Chapter 1 — The Boy in the Towel
(Harper’s POV)
The house smells like home — cinnamon candles, laundry detergent, and a faint trace of the lemon cleaner my mom swears by. After three months in Italy, everything feels smaller somehow, quieter. The same framed photos still line the hallway, the same creaky stair still moans when I step on it.
I haul my suitcase into my room and push open the door, already picturing collapsing face-first onto my bed. But then I stop.
There’s steam curling out from under my bathroom door.
That’s weird. No one’s supposed to be home.
I set my bag down slowly, glancing around. My bookshelf’s been moved. The posters I left on the wall are gone. And—
Wait. There’s a duffel bag by the desk. A men’s duffel bag.
Before I can process that, the bathroom door swings open.
And there he is.
Jace Carter.
Dripping wet. Wearing only a towel.
In my bedroom.
My brain short-circuits. His hair is darker when wet, curling slightly at the ends. Water trails down his chest, tracing the muscles that definitely weren’t there the last time I saw him.
He freezes mid-step, his towel-clad figure filling the doorway. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
“Harper?” His voice is low, rough with surprise. “What the hell—? You’re back?”
“I—yeah—um—obviously.” My voice comes out squeaky, and I immediately wish I could evaporate. “Why are you—why are you in my room?”
He blinks, looking equally confused. Then his eyes drop—slowly—to my sundress, then back up to my face. His throat works before he says, “Noah didn’t tell me you were coming home early.”
I cross my arms, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Well, Noah also didn’t tell me you’d be living in my room.”
He rubs the back of his neck, the towel shifting dangerously low. “Yeah, about that…” He laughs awkwardly. “Your brother said I could crash here for the summer while my place was being renovated. Guess he forgot to mention that part.”
I glare. “He definitely forgot.”
Jace grins—nervous, teasing, the same grin that used to make my teenage heart race for all the wrong reasons. “You’ve, uh… changed a little, huh?”
“Changed?”
He gestures vaguely. “You just look… different.”
Different. Right. That’s one way to put it. I’d spent the summer writing in cafes, walking cobblestone streets, learning how to be alone. I’d grown into myself without even realizing it. But hearing it from him—his eyes lingering a second too long—makes my stomach flutter in ways it shouldn’t.
“Well, you still don’t know how to knock,” I mutter.
He smirks. “It’s hard to knock when you think you’re in your own room.”
Touché.
Before I can respond, Noah’s voice shouts from downstairs, “Harper? You home?”
Jace’s eyes widen. “If he finds me in here like this—”
“Oh my god, go!” I hiss, gesturing wildly toward the bathroom.
But of course, the door swings open before either of us moves.
Noah steps in, mid-sentence. “Hey, sis, didn’t know your flight was—” He stops. Sees Jace. Sees the towel. Sees me.
The silence is deafening.
Then Noah says flatly, “Why are you half-naked in my sister’s room?”
Jace exhales through his nose, trying to sound calm. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like you’re half-naked in my sister’s room,” Noah snaps.
I groan. “Can we not do this right now? I just got off a nine-hour flight.”
Noah glares at Jace like he’s seconds from murder. Jace holds up his hands in surrender, still clutching the towel with one. “I’ll, uh, finish getting dressed. In your room. Which is where I’ll be sleeping from now on.”
He disappears into the hall, and Noah mutters something that sounds a lot like dead man walking.
I flop onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow. Welcome home, Harper.
