He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Lawson stared down at the frozen peas.
The kitchen seemed quieter, now; a faint breeze drifted through the open window, rattling the bronze pots and pans, and there was the drip-drip of water in the sink. His bloodied rags, maybe. A clock on the wall told him that it was past one o'clock in the morning.
He wasn't sure why he'd come back here.
The party had died down twenty minutes ago. Footsteps had staggered down the corridor, accompanied by the occasional hiccup or drunken song. Lawson was certain that someone had paused to get sick in a vase. His money was on David.
He could have joined them, Lawson supposed, but he didn't feel like it. And — more to the point — he didn't deserve to.
He'd attended a birthday party once where they'd sat in a circle, passing around a parcel wrapped in layers of paper. When the music stopped, a guest unwrapped a shiny layer. Then another one. Anticipation built. But what if you reached the core only to find a pair of week-old gym socks? Or something slimy? Or worse — what if you found nothing at all?
He was like that.
One big, disappointing game of "pass-the-parcel."
He'd thought it might be different, with Harper. But he should have known better, Lawson thought grimly. He should have stayed away.
Lawson sighed, adjusting the frozen peas on his face. He was being dramatic; it didn't suit him. The boys always told him so. The breeze was growing stronger, and Lawson turned to close the window. A figure stood in front of it.
He jumped. "Jesus, Paige!"
His older sister made an impatient noise. Her twin plaits were shadows in the moonlight, so dark that they looked almost real. But Lawson could see the corner of a toaster through the left one, which really ruined the effect.
"Lawson," Paige said. "You need to listen to me."
Lawson sighed. "Go away, Paige." He crouched down, picking up several peas that had scattered in his surprise. "I'm not in the mood for some psycho-babble bullshit from my conscience."
She frowned. "I'm not your conscience."
"That," Lawson said, "is exactly what my conscience would say."
"You seriously think I'm your conscience?"
He looked up. "I know you are."
"Oh, my god." Paige snorted. "I'm sorry, but that is just like, such a man thing to assume. Like I can't exist outside of you creating me? Honestly, Lawson, you can be such a—" She broke off, shaking her head. "No. You know what? Not the time for that. Come with me."
She yanked at his arm, which seemed somewhat optimistic, in Lawson's opinion; her hand passed right through him.
"No." Lawson threw the peas in the bin. "I'm tired."
