Chapter 33
Harper
The car rolls to a gentle stop in front of a storybook-looking house, modest compared to the spacious four-bedroom homes Poppy and I grew up in. This one boasts only two rooms, surrounded by a small garden filled with fruits and vegetables, a testament not to my horticultural skills but to the gardener I pay. I ' d likely grow poisoned apples before Honey-crisp ones.
Unstained pine shutters frame light blue shingles and a dark brown roof completes the picture. A massive pecan tree casts its shadow over half the house, a constant trigger for my irrational fears of a storm toppling it and crushing half the dwelling.
Can I cut it down to ease my fears? No, because the original lover of this charming, small house adored that tree.
A cute white picket fence, once admired by Peter, Poppy ' s brother, encloses the property. That ' s why I bought this place.
I felt like I was purchasing a piece of Peter.
As soon as I landed a paycheck big enough to cover the mortgage, I bought it under a fake identity. I never wanted anyone to know about this place.
It ' s my safe house.
It ' s Peter ' s house.
I can ' t deny coming here feels like I ' m cheating on Peter. Knowing my heart now loves another.
I remember the first time Peter told me about this house. He made me feel like a child—not the kind in diapers, but the kind with a wild spirit. I remember the night when Poppy went out on a date with Andrew, and that ' s when Peter and I started hanging out alone. He had finished college a year earlier than his twin Henry and was living in his family's house. I came over, and Peter pulled out his old bike. I sat on the handlebars as he rode us around the neighborhood well after dark. We laughed and giggled and shared our deepest, darkest thoughts and our wildest dreams.
Peter stopped his bike at this house, which was slowly being updated in an old neighborhood. I made a joke about his lack of endurance for having to stop. He kissed me with such force it knocked me off balance. He told me to look at the house. That ' s when he confessed he wanted to buy it. That was going to be the house he started his family in.
I always wondered why he told me that. It was like he wanted my reaction, wanted to gauge how I felt about the house. Did he envision me and him starting a family here? Or was I just a girl lost in the clouds of love, dreaming that he was?
I shift the car into the park.I wonder what Poppy's night was like that night. Did Andrew hit her?
I was falling in love; my best friend was being abused.
" This is your safe house?" Poppy asks, her eyes scanning the modest dwelling.
" Yep." It was the house your brother loved, too. I wish I could tell you that, but I ' m chicken shit scared.
" It ' s," she pauses, taking it all in, " Really cute."
Time to joke. That or cry. " Are you implying my tastes are usually not cute?"
She bites her lip, reaching up to tug on her messy auburn bun, her hazel eyes shining with amusement. " I was expecting a sex dungeon with a man chained to the wall, to be honest. I guess Kent has changed you."
He has.
So did Peter.
I pull the handle, popping open the car door. Birds are chirping, and the scent of freshly watered grass fills my nose. All that ' s missing is the sound of a man telling his wife good morning and kids running out the door to head to school. Maybe in an alternative universe, it would have been.
I ' ve been reading a lot about parallel universes. I like the idea. Silly as it may sound, I cling to it. I hold onto the idea that Peter and I are together in some parallel dimension. Unfortunately, I ' m stuck in this one; at least, that ' s how I used to feel. Kent ' s changing that.
I feel guilty about it. Maybe that's why I brought us here. To come home.To remember who I first loved.To help Poppy end the chapter, she tried to skip over.
" You haven ' t gone inside. Looks can be deceiving," I grin, winking at Poppy before I close the door. I don't want her to linger too long on my face in case she sees the truth.
" Are you sure we should have come back here?" Poppy questions. " What if someone sees us?"
" When people see us here, they run and hide. They know what trouble looks like. You and I are walking and talking."
Poppy snorts as she gets out.
I roll my shoulders, feeling like I need a long, hot bath. Sleeping in the car was less than pleasing, but I have to admit, it was the wiser choice. That motel was…ugh, I just got chills thinking about it.
In the distance, a firetruck wails, causing Poppy to jump. Her big hazel eyes pivot towards me, " What ' s that?"
" A firetruck," I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes. " Don ' t be snippy with me."
" I ' m working on a lack of beauty sleep. This is the best version of me you ' re getting. Come on," I wave her towards the door.
" Why do you think there ' s a firetruck?"
" I don ' t know, Pops, maybe a pussy cat is stuck in a tree," I grumble, raising my wrist to the front door, knowing I ' m totally going to freak her out. I wave it over the palm sensor, and the door clicks open.
" What?" Poppy's eyes ping-ponged from the door lock to my hand. " Where are your keys?" she asks.
" Did I forget to mention I have superpowers?" I joke as I step inside, steeling my spine against the swell of emotions. I never changed the interior, but I have a feeling Peter would have. It ' s badly outdated, and as cute as the house is, Peter was a tech nerd like me. He would have completely outfitted the inside.
Maybe I haven ' t touched anything because, in some alternate reality, I figured he already did the work for me.
" Seriously, how did you open the door? An app?"
" Good guess, but no."
" How?" Poppy grabs my wrist.
" Superpowers." I try to keep a straight face, but the effort is futile. Laughter bubbles up. " I have a chip," I wave my hand in her face, " in my palm."
" You ' re shitting me."
" Ugh, not my kink. No piss or shit games here."
" Harper, stop."
" But I'm just getting started." I pout.
" Harper." Poppy's insistence mixes with curiosity as she examines my hand, searching for a scar. She won ' t find one; the insertion was seamless.
" I really do have a chip in my palm. It ' s programmed for small tasks, like unlocking doors. Handy, isn ' t it?"
" Why didn ' t you tell me?" She drops my hand, a flicker of betrayal crossing her features.
" Because you freak out over the smallest things. I didn ' t want a detailed email about studies on the risks of having bioware inserted into you."
" True," she mutters, a small smile breaking through. " Is it safe?"
" Safer than smoking and most of the sex positions I try," I kid, easing the tension between us with humor.
" That makes me feel about as secure as setting sail on the Titanic," she counters, her gaze still locked on my wrist.
" Setting sail is actually a term used for sailboats. The Titanic was a cruise liner."
" Smartass," Poppy hisses, though her eyes sparkle with reluctant amusement.
" I know," I smirk, trying to keep the conversation light so I don ' t have to confront the full weight of my emotions in this house filled with ghosts and what-ifs.