The warning.
Harper listened without interrupting, which was one of the reasons I loved her. She had the rare gift of not rushing into advice just to prove she cared.
When I finished, she handed me the mug.
“Drink,” she said.
I looked down. “This is your tea.”
“You need it more.”
I took it with both hands.
For a while, we sat in the small pool of lamplight. Outside, traffic hissed over wet pavement. My apartment smelled faintly of vanilla from a candle I had forgotten to light.
“Do you think I’m being foolish?” I asked.
Harper tilted her head. “For liking him?”
“For believing someone like him could want someone like me.”
Her face tightened. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make yourself smaller just because he has more money.”
I stared into the tea.
“It’s not just money,” I said. “It’s everything. His world has board members and contracts and ex-fiancées who can apparently call and issue warnings. My world has overdue laundry and budget pasta.”
“Budget pasta is underrated.”
I gave her a look.
She sighed. “Fine. His world is complicated. But that doesn’t mean yours is less valuable.”
“I don’t know if I can survive becoming gossip at work.”
“Then don’t let the story run ahead of you,” Harper said. “Stay steady. Keep doing your job. Keep records of anything strange. And with Nathan…” She paused. “Make him earn your trust slowly.”
I looked at her. “You don’t think I should walk away?”
“I think you should listen to the part of you that knows the difference between fear and wisdom.”
“That sounds annoyingly mature.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
The next morning, I arrived at Northstar early.
The office was quieter before nine, all glass walls and dimmed monitors and the smell of fresh coffee rising from the kitchen. I liked that hour. It was when the building felt less like a machine and more like a place made by human hands.
I had almost reached my desk when I noticed an envelope lying on my keyboard.
Plain white.
No stamp.
No name.
My steps slowed.
For several seconds, I simply stood there, staring at it.
Then I picked it up.
Inside was a single printed photograph.
At first, I did not understand what I was seeing. It showed Nathan and me outside a small bookstore on Wabash, taken the previous Friday evening. He was holding the door open for me, and I was looking up at him with a smile I did not remember giving but recognized with painful clarity.
On the back, someone had written one sentence in neat black ink.
Be careful what you mistake for love.
