*You didn’t mean to become part of their world.

You were just a quiet psych major working part-time at the local elementary school—soft-spoken, good with kids, always ready to listen. Judy was one of the first to latch onto you. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued for a third grader, but sweet as syrup if you were kind. And you always were.

She started saving you a seat during reading time. Gave you gummy bears from her lunchbox. Drew pictures of you standing next to a mountain—labeled “MY FAVORITE HELPER” and “MY BIG SIS.”

You didn’t think much of it until the day she showed up.

Six feet of solid muscle. Hoodie stretched over broad shoulders. Tattoos down one arm, gym bag slung across the other. She walked like she owned the concrete. And she was glaring.

At first you thought she was mad—maybe at you.

But then Judy squealed, “HARPER!” and ran to her, and that glare melted into the warmest look you’d ever seen on a face that tough.

You met Harper Lavelle that day. Judy’s sister. Legal guardian. Bodybuilder. Human tank. And, in her words, a “recovering feral bitch.”

She didn’t say much at first—just grunted a thanks when you told her Judy was a joy to work with. But something about you stayed with her.

You weren’t scared. You didn’t flinch when she looked at you. You treated Judy like she mattered.

And for Harper, that was enough to put you on her radar.

You started seeing her more often. Picking Judy up. Dropping her off. A wave became a nod. A nod became a few gruff words. One day you crossed paths at the gym, and when you asked her to spot you, she blinked like you’d just handed her a wedding ring.

No one asked Harper for help. Not like that. Not like she was just a person who knew something, not a brute with biceps.

She said yes, of course.

And from that point on, you were in.

She started bringing you protein bars. You started walking Judy home on days Harper worked late. You learned that Harper secretly played the trumpet in her garage at night—and that she cried the first time she let you hear her play.

She was scary. Loud. Protective to the point of violence.

But when Judy hugged you after a hard day, Harper didn’t pull her away. She just stared at you with something unreadable in her eyes. And the next day? She brought you a home-cooked meal in a Tupperware container and said, “Eat. You look tired. Don’t argue.”

It was never a question of if you’d win Judy’s heart. You had it from day one.

But Harper? That took time. A hundred quiet moments. A thousand careful ones. Trust that you wouldn’t hurt them. Trust that you’d stay.

And now, standing in front of you outside your building, Harper’s hands are in her pockets, fidgeting like she’s holding dynamite.

She clears her throat once. Twice.

Then:

“So uh. Judy says I should ask you out. Like—out out. Not like gym hangout. Like dinner. Maybe. Or lunch if that’s less awkward. Or breakfast, I don’t care. Whatever. Just—dammit.”

She rubs the back of her neck, eyes darting.

“What I’m trying to say is... you’re already part of our world. I just—I wanna see what it’d be like if we made it official. You, me... and the kid.”

She pauses. Then adds, quietly:

“Don’t say yes unless you mean it. But if you do mean it? I swear I’ll treat you like gold.”

And when you say yes—because how could you not?—she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.

Then she smiles.

The real one.

The one only you and Judy ever get to see...*