Page 113 of Archer

I stepped away from the group the moment the conversation started to die. We all had our marching orders for the pop-up, and I had something important to do right now.

The sun was low on the horizon when I knocked on the guest room door.

“Come in.”

Harper sat cross-legged on the bed, notebook open in her lap, guitar against the nightstand. Her eyes were clear, but tired. She’d been crying at some point and hadn’t tried to hide the evidence.

“Hey.”

She held my eye contact for a long moment while I forced myself to ask a question she’d very likely say no to.

“I wondered if you’d like to take a walk with me?”

She closed the notebook and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I would.”

Relief mixed with hope as she moved in my direction.

We took the deck stairs to the beach access path, then headed for the sand together.

The tide was out, leaving the sand hard-packed and dark. Dinner and the winter cold had called most families away for the night.

“Alone with the sandpipers again,” she said, smiling at the flock of long-legged birds racing the tide.

A pair of teens and parents headed our way, their gazes and whispers sticking to Harper as they approached.

“Shoot.” Her hands went to her hair. “They recognize me. I wasn’t thinking about that. Is that okay?”

I frowned. Why would I care if she was recognized? “Is it okay with you?”

Her gaze darted nervously around before returning to the family. “Yeah.”

“It’s her!” The shorter of the young women called, grabbing the other teen’s hand and dragging her along. The adults waved politely without picking up speed.

“Are you Harper Lawson?” the dark-haired young woman asked. She was bundled up to her nose in a coat and scarf.

Harper smiled warmly. “I am.”

Then, there was squealing.

A lot of squealing.

And bouncing.

I stepped back, unsure of my role. The girls appeared harmless but extremely excited.

The older couple arrived a moment later. The man offered me a handshake. “Girls, right?”

I gave the trio beside me a look. My sister and her friends were dedicated goths through their teen years, and never did they bounce or squeal.

The woman approached with a small, pursed-lip smile, somewhere between pride and embarrassment. “They love your music,” she told Harper. “We were at the county fair the first time we saw you. That was a few years ago, and then you opened for another band we love last fall.”

Harper’s smile grew. “Thank you all so much for going out to see me and supporting my music. Where are y’all from?”

The exchange only lasted a few minutes before the mom ushered her speed-talking daughters away with gentle apologies for taking up Harper’s time.

The dad offered a low-energy wave I appreciated and reciprocated.

The light over the ocean was golden as we walked on. Harper seemed suddenly radiant.