He nodded. “It is real. That’s the scary part.”
Harper’s expression softened. “Yeah.”
There was a long pause.
“So,” Sebastian said, cocking his head. “Breakfast in my shirt, approval of my omelet, zero immediate regrets. I’m taking this as a win.”
Harper leaned in, her smile slow and wicked. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Oh, but it’s one of my best traits.”
She nudged his knee with hers. “That’s debatable.”
“I thought we weren’t doing debates before coffee,” he replied.
“And I thought you like it better when I don’t follow the rules.”
“You know me so well.”
They fell into laughter then, easy and full, and for a moment, it didn’t matter who they were or what waited outside. It was just the two of them, barefoot and close, in a kitchen that smelled like herbs and possibility.
Harper didn’t know what came next. But for the first time in a long time, she wanted to find out.
49
Loose Ends
The newsroom looked the same as always, the overhead lights too bright, the smell of burnt coffee and printer ink clinging to the air, and someone swearing at a finicky CMS two desks over. It was ordinary. Comforting, in its way.
Harper stood at her desk, now stripped down to essentials. A box sat beside her elbow, half-filled with notebooks, a plant she’d once namedPulitzerin a fit of misplaced optimism, and a coffee mug that readFront Page or Bust. She ran a hand over the surface one last time.
Craig appeared in her peripheral vision, a man-shaped storm cloud in shirtsleeves. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the edge of her cubicle and watched her with the narrowed eyes of someone calculating the cost of losing a top reporter.
“You’re really doing this,” he said finally.
Harper didn’t look up. “Already did.”
He crossed his arms. “You could’ve just taken leave. Waited out the noise.”
She glanced at him. “You and I both know I’m not built for limbo.”
Craig sighed. “You’re sure about the book?”
“No.” She closed the box, sealing her resignation with a soft finality. “But I’m sure about leaving.”
He handed her a slim envelope. She hesitated, then opened it. Inside was a folded note, scrawled in sharp handwriting:
Don’t forget why you started. –Team I.
It was unsigned, but she recognized the collective voice. The people who mattered had written this. She blinked, then tucked it carefully into the box.
Craig cleared his throat. “For what it’s worth, Harper… you pissed off all the right people. That’s a win in this business.”
She gave him a small smile. “You’ll miss me.”
“Like a migraine,” he muttered. Then, more quietly: “Go write something that scares the bastards.”
“I intend to.”