Harper's POV
I sit alone at the table, hands resting in my lap, legs crossed tightly at the ankles. The flickering candlelight dances across the white linen cloth, casting shadows I can’t quite look away from. My stomach is tight with nerves, and I can feel my heartbeat in places I shouldn’t, my throat, my fingertips, the hollow behind my knees. I’ve been here for less than five minutes, but it already feels like I’ve made a mistake I can’t undo.
The air smells like perfume and wine, a rich blend of floral sweetness and something sharp, and I’m trying not to sweat through the fabric of the dress I didn’t want to wear. I keep glancing toward the door, toward the place I saw Mark disappear into, but he hasn’t come back out. I know he’s here somewhere. I just can’t see him. Only the back of
