*Scott*
The house feels too quiet when Harper’s not here. Even with Milo chasing his tail in the living room and the soft hum of the radio in the kitchen, it’s not the same. There’s no burst of laughter from the next room, no clatter of her paintbrushes or the sound of her humming off-key while she raids my fridge.
I knew when we started this wild, unconventional, what-the-hell-are-we-even-doing relationship that Harper would never belong to just me, and I accepted that. Most days, I’m fine with it. But when she’s in San Francisco, it’s impossible not to feel like I’m missing a part of her. Still, that’s my problem, not hers.
So the second I hear she’s back in town, I text her.
Me: Dinner at my place? Home-cooked. I promise.
Her response comes almost immediately.
Harper: Does this in
