Letting Go (9 page)

“No,
we were talking about Paris and art and … We’re having fun,” she said.

“Fun?”
Jamie sounded astonished.

“
Yeah? Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I thought … Well, that you’ll miss me and …”

“I do miss you, Jamie,” she assured him, but when he replied he didn’t sound all that convinced.

“I know,
Izzy. It’s just bugging me, you and Harper.”

“But there is no ‘me and
Harper’, it’s just a ride home. You know that, right?”

“Sure,
Izzy. Hey, call me when you get home, okay?” he said.

“
First thing,” she smiled, but then realized he’d already hung up. She looked at the phone as if it was its fault. He must’ve been in a hurry, she thought. Still, the conversation left a bad taste in her mouth that joined the one left over from the late night pizza snack. She hated going to bed without brushing her teeth, and what she hated more was waking up to loaded conversations.

She came out of the bathroom when she heard a hesitant knock on the door.

Harper seemed surprised when he saw her wide awake. “When did you get up?”

“
Jamie called and woke me,” she explained.

“Hm. I thought I’d let you sleep in a bit to ease the jet lag
. Too bad I didn’t let Jamie in on my plans, huh?”

“It’s fine. The sooner we set off, the better,”
Isabelle said. She was grateful to Harper for being so considerate. She wasn’t expecting it. And when he extended his hand, holding a paper bag, she found another unexpected gift.

“What’s this?” she asked suspicious.

He smiled, leaning on the wall by the door. “The best present in the morning in a crappy motel. Second only to morning sex.”

His comment made her cautious
, but she opened the bag anyway. If nothing else, that gave her an excuse to avoid his eyes, crinkling with laughter.

There was another paper bag in
there, containing something that smelled like a doughnut. But she could care less about it right then because her eyes fell on a brand new toothbrush and paste.

“God,
Harper, you’re awesome.”

“I know,” he said flippantly.

“Be back in five,” she mumbled and rushed towards the bathroom.

“Five minutes to brush your teeth?”
He moaned and moved to sit on the bed while he waited.

When she got back, she found him sprawled on his back on the bed.

“It smells of you,” he said.

Embarrassed at his intimacy, she said, “
I
barely smell of myself after I had to shower with the motel soap.”

She stopped in the middle of the room, strangely touched by his actions this morning, but awkward because
it was Harper who was thoughtful enough to bring her a toothbrush, it was Harper who let her sleep in, and who was now lying on her unmade bed.

“Ready to go?”
she asked, to cover for her disquiet.

“We can get coffees from the vending machine in the lobby,” he said, jumping up from the bed. When he went past her, he stopped to smell her
short hair and then said softly, “I wasn’t talking about soap.”

The morning was cloudy, but
Isabelle felt chipper. Despite the few hours of sleep, she felt better and the toothbrush helped her self-esteem. The coffee didn’t hurt either. But the sugar from the doughnut that was now scattered all over her jeans and shirt was a bitch.

“At least you didn’t get it on the upholstery,”
Harper quipped.

“Can you stop, please? I need to get it off my clothes,” she whined
, and although she doubted he’d grant her request, he pulled up at the next service area.

She jumped out and dusted the sugar from her jeans.
A trace of it remained on her black shirt. “Damn icing, it’s supposed to be on a cake not on my shirt,” she grumbled as she returned to the car and closed the door a little too forcefully.

“If I’d known you don’t know how to eat doughnuts …”
he said, while typing something on his phone.

“I can eat doughnuts,
at the table, like you’re supposed to.”

“Here we go
again with all things proper and prudish.” Harper rolled his eyes.

“Shut up
.”

“
My offer still stands. Do something ‘improper’” —he gestured quotes with his fingers— “and I promise to never call you a prude again.” He smiled at her sweetly, challengingly. He still didn’t start the car.

“I don’t care what you call me.”

“You’re awfully upset for not caring,” he commented, and the amusement lurking just below the surface of his calm voice incensed her more than the words. She refused to grace him with a reply.

To
avoid talking to him, Isabelle searched for a radio station with music. She’d had enough of listening to the news twice already, particularly as there seemed to be no good news at all. She skipped country station after country station, until she heard a good song. “There,” she said more to herself than to Harper.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you ever let go?”

“Huh?” She was still concentrating on the lyrics of the song and wasn’t listening to him. She wasn’t aware that he’d watched her closely the entire time, until she looked up and was met with his stare.

“Did you ever do something wild or stupid just for the fuck of it?”

“No,” she said. “Why would I?”

“
Because it’s fun?” He raised his eyebrows.

“And dangerous? And like you said
yourself—stupid? It can have consequences?”

“And sometimes,
Isabelle, believe it or not, it
can
be pure unadulterated fun.”

“Doubt that.”

“Can I prove it to you?”

“How?” she frowned.
She wondered what he was up to now.

“Do you trust me?”

“With this? No, absolutely not,” she said, and Harper laughed. She rolled her eyes and ignored him. It started raining again.

“Come on, give me
, say, an hour? I promise to bring you home alive and well,” he said, still chuckling.

“No.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise. We won’t break any laws.”

At that, she yielded enough to look at him, and for a second even considered agreeing. “I don’t believe you.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” he asked.

She tried thinking of an example, but his dark gaze was distracting. He was doing it on purpose, she knew, the soulful eyes, the promises. Anything to get her to agree to something that would undoubtedly make her look like a fool, or worse.

As if he’d read her mind, he counted off on his fingers, “I won’t force you to get naked—unless you’ll want to—you won’t have to drink alcohol, hurt any kittens in the process, or do anything dangerous.”

She narrowed her eyes. This sounded too legal and safe to be true.

“Let me make a call,” he said, pulling the leather jacket on before he opened the door and stepped out of the car.

Who was he calling that he couldn’t do it in the car? When he returned, she asked him.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? You in?” He pressed his palms together like in a prayer, and pouted.

“
I swear I’ll kill you if I get arrested,” she threatened.

“You got that backwards
—you’ll get arrested if you kill me. Plus, who’ll make you laugh when I’m dead?”

She couldn’t help herself, the laugh came out,
and she was helpless to stop it.

“See?”
he smirked and started the car.

In twenty minutes
, they stopped in a small town she’d never heard of. Harper parked the car on the curb across from a restaurant. Isabelle looked around to see where there was anything fun to do around here. If anything, the street looked dull, unadventurous. Her kind of street.

“
Coming?” Harper asked, crossing the street towards the restaurant, where a woman came out onto the sidewalk and waved at Harper.

Confused and
cautious, Isabelle caught up with him and whispered, “I thought you said you wouldn’t get me drunk?”

“Relax. Be patient.”

Be patient? She had been antsy the entire ride here, thinking this was the biggest mistake ever. God knew what he’d get her into. How could she have been so stupid to agree to this? Good thing Dad wasn’t very temperamental. And Jamie either, for that matter. That way she would avoid punishment and fighting if she found herself in trouble.

“
Harper,” the woman said when they came up to her. Isabelle noticed she was younger than she’d guessed from across the street, though older than Harper. Late twenties, early thirties maybe. She was pretty, dark haired, petite, and she nearly jumped in Harper’s lap when she hugged him. God, what was with the PDA, Isabelle thought, horrified.

“Hey, Missy. Long time no see,”
Harper said with a sweet voice at which Isabelle balked.

“Too long,” Missy cooed.

“Thanks for doing this for me.”

“Anything for you, you know that.”

Isabelle was on the verge of gagging. This was worse than she’d expected. Not only would she have to do something silly, but she’d have to watch the two lovebirds drooling all over each other. Yuck.

Missy moved away from the door, opening it wide for Harper and Isabelle to enter.

“Have fun
.” She winked at Isabelle, who stood dumbfounded while Harper waited for her in the doorway. Her eyes roamed from Missy to Harper and back.

“Come on,”
Harper motioned to her.

“
Just don’t bring down the house. And get out by two when the chef starts his shift,” Missy said to Harper. “And call me. I miss talking to you.”

“Got it.” He grinned, making a step forward to kiss Missy’s cheek again,
and then he grabbed Isabelle's hand when she was still unresponsive.

“What are we doing here?” she asked when she registered what was going on.
They were standing in a tastefully furnished dining room, the tables set for dinner, lights turned on. It looked inviting and pleasant. Would he make her gorge herself on food?

“No, w
e’ll cook,” he said, and she realized she had voiced her worries.

“Cook?”

“I’ll teach you to cook.”

“And this is supposed to be fun?”
She frowned, not sure where he saw the fun in doing something she was not good at.

“It will be if you let it.” He watched her with a raised eyebrow, probably wondering why in hell he suggested they do this in the first place.

“Fine.”

She walked on with determination. “Where’s the kitchen?”

“That’s the spirit.”

He led her through a white door to the left
. She saw an enormous place, full of equipment and appliances that she had absolutely no idea what they were used for. She stopped dead in her tracks. This place looked sort of scary, nothing like the small kitchen in her house where the microwave was the most often used appliance. This place was all stainless steel, yards of countertops, enormous exhaust hoods under the ceiling, all shining clean and silvery. The white tiles made her think of an abattoir and she shivered.

“I just want to get it over with. One hour, you said?”
she asked breathlessly, trying to hide her nervousness.

He grinned. “
You’ll ask for more, trust me.” He took off his jacket, so he was now in his short-sleeved t-shirt.

“Right.”

From a drawer in the cupboard to the left, he took out two black aprons with thin white stripes, handing one to her. She watched him put on his, admiring how good he looked in it. The apron suited him. She hadn’t expected that. He had boasted about being a good cook, but she didn’t take him seriously, not really, and she didn’t expect him to look so at home in a kitchen. Especially not a kitchen like this.

“What?”
he asked when he noticed her stare.

“Are you and Missy …?”

“Huh? No. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“That’s a relief,” she blurted. When he raised his eyebrows, she b
lushed. “I mean, you two earlier …” She pointed towards the entrance and made a gagging gesture. When his astonished eyes refused to leave her face, she busied herself with her apron.

“
Are you sure you’re not jealous?” he called after her. She marched into the kitchen as if she knew what she was doing there.

“God, no!”

“Not even a bit?”

“I have a boyfriend, remember?
You might know him? His name’s Jamie?”

“
A tiny tiny
tiny
bit?” He followed her.