“Are you sure?”

She flips to his senior picture and then back to the theater shot. “Oh yeah, that’s totally him . . . and look, here’s another with a girl.” She brings the book in close so we can get a better look. Iggy is smiling at the camera, embracing a girl in a polka-dot dress. Her hair is pinned up in curls, but you can’t see her face because she’s pressed into Iggy’s chest.

“That has to be her.”

“How do you know? It could be Emma,” I point out.

Harper shakes her head. “No, Emma has blonde hair. Remember the picture hanging above the fireplace? Even in these black-and-white pictures, you can tell this woman is a brunette, and by the way he’s holding her, you can tell he’s in love. This has to be Forever Girl.”

“Holy shit. You’re a freaking detective.”

She chuckles and scans the comments on the side. “Damn.” She snaps her fingers in disappointment. “It doesn’t say anything about who’s in the picture. What kind of yearbook is this? We need names, people.”

Sighing, she tosses the book to the side. “Ugh, another dead end.”

“Not necessarily.” I pull on her waist, and she turns, facing me, her legs draped over my lap. “We know that Iggy was in musical theater, which means he might have had something to do with the small theater here. Remember that field trip we took there freshman year? I think the guide said the theater was restored thanks to an anonymous donor . . . and that could have been him! We know he was wealthy. We just have to keep digging.”

“You’re right. We could have a new lead with that.”

“A good one.” I rub her thighs. “And who knows? With more research, we might be able to find more. Plus we could look through the other yearbooks.”

“You’re right, we could. But you don’t want to do that right now, do you?” she asks, knowing me all too well.

I shake my head as she rests her forearms on my shoulders and gingerly threads her fingers through my hair. “No, I don’t want to do that right now.”

“No?”

My eyebrow quirks up, and my hands find the hem of her dress. “What were you thinking about doing?”

“Hmm . . . I don’t know. What could we possibly do?” She looks around the room. “Is it hot in here?” She removes her cardigan and tosses it to the side; my eyes immediately fall to her boobs, pressed up against the fabric of her dress.

Fuck.

I go hard in seconds.

We haven’t had sex, and I know she’s not ready yet. She told me a few months back the whole idea made her nervous, and I assured her I had no problem waiting, that I’d wait as long as she needed me to. Since then, we haven’t done more than kissing and maybe some slight fondling.

Do I want more? Hell yeah. Every time we part, I find myself in the shower taking care of the hard-on she leaves me with. But I also can read Harper like a book; she’s just starting to gain confidence in her body, and there’s no way I’m going to push her. She’s in charge when it comes to the physical, because honestly, if it were up to me, she’d be naked by now.

“Damn, Harper, are you trying to kill me?” I ask, shifting beneath her, knowing full well she can tell how turned on I am from just having her on my lap.

“What?” She playfully glances down. “Do you like my dress?”

My hands slide a little farther up her legs, but not too much. I don’t want to move past her limits. “Do I like your dress? Uh, your nipples are hard as shit, and I have the perfect view of your cleavage. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite dress of all time.” Smiling wickedly, I add, “Then again, when are your nipples not hard?”

And that’s the truth; her boobs are smaller, which is fine by me. From the brief touching we’ve done, I’ve found they are a small handful, just perfect for my large hands, and those nipples, fuck, they just about kill me whenever I’m around her.

“That’s because I almost never wear a bra around you.”

My head falls back, bumping against the headboard. “You’re actually killing me, Harper.”

She leans forward and presses kisses across my neck slowly, methodically. “But killing you in the best way possible, right?” She shifts against my lap.

“Fuck . . . yes.” She slowly starts to move her hips back and forth, and my eyes pop open. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs. “Just testing some things out.”

Feeling breathless and already about to explode in my pants, I sink into the bed. “Shit, Harp, test away.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ROGAN

“Another water, Rogue?”

I stare down at my empty water glass and nod. “Yeah, thanks, Hal.”

The Har-Bahr is packed tonight, full of decorating volunteers celebrating the last twinkling light hung. I have to hand it to Griffin; he was able to pull it all off with a little time to spare. And Holiday Lane? I took care of it. All the residents worked around the clock to get their displays up and running in time for Lovemark to visit. Granted, no one really knows why we rushed, but there’s speculation—let’s face it: it’s a small town, and people talk. I think it’s one of the reasons why residents were so accommodating—that and the hundred-dollar gift card to the Lobster Landing offered up to the best-decorated house.

I pick at the soft pretzel in front of me, barely taking any bites. I’m not especially interested in digesting the carbs, but Hal gave it to me for free tonight. He didn’t say why but just set it down and said it was on the house. I think the man is trying to feed my feelings with carbs.

It’s no secret that Harper and I are no longer a couple; that’s old news, but now that she’s back in town, it’s like people are treating us like we just broke up. Walking through town, I’m constantly on the receiving end of sympathetic looks, pity slaps on the back, and even offers to talk over coffee if my “heart starts to feel heavy.” Talk about goddamn torture. It’s bad enough that every time I turn a corner, I’m scanning for the perfect shade of dark-red hair, but to have the entire town staring at me, waiting to see when I’m going to break down and cry like the pathetic motherfucker that I am . . . well, there’s only so much I can take.

To wear off some of my pent-up anger and frustration, I’ve resorted to working out twice a day, but it’s done nothing to curb the growing agitation coiling at the base of my spine.

“Hey, Rogue.” Griffin takes a seat next to me at the bar and signals to Hal for a water. As usual, we’re probably the only two in the place with a nonalcoholic beverage. “Thanks for helping out with Holiday Lane and getting the residents on board. It means a lot to me.”

“Sure, no big deal.” Hal sets two fresh glasses in front of us as Griffin rips off a piece of pretzel and pops it in his mouth. “Is everything all set for Lovemark?” I ask quietly so no one overhears us.

“Yup. Dad even made a feature fudge for them for when they come into town.”

“Of course he did.”

“So, how are you doing?” Griffin keeps his eyes focused in front of him as he performs his older brother responsibilities, checking on his damaged brother.

“Fine.”

“Really?” he asks. “Because I could feel the anger rolling off you from outside.”

I drag my hand down my face. “It’s just so fucking uncomfortable here now. It’s like I’m in a fishbowl and everyone in town is watching me, wondering when I’m about to snap. When she wasn’t here, it was easier. Yeah, I still was a miserable fuck, but at least I didn’t have to worry about running into her. Now, I feel like I can’t make it two steps without panicking that I’m going to cross paths with her.”

“Would it be so bad if you did?”

“Are you insane? Of course it would be bad. I crushed her, Griff. It wasn’t like we had a mutual breakup. No, I was the relentless ass who broke her and left without a backward glance. It’s not like when you and Ren broke up.”

“Hey, I was a dickhead and hurt her too. And when I saw her around town, I felt physically ill.”

“Yeah, welcome to my world.” I take a sip of my water. “And what the fuck am I going to do if she starts to date someone . . . or fuck, if she gets married? There is no way I’d be able to survive that. I would have to sell all my properties and buy some tiny house in the middle of nowhere so I can rot in my own personal hell.”

“Getting a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not even a little. Think about when you and Ren were broken up, how shitty it was when you saw her at the Fall Festival, laughing and having a good time. It’s that for me times one hundred.”

“But do you really think Harper is laughing and having a good time? She’s just as broken as you. When I talked to her yesterday, she wasn’t the same girl we grew up with.”