My Brother’s Best friend

Chapter Three — Old Memories, New Feelings

(Harper’s POV)

It’s nearly midnight, but my brain won’t shut off.

The clock glows faintly on my nightstand, mocking me with each passing minute. I’ve tried reading, journaling, even scrolling aimlessly through my phone—but all I can think about is the sound of Jace’s voice earlier. That low, casual warmth when he said, The house was quiet without you.

I throw back the covers and pad barefoot down the hallway. Maybe a snack will help. Or tea. Or both.

The kitchen is dim, lit only by the fridge light when I open it. I’m half-bent inside, debating between leftover pasta or a slice of cheesecake, when a voice behind me says—

“Midnight feast?”

I nearly jump out of my skin. “Jesus, Jace!”

He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, wearing a loose gray T-shirt and flannel pants. His hair’s messy, his smile lazy. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I shut the fridge, clutching my chest dramatically. “You can’t just appear like that.”

“Technically, I live here,” he says, grinning.

I scowl, trying to ignore how ridiculously good he looks in soft lighting. “Barely.”

He opens a cabinet, grabs two mugs, and fills the kettle. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

I shake my head. “Jet lag, probably. And… too many thoughts.”

He glances over his shoulder. “About Italy?”

“About… everything,” I admit, softer than I intend.

The kettle hums in the silence. He leans back against the counter again, studying me in that quiet way he does—like he’s trying to figure out what’s changed, what he missed.

Finally, he says, “You used to follow Noah and me around all the time. Remember that?”

I groan. “Don’t remind me.”

“You’d sit on the porch steps, reading your little notebooks while we played basketball.”

“They weren’t little notebooks.” I point a finger at him. “They were stories.”

“Oh, right,” he teases. “About knights and princesses?”

I lift my chin. “More like girls who saved themselves.”

That earns me a grin. “Guess that fits you.”

I look away before he can see me blush. “I was just… different back then.”

He steps a little closer, his voice quieter. “Different’s not a bad thing.”

The kettle whistles sharply, making me jump. He moves to pour the water, and I breathe again.

When he hands me a mug, our fingers brush. Just barely. It’s nothing—an accident. But my pulse still trips over itself.

He notices. Of course he does.

“So,” he says, smirking a little, “Italy really changed you, huh?”

I take a sip of tea to avoid answering. It’s too hot, and I wince. “Guess it just helped me see what I wanted.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips. “And what’s that?”

For a second, the question hangs between us, heavy and electric.

I open my mouth—then Noah’s door creaks upstairs. The spell shatters.

Jace clears his throat, stepping back. “Better get some sleep. Before your brother comes down and thinks I’m corrupting you or something.”

“Right,” I say quickly. “Wouldn’t want that.”

He grins as he walks toward the stairs. “Night, Harper.”

“Night, Jace.”

The kitchen feels colder after he leaves. I stare at the steam rising from my mug, my heart pounding far too fast for someone who just wanted tea.

I should not be feeling this way. Not about him.

Not about my brother’s best friend.

But every time I close my eyes, all I see is that smile—and the way his voice dropped when he asked what I wanted.