan place. The garden out front was neat, colorful, the kind of meticulous care only grandmothers seemed to manage. The porch railing had fresh white paint, and a ramp sloped gracefully down from it to the driveway. He pulled in, killed the engine, and sat for a second with both hands still on the wheel. His heart was steady, but it thumped heavier than usual, each beat echoing like the knock he was about to make on her door.

He grabbed the cookies, climbed out, and walked up the ramp, boots thudding softly on the wood. A wind chime tinkled above, the faint scent of roses drifting from the garden. He knocked twice, firm but not loud.

It was only a moment before he heard the faint whirr of wheels against hardwood inside. The door opened, and there she was.

Harper sat in her chair, hair damp and fresh, tied back in a loose braid that slipped over one shoulder. She wore fitted jeans and a blue top, simple but flattering, the color catching the green of her eyes. A hint of lotion and shampoo clung to her, clean and warm, and her lips curved into a smile that made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless, as if she’d rolled to the door in a rush.

“Hey,” he echoed, holding up the foil wrapped bundle. “I come bearing cookies. Courtesy of Grandma.”

That earned him a laugh, quick and genuine, the sound he’d been craving since she hung up earlier. She wheeled back a touch to let him in, gesturing with a sweep of her hand. “Well, in that case, you’re definitely welcome.”

He stepped inside, the familiar smell of an older home surrounding him, polish, coffee, and something sweet still lingering from the kitchen. Setting the cookies on the table, he glanced around, taking in the cozy living room, the quilt draped over the back of the couch, the family photos on the wall. He saw her grandpa, laying back in his recliner watching TV. "Hello, Mr. Sullivan." He got a grunt in response, Mr. Sullivan's attention remained focused on the tv. But Steve turned back to Harper, taking in the way she sat poised yet relaxed, her hands resting lightly on the wheels.

“So,” Harper said, tilting her head, “you mentioned a few options earlier. What do you think? Coffee, park, something else?”

Steve slipped his hands into his pockets, weighing the sight of her against the ticking afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. “Honestly? I’m good with anything. But the park sounds like a solid start. Coffee after, maybe.”

Her smile widened, a touch of excitement breaking through the nerves in her expression. “That sounds perfect.”

Steve nodded, the tightness in his chest easing, anticipation replacing it. “Alright then. Let’s get to it.”

She reached for her bag on the side table, slipped it into her lap with practiced ease, and spun her chair toward the door. Steve fell into step beside her, the afternoon stretching open before them, filled with sunlight and the kind of promise that only came at the start of something new.

Steve slowed as they stepped out onto the porch, the afternoon light sharp and golden on the driveway. He glanced at his truck, then back at Harper, hesitation tugging at him. “You think you’ll be alright transferring into the truck? It’s not lifted or anything, but it does sit a little higher than your hatchback.”

She rolled up beside the passenger door as he swung it open, studying the height with a calm, appraising eye. Then she nodded, a quick flash of determination in her smile. “Should be fine.”

Positioning her chair close, she set her feet into the truck first, sandals brushing against the floorboard. With a practiced motion, she leaned forward, stretching her right arm up to catch the grab handle above the door while bracing her left hand on the seat. Her muscles shifted under her shirt as she pulled herself smoothly upward, legs limp and trailing as she maneuvered onto the cushion of the seat.

Steve watched quietly, resisting the urge to step in, admiring the efficient, almost graceful rhythm of her movements. When she settled upright, he passed her the seat cushion from her chair. She took it, adjusting herself with a quick little nod of thanks.

“Got it?” he asked.

“Got it,” she confirmed, her green eyes steady on his.

He crouched by her chair then, folding and lifting the frame. To his surprise, it came up in his hands far easier than he’d expected, the aluminum light and compact as he set it carefully into the bed of the truck. He threaded a strap through, cinching it snug against the side panel so it wouldn’t budge.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, he shot her a sidelong look as he buckled up. “That was a lot lighter than I expected.”

Harper laughed softly, brushing a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. “Yeah, thankfully. If they still made them like the old steel ones, I’d be in trouble. The modern ones are light enough I can handle them myself.”

Steve grinned, starting the engine, the low rumble filling the cab. “Makes sense. But still, impressive watching you make it look that easy.”

She arched a brow, playful now. “It might seem easy, but it took me a lot of practice to make it look like that.”

He nodded, pulling them out of the driveway, the road stretching ahead as the afternoon opened wide for the two of them.

The truck rolled down the neighborhood street, sunlight flickering through the trees overhead. Steve kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on the shifter, but his attention slid back to her more often than it should have. Harper sat upright in the passenger seat, her braid slipping forward over her shoulder, eyes bright as they traced the familiar houses and sidewalks outside the window.

“So,” he said after a moment, breaking the quiet hum of the engine, “park first? Then coffee after? Its within walking distance of the park.”

She turned her head, smiling. “That sounds good. I haven’t had a proper coffee shop stop since I moved back.”

Steve added, “And the park’s not far from downtown. Nice spot, a couple trails, pond with ducks. Low key, but it’s something.”

Her expression softened, her voice carrying that hint of wistfulness. “That sounds perfect, honestly. Just… being outside, away from the house. It’s been a long time since I could do that without it feeling like a hassle.”

He glanced at her quickly, then back at the road, careful not to linger but unable to keep the warmth out of his voice. “Well, this afternoon, it’s not a hassle. We’ll take it slow, however you want.”

Her smile widened just a touch, her gaze slipping back out the window. “Thank you, Steve.”

The drive stretched quiet for a few minutes, but it wasn’t the awkward kind. The radio hummed low with some old country station, the steady guitar strum filling the cab while the town rolled by outside. At a red light, Steve leaned back, studying her profile, her freckles catching the sun, her lips curved faintly as if she were lost in thought.

When the light changed and he pulled forward again, Harper tilted her head, looking at him. “So, do you always spend your Saturdays mowing lawns, or is this just a special occasion?”

Steve barked out a short laugh. “Usually during the season, I will do mine and Grandma's so she doesn't have to worry about hiring it done, and it gives me a reason to visit.”

Harper smiled. “That's nice, seeing you help her out.”

Steve’s chest tightened at the softness in her voice. He didn’t say anything more, just let the hum of the truck and the road fill the silence as the park’s entrance came into view up ahead, the afternoon sun bright on the gates.

Steve swung the truck into the small gravel lot by the park, tires crunching as he pulled into a space near the entrance. He killed the engine, the sudden quiet leaving only the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the distant chatter of kids near the playground.

He looked over at Harper. “You ready?”

She smiled, her hands already moving to unclip her belt. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Steve hopped out, came around, and dropped the tailgate. He unstrapped her chair, lifting the frame down and unfolding it in one smooth motion. The wheels clicked back into place with a practiced snap. He opened the passenger door and stepped back, giving her space.

Harper shifted forward, bracing one hand on the seat and the other on the grab handle again, lowering herself carefully out of the truck. Her legs dangled loose, her sandals brushing the running board as she lowered herself into the chair. With an easy practiced motion she slid into place, her body finding its balance as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

Steve handed her bag across, then watched as she adjusted her feet onto the rests, and crossed her legs, straightening her posture with that quiet confidence he couldn’t stop noticing.

“Smooth,” he said lightly, grinning as he shut the tailgate.

She arched a brow at him, playful. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not,” he countered, falling into step beside her as she pushed toward the path leading into the park. “Just impressed.”

They rolled off the gravel and onto the paved trail, the sound of her wheels a steady whisper against the asphalt. Sunlight dappled the path through the canopy above, the air filled with the mingled scents of grass, pine, and the faint sweetness of flowers planted along the edges.

Kids shouted from the swing set somewhere off to the left, and a dog barked, chasing after a thrown stick. Harper’s eyes wandered, soaking it all in, and Steve caught the small look of contentment on her face.

“It’s nicer than I remembered,” she said softly, almost to herself.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I don’t come here often, but every time I do, I wonder why I don’t. Guess life just gets in the way.”

Harper gave a small nod, her braid sliding forward again. “That’s true of a lot of things.”

They followed the path as it curved toward the pond, water glinting through the trees ahead. A handful of ducks floated lazily across the surface, their ripples catching the sun. Harper slowed a little, letting the view settle in. She rested her palms on the wheels, green eyes fixed on the water.

“This,” she murmured, “was a good idea.”

Steve looked at her rather than the pond, his chest tightening again at the softness in her voice, the way the light caught the curve of her cheek. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was.”

They followed the trail until it opened into a small clearing by the pond, a bench tucked beneath an oak tree, its branches stretching wide to cast cool shade. Harper slowed to a stop beside it, her hands resting lightly on her wheels. Steve dropped onto the bench next to her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching as she adjusted her chair a few inches closer to the water’s edge.

The ducks had gathered now, paddling toward a pair of kids tossing bread crumbs. Sunlight shimmered on the ripples, broken by the ducks’ busy little bodies. Harper smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I used to come here with my dad when I was little,” she said. “We’d sit right over there, on that hill, and feed them until the whole flock showed up.”

Steve followed her gaze to the slope she pointed out. The grass looked just the same as it had when he was a kid himself, uneven, dotted with dandelions. “Funny,” he said. “I used to come here too. With my buddies. We’d try to catch the ducks. Never managed it, thank God. I probably would’ve lost a finger.”

That pulled a laugh out of her, light and unguarded, and the sound rippled through him just as bright as the water catching the sun. She leaned back in her chair, shoulders relaxing. “Boys are ridiculous,” she teased.

“Can’t argue with that,” he said, grinning.

For a while, they just sat there, the hum of the park filling the space between them. The steady squeak of swings, the occasional bark of a dog, the murmur of families moving along the path. Harper rested her chin on her hand, her eyes wandering over the pond, but Steve kept sneaking glances at her, the freckles across her nose, the way her braid brushed her collarbone, the easy strength in the way she held herself.

Finally she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. “You know, I was nervous calling you this morning. I thought maybe you’d think it was too soon, or… that last night was just a one time thing.”

Steve shook his head instantly, leaning forward. “Not even close. I was hoping you’d call. Actually, I was staring at my phone like an idiot half the morning, waiting for it to buzz.”

Her eyes flicked toward him, widening just a little, then softening into a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” he said firmly. “I meant it when I said I had a good time. I wanted more of that.”

For a long moment she just looked at him, her green eyes searching, as if weighing the truth of his words. Then she let out a breath, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I’m glad. Because I did too.”

The ducks quacked loudly then, breaking the moment, and they both chuckled. Steve leaned back against the bench, stretching his legs out, and let the quiet roll in again. This time, it felt easy, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

After a while, Harper turned her chair slightly toward him. “Coffee?” she asked, her smile playful now.

He pushed himself up from the bench, brushing grass off his jeans. “Coffee,” he agreed. “And maybe a book or two, if you’re into that.”

Her grin widened. “Lead the way.”

He fell into step beside her once again, the path curving around the pond. The afternoon sun was still high, plenty of daylight left, and as they headed for the coffee shop. Steve felt something shift in his chest, a steady warmth, the sense that this was just the beginning of something worth chasing.

They made their way back along the winding path, the sound of Harper’s wheels steady and rhythmic beside his boots clicking on the path. The chatter of the playground faded as they passed under the trees again, the air cooler in the shade. Steve glanced at her as she pushed along, noting how smoothly she handled the path’s little dips and cracks, palms strong on the rims, movements practiced and sure.

“So,” she asked lightly, “this coffee shop you mentioned, what’s it like?”

“Small, quiet,” Steve said, checking traffic at the crosswalk. “Half coffee shop, half bookstore. Smells like paper and espresso. You’ll usually find college kids cramming or old folks who read the paper cover to cover. Good place to just sit and… breathe.”

“That actually sounds wonderful,” she said, her voice softening. “I used to love places like that in the city, but they were always packed. Noisy.”

“Not here,” Steve replied with a small grin. “This town doesn’t know how to do noisy.”

She chuckled at that, and the sound lingered, warm in the air between them.

They walked along the sidewalk, familiar storefronts giving way to the heart of Main Street.

“Here we are.” He announced, pointing at the words Chapter & Brew painted neatly across the glass. Through the windows, Steve could see shelves of books, a few cozy tables, and the counter where an old brass espresso machine gleamed.

Harper leaned forward slightly, peering into the window with interest. “This looks perfect.”

A bell chimed as he pulled it open, the scent of roasted coffee beans and worn paper washing over them. Inside, the place was calm, just a couple of patrons scattered at tables, low music humming under the sounds of steaming milk and turning pages.

Harper’s eyes lit up as she looked around, taking in the shelves and the little handwritten signs tucked into the stacks. “Oh, I like this already,” she said, her voice threaded with quiet excitement.

Steve smiled, watching her take it in. “Told you it was a good spot.”

They rolled up to the counter together, the barista looking up with a cheerful smile. Steve glanced at Harper. “So, what’s your preference? Coffee, tea, something fancy with foam on top?”

She tilted her head, considering, then grinned. “Cappuccino. Always.”

“Classic,” he said approvingly. “I’ll get the same.”

As the barista set to work, Steve slid a hand into his pocket, leaning on the counter. He felt the familiar thrum of anticipation again, not nerves this time, but something steadier, deeper. This was simple, casual, nothing dressy or forced, but it felt like exactly where he wanted to be. Beside her, in the quiet hum of a bookstore café, at the start of something he was already hoping would stretch far beyond this afternoon.

The hiss of the espresso machine filled the quiet shop, steam curling up in soft white tendrils. Harper rested her arms lightly on her lap, eyes tracking the barista’s practiced movements, but Steve noticed the way her fingers toyed with the strap of her bag, a little restless.

“You come here often?” she asked, turning her head toward him.

“Now and then,” Steve said, shrugging. “Usually on Sundays if I don’t feel like making coffee at home. Sometimes I just grab a book and lose an hour.”

Her lips curved faintly, freckles shifting with the motion. “That sounds… peaceful. I could get used to that.”

The barista slid two cappuccinos across the counter, foam perfect, dusted lightly with cocoa. Steve grabbed both and nodded toward a corner table by the window. “How about over there?”

“Perfect,” she said, spinning her chair smoothly to follow him.

They settled in, Steve easing into the chair opposite her. The sunlight spilled across the table, catching the faint steam curling off the cups. He slid hers across, watching as she lifted it carefully, blowing on the surface before taking a slow sip. Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then opened again, the green brighter now.

“Good?” he asked, lips tugging upward.

“Better than good,” she said, smiling into her cup. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”

Steve leaned back in his chair, his own drink warm in his hands. “Glad I could reintroduce you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. The sound of pages turning from somewhere deeper in the shop, the faint scrape of a chair, the steady hum of the espresso machine, it all wrapped around them, calm and easy.

Harper set her cup down, folding her hands in her lap. “Last night, when I said I hadn’t been out much since moving back… I wasn’t exaggerating. Between the starting the new job and, well…” She gestured vaguely at the chair. “Sometimes it just feels easier to stay home.”

Steve met her eyes, steady and unflinching. “I get that. But you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

Her lips parted slightly, then curved into something softer than a smile, more like relief. “That means a lot.”

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his cappuccino, letting the warmth sit in his chest. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on this being a one time thing."

Her cheeks flushed, faint but unmistakable, and she ducked her head, a strand of red hair slipping free from her braid. “Good,” she echoed, her voice low but certain.

For a while, they just sat there, sipping coffee, trading small stories, the best and worst teachers they remembered from school, which movies they’d rewatch a hundred times, the little quirks of growing up in a town where everyone knew everyone. With each laugh, each glance, the ease between them grew, until it felt less like a first follow up and more like something that had been building for years, waiting for them to notice.

Outside the window, the afternoon sun slanted lower, painting the street in gold, and Steve found himself thinking that he didn’t care how long they sat here. He could’ve stayed until closing, as long as she kept looking at him with that quiet, glowing smile.

The afternoon drifted on, lazy in the best way. Their cups sat empty now, only faint rings of foam clinging to the porcelain, and neither of them seemed eager to move. Harper leaned on her arm, elbow on the table, her braid falling forward as she grinned at something he’d just said about the time he’d locked his keys in the warehouse truck.

“You didn’t,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand as laughter bubbled out.

“Oh, I did,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “Boss wasn’t impressed. Had to call a tow guy to jimmy it open while the delivery sat there half an hour late. I still hear about it.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile, her eyes holding his for a beat longer than before. “It’s nice,” she said quietly. “Laughing like this again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

Steve felt his throat tighten, a good kind of ache, and he leaned back in his chair, letting his knee bump lightly against the table leg to ground himself. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

The shop had thinned out, only one other customer browsing a shelf by the counter. The barista wiped down the espresso machine, the smell of roasted beans still hanging in the air. Through the big front window, Steve could see Main Street settling into its late afternoon rhythm, families heading home, cars cruising slow under the golden light.

Harper finally glanced toward the window too, then back at him. “We should probably give up the table,” she said, though her tone carried reluctance.

“Probably,” Steve admitted. But neither of them moved.

He tapped his fingers lightly against his empty cup, then looked at her. “Want to head back to the truck? The bookstore’s got a back entrance to the alley. There’s a nice little path back there that loops around toward the park again.” He shrugged. “Its a small detour, but it buys us a little more time together before the day ends.”

Her smile returned, bright and certain. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They gathered their things, Steve carrying the cups back to the counter while Harper spun her chair toward the back door. The bell chimed as they stepped out, the air cooler now, touched with that crisp edge that hinted at autumn around the corner.

The alley was quiet, lined with ivy climbing brick walls, the ground patched with sunlight breaking through where the buildings gave way to sky. Steve walked slow beside her, their steps and wheels finding an easy rhythm again.

After a while, Harper broke the silence. “You know… when Grandma told me she and your grandmother set this whole thing up, I was so sure it would be a disaster. I didn’t want to go.”

Steve raised a brow, glancing at her. “That bad of a reputation, huh?”

She laughed softly. “Not you. Just the idea. A blind date, forced by the grandmas. But now…” She trailed off, her gaze lifting to meet his. “Now I’m glad I didn’t say no.”

Steve stopped walking for a moment, just long enough for her to pause beside him. His voice came out low, steady. “So am I.”

For a second, neither of them moved. The quiet of the alley wrapped around them, broken only by the distant sound of traffic and the faint rustle of leaves overhead. Steve shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, pulse steady but heavy in his chest.

Harper gave her wheels a little push, breaking the stillness with a soft smile. “Come on,” she said. “Show me the rest of your town.”

He fell back into step beside her, the warmth of her words and her presence lingering, carrying him forward as the day stretched towards evening.

Back at the truck, he dropped the tailgate and unstrapped her chair from its place. The motions were easier this time, muscle memory already setting in. He swung open the passenger door and stepped back, letting her line herself up for the transfer. She shifted her bag onto the seat first, then reached up for the grab handle, braced her other hand, and pulled herself smoothly inside. Steve watched from just far enough away to not hover, still struck by the efficient grace of her movements.

He folded her chair, hefted it into the bed, and cinched the strap snug. “All set,” he said, sliding into the driver’s side.

The engine rumbled to life, low and steady. Harper buckled in, brushing her braid back over her shoulder.

Steve eased the truck into the Sullivan driveway, tires crunching softly against the gravel. The house glowed in the lengthening evening light, windows catching the last gold of the sun. He killed the engine and climbed out, moving straight to the bed to unstrap Harper’s chair. The motions were smoother now, almost instinctive, unfold, wheels click into place. He wheeled it up beside the passenger door, then stepped back, giving her space.

Harper set her bag in her lap, braced herself on the grab handle, and shifted down into her chair with the same steady rhythm as before. She adjusted her legs, placed her feet neatly on the rests, then gave him a small smile. “Thanks,” she said simply, her voice carrying both ease and a little of the softness that had threaded through their whole afternoon.

“Anytime,” he replied, meaning it.

He walked beside her up the ramp to the porch, the wooden boards creaking lightly under their weight. Harper reached for the door, but before she could pull it open, it swung inward. Mrs. Sullivan stood there, apron dusted with flour, her face brightening at the sight of them.

“Well, welcome back,” she said warmly, wiping her hands on the apron. “You’re just in time. I was finishing up supper.”

“Smells good,” Harper said, wheeling inside.

Then her grandmother’s eyes turned to Steve, sharp and assessing, but softened by a smile. “You should stay, Steve.”

He blinked, a little caught off guard, and lifted his hands. “I wouldn’t want to impose. Really, I should...”

“Nonsense,” she cut in, her tone brooking no argument. “It’s no big deal. We’re not having anything fancy. Just a tuna casserole.”

Steve hesitated, glancing at Harper, who gave him the faintest shrug and grin, as if to say that’s Grandma for you. He chuckled under his breath, finally nodding. “Alright then. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Mrs. Sullivan said firmly, already turning back toward the kitchen.

Steve stepped inside, the smell of baked casserole and warm bread wrapping around him like a blanket. He wasn’t sure if it was the food, the house, or the simple fact that he got to spend a little more time near Harper, but either way, he felt glad he hadn’t argued harder.

Steve followed Harper into the dining room, the familiar creak of the old floorboards underfoot. Mr. Sullivan was already settled into his dining chair at the end of the table.

“Evening, Mr. Sullivan,” Steve said as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

This time, the old man turned his head, gave him a steady look, and rumbled, “Evening.” Not much, but enough to carry weight.

Mrs. Sullivan bustled in from the kitchen, carrying a casserole dish hot enough to shimmer the air above it. She set it down on a trivet, the smell of creamy tuna and noodles filling the space, then laid out a plate in front of Steve, heaped high. A couple thick slices of fresh bread joined it, still warm, the crust golden.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Steve said sincerely, his stomach growling at the sight.

“Eat, eat,” she said, waving her hand as she sank into her own chair.

Forks clinked, bread tore, and for a moment the table was filled with nothing but the sound of everyone digging in. The casserole was hearty, comforting, the kind of meal that tasted like a home you didn’t have to think about.

“So, Harper,” Mrs. Sullivan said after a few bites, dabbing her lips with a napkin, “how was your day?”

Harper swallowed, glanced at Steve with a flicker of a smile, and then turned back to her grandmother. “It was fun,” she said simply, voice light but sure. “Steve took me to the park to watch the ducks for a while, and then we went to Chapter & Brew, the little coffee shop downtown. Had cappuccinos, walked a bit. It was nice.”

Mrs. Sullivan’s eyes flicked knowingly between them, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “Mm. Sounds like a proper day out.”

Harper’s cheeks warmed faintly, but she nodded, cutting into another bite of casserole. “Yeah. It was.”

Steve kept his gaze on his plate, though a small grin tugged at him, the warmth of her words settling deep in his chest.

The last of the plates clinked as Steve set his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “That was excellent, Mrs. Sullivan. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie,” she replied, already standing and gathering plates with the efficient air of someone who didn’t accept help lightly.

Steve rose anyway, reaching for the empty casserole dish. “Here, let me give you a hand with the dishes.”

Mrs. Sullivan swatted the air with her free hand. “No, no. You two go on. I’ve been running this kitchen for forty years; I don’t need help now.”

Steve chuckled, caught Harper’s eye, and inclined his head toward the porch. “Shall we?”

She smiled and wheeled alongside him, the screen door creaking as he held it open. The porch was quiet in the evening air, the scent of roses and fresh grass still clinging from earlier. Crickets had started their chorus in the yard, and the last streaks of sunset painted the horizon in orange and pink.

Steve leaned against the railing, folding his arms as Harper settled nearby. For a moment, they just listened to the cicadas and the faint murmur of the television drifting from inside.

“Thanks for today,” Harper said softly, glancing up at him. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but… it was really good.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her before he looked out over the yard. “I’m glad. I had a good time too.” He hesitated, then asked, “So… you want to do something again tomorrow?”

Her brows lifted slightly, interest sparking. “What did you have in mind?”

Steve shifted his weight, a half smile pulling at his mouth. “I was thinking maybe dinner and the drive in, they’re running a double feature.”

Her smile spread, warm and certain. “That sounds great. I’d love that.”

Relief and anticipation mingled in his chest, a steady thrum he couldn’t quite disguise. “Good,” he said, his voice low but sure. “Then it’s a plan, movie starts at seven. Pick you up at six?”

The porch fell quiet again, but this time it carried a charge, the kind of silence that promised tomorrow would come quicker than either of them expected.

*****

Next chapter.