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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The grave was famous among visitors as "the cricket jumper grave," and it became an urban legend that fairies washed the jumper in a nearby pond.
The cricket jumper that lay on the grave wasn't particularly remarkable — maroon, shrunken, fraying — with a pocket emblazoned with the words "ADB Cricket Club." But it stood out like a sore thumb amidst all the graves littered with flowers and stuffed toys, and it made an interesting talking point for local guides giving tours.
The grave wasn't visited often; it was in Highgate Cemetery, where many famous artists and politicians were buried, and visitors were more likely to seek out George Eliot or Christina Rossetti than the cricket jumper grave.
Today, however, a young family wandered toward it.
The December air was crisp as peppermint, and their breath hung in the air. A young girl hurtled through the stone archway first. She was tall and dressed in a navy peacoat, her earmuffs bobbing slightly as she ran. A boy toddled behind her, red-cheeked with exertion and waving chubby fists.
A man and a woman came next. They were both late thirties, bundled in thick scarves, carrying bags loaded with red wine, presents and chocolate cupcakes. The man leaned over to adjust the woman's wool scarf — frayed, from years of rubbing against a camera strap — and she smiled up at him.
"You know what I could use?" Harper asked.
Lawson arched an eyebrow. "A new scarf?"
"No." She paused. "Well, yes. But that's not what I meant."
"Ah," Lawson said. "You want lingerie for Christmas, don't you?" He skirted around a tombstone. "Luckily for you, I really rate that idea. What about something red and festive? Possibly with lace."
Her eyes narrowed. "Lawson."
"Or without lace. That's fine, too."
"Be serious."
"I am." Lawson's grin was wicked. "Just think of the look on Griffin's face when you unwrapped that on Christmas morning. He'd choke on his mince pie."
Harper frowned. "You're not getting me lingerie for Christmas." She ducked under a low-hanging branch, being careful not to slip on the slick stone as she righted herself. "Strawberry ice cream."
Lawson scanned the graveyard. "Where?"
"No," Harper said. "I mean, that's what I could use."
Lawson stared. "It's freezing."
"So?" Harper's smile was mischievous. "You know, I once recall you telling me to live a little more."
"And then you went and fell off a bridge," Lawson pointed out.
Harper considered this. Nodded. "A valid point." She adjusted her shopping bags, frowning in her daughter's direction. "Molly! Walk on the pavement please, honey."
