The urge to pick up the binoculars and look across the way is too much tonight. Even though I’m going to see him in the family therapy session tomorrow, I want to watch him so bad. I want to see him through the window. I want to feel the fire flickering through my veins. This must be how a junkie feels. My mother talking about the struggle of wanting drugs and not being able to have them is on repeat in my mind. Luke is my drug, and I’m craving him something fierce.

I walk over and turn off the small lamp by my bed, bathing my room in darkness. If I’m going to do this, I need to be careful. After our chat in the restaurant the other night, I’m sure Luke realizes the proximity of our apartments. I wonder if he’s looked over here. Not that he could see anything. I’m only awarded the view I get thanks to the high-powered binoculars. With the naked eye, the only thing he’d be able to see would be lights and maybe movement in the window, but no details. Nothing like what I’m seeing right now.

The gray sweatpants are slung low on his hips, the deep V on full display. My mouth waters, causing me to swallow hard. He braces himself against the glass with his hands, peering out at the city below him.

My heart beats faster as he turns his gaze outward. I wonder if he senses someone watching him. He stands there for a long time, and I don’t budge—not even when my arms tire due to the weight of the binoculars. I can’t tear my eyes away from him—his bare chest, long torso, lean muscles. I wish it were daylight or there were more lights on in his apartment because I need to see his face more clearly, but it’s covered in shadow. I want to know what he’s feeling. If it’s sadness, I want to take it away. If it’s hurt, I want to ease his pain. If it’s need, I want to fulfill it.

After a while, he turns his back to the window and slides down to the floor.

And I continue to watch.

I’m not sure how I’d be feeling right now if a woman were to walk into his apartment. A few weeks ago, excitement would’ve flooded my body, along with anticipation, but not now. I have to admit that I’m relieved he’s alone. Even though I know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I’ll ever be one of those women, my traitorous heart goes a little rogue sometimes, feeling things I tell it not to.

When the sun breaks through my window, I crack an eye open and realize I’m still sitting on the hard window sill. My ass is numb, and I can’t move my neck. After wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I pick up the binoculars from my lap and focus in on Luke’s apartment. My breath catches in my throat when I see that he’s still leaning against the glass. I wish I could get closer, go to him. Something about him sleeping there makes my heart ache. I sit up on my knees to see if I can get some feeling back in my ass, but I don’t take my eyes off the window. I want to see him when he wakes up. Something about us both sleeping in the window makes me feel a weird connection.

Call me crazy. Call me a stalker. Call me whatever you want, but I know what I feel. Sure, it’s one-sided, and I’m probably setting myself up for a lot of heartache and disappointment, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I want Luke Walker, even if it’s from afar.

He moves. His hand comes up and rubs his neck, and I know how he feels. When his back muscles stretch, I feel a twinge in the pit of my stomach. With much more grace than should be allowed, he stands to his feet and stretches his arms over his head, rubbing at his hair, waking himself up. Slowly, he turns to face the window, to face the new day, and I’m locked on his face. It should be a crime to look that beautiful when you first wake up. And then I wonder what it would be like to wake up to that face.

I’ve seriously got to take care of business and relieve some of the pent-up tension before I see him at the session today. If I don’t, I might combust at the sight of him.

After some self-care and a bath, I dress quickly and then pour myself some cereal. I’m ready in record time, and I begin to pace around the small space. Instead of driving myself crazy, I decide to go ahead and leave. I can take a walk around the yard of the rehab, or maybe I’ll grab a cup of coffee before I go to the session. Doesn’t mean I won’t go back after. That’s kind of become my new habit. After our late night talk at Mr. Chan’s, I’m hoping Luke will stick around and maybe talk a little more. Maybe he’ll want to grab some lunch, or maybe we could have dinner later.

Stop it, Harper.

I’ll settle for a coincidental coffee date.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I take a deep breath and let it out, loving the quiet of the morning.

“Hey, Harper.”

Although the voice is familiar, it startles me. “Wyatt?” I ask, turning around to see him standing in front of my building.

“Good morning.” He smiles, and it’s big and bright. It makes me smile too, but deep down, I get a weird vibe. There’s really no good reason for Wyatt to be in front of my building on a Saturday morning unless he’s here to see me.

“What are you doing here?” I try to make my question sound casual, but I think it comes out a little harsher than I intended.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he says smoothly. “There’s a great bagel place around the corner.”

“You came all the way over here for bagels?”

He laughs, shoving his hands down in his pockets. “You just can’t beat a good bagel.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully. “I had cereal earlier.”

“Ah, cereal isn’t a real breakfast. Come with me. My treat.” He walks closer and nudges me with his shoulder. It’s playful and friendly. I guess.

“I’m not really hungry,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “But I have some time, so I guess I could get some coffee.”

“That’s my girl.”

The way he says that makes my skin crawl a little. I’m not his girl. This thing with Wyatt is like a see-saw. One minute, I think he gets it and that we’re on the same page. And then the next minute, I think he has a different agenda.

“It’s this way,” he says, pointing over his shoulder, in the opposite direction he was walking. I shake my head and try not to jump to weird conclusions. I think my overactive imagination gets the best of me sometimes.

“So, what brings you out this early on a Saturday?” he asks.

“My mom’s therapy session,” I tell him. It’s kind of weird that as many times as we’ve been out together, he still hardly knows anything about me.

“Oh, right. She’s in that rehab place down the street, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head.

“How long does she have to be there?”

“Well, she’s on a six-month program, and she’s been there for almost half of it. But if she’s not ready when the six months are up, she’ll stay longer. It’s kind of flexible.”

“That’s good. I guess.”

“Yeah.”

We walk the rest of the way to the bagel shop in silence. When we get there, Wyatt opens the door for me, placing his hand on my back. Small gestures like that are what make me think he’s not on board with the friend status.

Wyatt orders and then tells me to order what I want. I order a black coffee. We find a table and sit down, and Wyatt starts asking more questions. It’s weird. He normally does all the talking, so I’m not used to this sudden interest in my personal life.

“What kind of drugs did your mom use?”

I look at him with a confused expression, not sure if I’m comfortable discussing this, but then I figure he doesn’t know my mom and probably never will, so I answer vaguely. “You name it. She was an equal opportunity kind of user.”

Wyatt nods, like he understands, but I know he doesn’t. He can’t. “When she does get out, what will she do then?”

“I’m not really sure. That’s kind of what the family sessions are for—to figure all that stuff out.”

“Do you think she’ll live with you?”

“Probably not. My apartment is barely big enough for me,” I tell him, laughing at the thought. My mom and I would probably kill each other if we lived together. “Maybe a halfway house or something like that, until she can get her shit together.”

“Will you stay close?”

What is with the questions? “Probably,” I answer with a hint of irritation in my voice. It’s too early for this. I’ve barely had three sips of coffee.

“Sorry for the Spanish Inquisition. I just realized I don’t know much about you. And we’re friends, right?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and giving me a small smile. “Friends know things about each other.”

“Yeah. Right.” I don’t know what to make of this, so I just go along with it. “It’s fine. I just don’t like talking about Sadie.”

“That’s your mother’s name?”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Yes.”

“Sorry. No more questions. I promise.”

After he finishes his bagel and I have seconds on my coffee, we leave. Wyatt walks me back to the front of my building, and then he lingers, hesitating, before asking me if I’d like to have dinner with him tonight. As friends, of course.

“I don’t really know what my plans are,” I tell him truthfully. “Sometimes, after I visit my mom, I’m not really up for company.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, looking down at the sidewalk as he toes the concrete. “Well, you have my number if you change your mind.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you.”

“Okay, thanks for having breakfast with me.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“See ya later.”

He walks toward the corner, turning back to look at me a couple of times. I think about going up to my apartment but realize I only have about forty-five minutes until my mom’s session, so I take off walking, not turning back to see where Wyatt went. I don’t want him to think I’m watching him. This morning has been weird enough as it is.

Hopefully, the family therapy session won’t follow suit.

§

“We’ve been keeping things pretty heavy lately; let’s focus on some positives, shall we?”

Luke’s smile is kind and encouraging as he looks at Sadie. I can tell he’s hopeful Sadie will participate, and I find myself wanting her to, not just for herself, but for him, too.

I’m not sure what it is exactly, but he looks different today. He looks well-rested, but I don’t know how. My neck still hurts from sleeping in the damn window. I know his can’t feel much better. I haven’t been watching him through my binoculars as much as I used to, but when I do watch, like last night, he’s alone or not there. Maybe he’s slowing down his extracurricular activities, but if that’s true, I want to know why. What’s changed for him?

“Let’s talk about being grateful. What are you grateful for, Sadie? Tell me some blessings in your life.”

This should be interesting.

I watch as my mother picks at her fingernails, not saying anything. It really pisses me off that she’s not even trying. I mean, why is she here? She’s wasting everyone’s time, not to mention the money it costs for her to be here.

Luke doesn’t give up, though. “How about I go first? I’m grateful for the beautiful weather we’re having today. It makes walking to work a very pleasant experience. Are you ready to go now, Sadie?”

She shrugs her shoulders and avoids looking at him.

“I’m grateful for ice cream,” I blurt out. My hand covers my mouth, and I wish I could push those words back down my throat.

Luke’s laughter eases some of my embarrassment, but I still can’t believe I said that.

“What is your favorite kind of ice cream, Harper?”

He doesn’t seem to notice the red-hot blush I know is covering my face right now, and I’m grateful for that. “I love Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Any flavor, really.” The association of the flavors with the women he’s been with makes my mind flash through vivid pictures, like a flip book. I fight to keep a calm façade, while my insides are a mess.

He smiles before turning back to Sadie. “See? It’s as simple as that. Surely you’ve thought of something to be thankful for by now.”

It’s so not simple. You’re not simple, Mr. Walker. You’re complex. You’re Rocky Road or Late Night Snack. I’m definitely going to have to stop for ice cream the second I get my next pay check.

“I’m thankful for electricity,” Sadie admits, pulling me from my thoughts. “Right before I came here, the electricity to my place was cut off because I hadn’t paid the bill in a few months.”

I’m proud of her for being so honest, and my heart truly hurts for her in this moment. Her response puts a damper on the mood set by Luke’s and my silly answers, and I wish she had something a little more trivial to be thankful for.

“That’s perfect, Sadie. Good job,” Luke praises. My mother sits up a little straighter before adding, “I’m also grateful for gum. It’s my new vice now. I chew it as a distraction and to keep my mouth busy when I want to use.”

“I’m glad to hear you have something like that to use. It’s important to have things like your gum with you in times of weakness. Let’s discuss some things you can use instead of gum.”

The hour flies by, and before I know it, Sadie is walking out of the room and heading down the hall. I grab my purse and stand, very aware of being alone with Luke now.

“I’m grateful for coffee shops that are close by. What about you, Harper?”

I turn and look at him, not sure how to take his words. Is he just making small talk, or could he actually be insinuating that he’d like for me to join him across the street?

Nodding my head, I reply, “Yes, I’m very grateful for them.”

“Good. Care to join me?”

Holy shit.

We walk out of the building and across the street to the coffee shop in silence, but I have no complaints. Just being this close to him and knowing he wants this too has me buzzing like I’ve taken something from Sadie’s old stash. Maybe I should order decaf this time.

After buying our drinks, we sit at a table by the window. The view outside is nice, but nothing compares to the view across from me. His clothes are more casual than usual but still professional, and the sunlight coming through the window passes over his eyes, making them practically glow.

“So, you really love ice cream, huh?” He looks very amused when he asks me this, and I love that he’s comfortable enough to tease me.

“I do. I’m also extremely grateful I’m not lactose intolerant.”

Almost spitting his coffee out, he coughs out a “shit” before wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Sorry, I often speak without thinking,” I explain to him. “It’s a curse on most days, but today it’s been a blessing.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I was able to make you laugh.”

Is this my attempt at flirting? I’m such an idiot. I’ve seen the women he prefers, and although they make him do a lot of things, laughing isn’t one of them.

“Yes, you did. Thank you for that. My job is pretty stressful at times, and sometimes I have a hard time finding the humor in life.”

“Well, you should try to laugh more often. It’s good for you. Helps with digestion and all that. Plus, laughing looks really good on you.”

I’m just going to slide under the table now and never come out.

“Thank you, Harper. You’re very sweet.”

I look up at him and see the faintest blush on his cheeks. Interesting. A surge of power shoots through me at the mere idea that I, Vanilla Harper Evans, could have some sort of effect on him, Rocky Road-ish Luke Walker.

“Would you like to meet up sometime?” he asks. “We could go get a slice of pizza or something.” I merely nod my head because I’m afraid if I say something, it will sound too enthusiastic, too eager. “How about tomorrow?”

“I only do laundry on Sundays.”

He smiles, watching me, and nods his head. “Well, after your laundry then.”

“I’d like that.”