Chapter Seventeen — The Close Call
380 Words
(Harper’s POV)
I swear my heart is permanently lodged somewhere in my throat.
Jace and I are in my room, supposedly “editing” my story together. The laptop is open, papers scattered, pens rolling across the desk. But the air between us is charged in a way that makes it impossible to focus.
He leans over my shoulder, pointing at a line I’ve written, and for a second our faces are inches apart. I can feel his breath, and I know he can feel mine.
And then—
“Harper? Jace? You in here?”
Noah’s voice.
My eyes go wide. “Oh no,” I whisper.
Jace freezes mid-gesture, turning his head toward the door like a deer in headlights.
I grab a notebook and shove it over the keyboard, my hand trembling. “Quick… hide it! It’s not what it looks like!”
He grabs a stack of papers and slides them behind the dresser. I duck under the desk, heart hammering.
Noah’s footsteps stop outside the door. He knocks lightly. “Seriously, you two? Room looks like a hurricane hit it.”
I hold my breath. He peeks inside, glancing around. “Uh… nothing to see here,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Carry on.”
He leaves. The second the door clicks shut, Jace and I both let out shaky laughs, half relief, half terror.
“Too close,” I whisper, sitting back on the floor, still under the desk.
“Way too close,” he agrees, sliding down next to me. “We can’t keep doing this, Harper. Sooner or later, he’s going to catch more than just a glimpse.”
“I know,” I admit, brushing damp hair from my face. “But I can’t stop myself from… feeling this. Feeling you.”
He swallows hard, looking away, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him. “Me neither.”
For a long moment, we just sit there, hearts still racing, knowing how dangerous this is.
Finally, he stands, offering me his hand. “We need a plan.”
I take it reluctantly. “Yeah… a plan.”
But as we pull ourselves up, I can’t shake the thought: every close call just makes it harder to hide what’s really happening.
- Writer
