Take Me Home Tonight

“Hello?” Harper called before opening James’ front door. There were no cars in the drive and she’d even peeked in the garage windows: only the Benz sedan was missing. No jeans on the living room floor either; the coast was clear.

Wallpapering was a project. She dragged the bed to the far corner of James’ spare bedroom and draped a drop cloth over it. Using a short ladder, Harper carefully removed the crown moulding where the walls met the ceiling. Another drop cloth went on the floor, anchored at the base to protect the carpet. A beat up folding card table would hold a wide tray of water to soak the paper. When everything was prepped, Harper used a flashlight and step stool to examine every inch of the wall for blemishes in the paint. She found a few raised droplets, a scratch or two, but that was it. James wasn’t kidding about no one using this room. Harper sanded them flat so they wouldn’t show beneath the paper. Finally she took a paint roller and primed the accent wall before carrying the wallpaper downstairs.

She was in the garage, wallpaper unrolled and spread on the floor, when the door started opening.

James stopped his car in park as Harper’s shape came into view. She had on jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt with paint dripped along one sleeve. The autumn daylight made her dark golden hair blaze. He’d showered and dressed at practice, found himself wearing a shirt Harper had complimented once because it matched his eyes. That may have been intentional. He crouched down across from her.

“Measuring?”

“Yup.” She had the rolls pulled out long, matching lenghts. The wall were eight feet high, so she was cutting 8’5” pieces.

“Be easier if you had someone 6’3” to help?” he asked, offering a smile.

It was impossible to resist that face. Harper knew this was how girls got into trouble with James Neal, letting him charm their pants right off. With a sea green shirt making his eyes light up, she bet those girls went gladly to their fate. “It’s your wingspan I need, not your height. Can you kneel there and lean over?”

James did as instructed, holding the paper steady. The work was exacting and he kept quiet because Harper did - and because he wasn’t sure how to apologize for the stripped-off clothes she’d seen on his floor, but James knew he needed to say something. Harper was acting fine, but she was acting. He sensed an edge about her mood he hadn’t met before.

When the paper was cut, they carefully piled and rolled the pieces. Upstairs in the guest room, the primer on the wall was dry, so Harper opened the windows to vent the oil fumes and ushered James back out of the room. She wanted to bring up Rachel before it killed her, but the down time was too intimidating. She’d do it while working. Luckily James was acting just as cagey and went off to put in a load of laundry or balance his checkbook or something. Harper poured herself a glass of juice, remembering back when all James had was an empty fridge. Clearly he was expecting company these days.

James putzed around, uncomfortable as hell but anxious to get started. He needed to clear the air with Harper. ‘Sorry the house was a mess this morning’ sounded like a deliberate dodge, but ‘Couldn’t keep my pants on last night’ was far too honest. He went back and forth between ‘Sorry you got put on the spot’ and ‘I’ll never see her again if you don’t want me too.’ The last one made him smile because he knew Harper was mad about Rachel. Well not mad, more like upset. Or miffed. She was miffed because James had a girl over, which meant a tiny little part of Harper wanted to be the only girl who came over here. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t be, or wouldn’t be, that girl, or that both she and James seemed to have made the same rule and were sticking to it. It still swelled James’ ego to know she’d thought about it. Even if he’d missed the chance.

Finally Harper called his name from down the hall. She explained how the wallpapering would work and made James do a dry run. He passed the test on his first try. She stepped right in next to him, sleeves pushed up, and helped immerse the inside-out roll of wallpaper in the basin of water. They held it down together, shoulders touching. Harper felt like she was the one under water, running out of air. Before she could suffocate from being too close to him, from the hint of red in his five o’clock shadow, she just blurted out, “Rachel seems nice.”

“Yeah,” James’ stomach dropped a little at the sound of Rachel’s name in Harper’s voice. “She’s cool.”

“You know, I could work my plans up sooner if you want to show her before....”

“No,” James said too quickly. His hands almost lifted off the paper. “I mean, don’t rush and Rachel doesn’t need to....”

“Well she had some ideas, so,” Harper shrugged, eyes down.

“Don’t worry about it, that’s your job.”

He meant to put the emphasis on your -as in, ‘That’s your job.’ where Harper had all the power and got all the credit. Instead, trying to deflect the conversation, James put the emphasis on job. ‘That’s your job.’ it came out, as if Harper knew her place and she’d better not overstep. He heard the tone at the same time she did.

Harper flinched so hard the water in the basin splashed. Her lip caught between her teeth.

“I - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” James was frozen.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to interfere I just thought....” Out of words, she gave up and shrugged. I thought maybe you wanted to fill your house with things you like and Rachel is one of those things.

The shrug hit James hard - it was a defensive posture, from someone who no longer understood the rules of the game. It took a moment for Harper to meet his gaze and when she did, for the first time since they met, James saw vulnerability in her hazel eyes. Under other circumstances, James would have loved to see the look: he had gotten to her, he’d said something that really hit home. If only he’d said something good. Rachel is not important, he wanted to confess. I want her to be, but she’s not. She’s not you.

“What I meant, Harper, is you’re the professional. If she suggests something and you like it, sure. But only if you like it. Remember, you’re the boss around here.”

If nothing else, at least Harper still had that. “Okay,” she agreed.

James had never seen her meek. More than anything he’d foolishly said, that reminded him this was Harper’s job. She wanted to do it well, but she also wanted to keep it and that meant keeping James happy. It also meant she had no idea what a fantastic job she was doing, that she was changing his life by changing this house.

He gave up on the paper, pulled his hands from the water and wiped them on his pants. Dry, he put one hand on the middle of her back. She had to look up at him. James said, “I trust you.” and hoped that Harper knew he never said that to anyone else.
____

Once they got to work, the awkwardness over Rachel seemed to melt away. Harper had never had such tall wallpapering help. She suggested James rent himself out to decorators in the off-season for just such a purpose. They unrolled the first sheet: she climbed the stepstool and held it from the top while James stood between her and the wall, smoothing it as he went. If he’d turned, it would be almost a repeat of that day they had nearly kissed. There was zero chance of that happening now. So they soaked another roll, hung it and moved on. Lunch was called in and by two in the afternoon, the entire accent wall was covered in dark and light blue, almost-brick patterned, pseudo-textured wallpaper.

“Nice work,” she said after examining it for flaws.

“You too. I love it.”

“And now I’ll get out so you can nap!” she said, whisking up drop cloths and supplies like she was glad for the excuse. James couldn’t stand the idea that she wanted to be away from him so badly.

“Do you want to come to the game?” he asked. Last time he’d played brilliantly and she’d had a blast. Maybe Harper was a good luck charm.

She turned, drop cloth under one arm, and looked at him. Any woman in her right mind would say yes. They would demand he take them to bed and skip his pre-game nap. Every part of her wanted to spend more time with James: her skin waited for him to brush against it, her eyes wanted to keep taking him in. Only her brain dissented, loudly enough to drown out the troops.

“I can’t tonight,” she said. “But thanks. Accomplished a lot today.”

Her refusal stung, reminding James it was his own fault Harper didn’t want to come to his games now. “Yeah. So, tomorrow?”

And Harper was all business again. Tomorrow they’d cut the dry wallpaper along the top and bottom, remove the rest of the room’s moulding and prep it to be painted. If they had time, she’d show him some furniture options. It all sounded very efficient and cold.

“Okay,” he replied.

The last time Harper said, ‘Bye, James.’ was Halloween - it had been late and dark, they’d been standing close for hours. He looked incredible in his Halloween costume, and she wasn’t bad either. She’d spent most of the night cheering at his game. That moment had been so ripe with promise and so passed up by both of them - it wasn’t coming back.

“Bye, James,” Harper said as she left.
____

Instead of Harper, Rachel came to the game. Rachel went to James’ place afterward, this time with her car and an overnight bag, and left for work before he did in the morning. When he came back from practice, one girl had been replaced by another and Harper was mixing paint upstairs.

“Hey there, eighteen,” she said, tossing a paint roller in his direction. It was meant to distract him while she took in the jeans and cozy sweater he was wearing. No such luck: James put aside the roller and pulled the sweater off. Between the way his biceps crossed his his chest, the solid six inches of flat abs revealed as his undershirt rode up and the extra tousle that sweater gave his hair, Harper was staring too openly to be missed.

Oh don’t start this, she thought. If James got all nonchalant around her, flashing more skin and smiles, she’d never make it through. Harper was counting on Rachel-induced boundaries to save them both. She felt bad for leaving so quickly yesterday, like she was mad at James when she wasn’t. Harper promised herself she’d behave better today.

James chucked the sweater and picked up the roller. Harper’s broken-in jeans had paint on them, something other girls probably paid extra for is designer shops. She wore a lemon yellow t-shirt tucked in just at the front, old sneakers and a ponytail. Everything about her was fresh and energetic. She looked like morning.

“Tell me what to do.”

Harper raised one eyebrow. “Finally, a man who knows his place.” She made him remove the moulding around the room’s ceiling. Once that was all down, then carefully trimmed the wallpaper to run floor to ceiling along the accent wall. Then they painted.

“You’re getting better at this,” Harper had to admit. Whereas painting a room had previously involved Harper admiring James while he tried and then ultimately re-doing most of his work, now James was actually painting. He used the proper V-shaped pattern to double-covered every surface event. That’s not to say Harer didn’t admire, just a little, as he did so.

Girlfriend, girlfriend, she repeated to herself. Things were better this way, really. James said he trusted her and at the same time he had no intention of pushing her against this wall and having his way with her. Harper had been more in limbo with the latter idea than she cared to admit, even after coming clean to Liam and Paige. This was better, if not easier. And it gave her brain license to roam.

He’s not that hot, she told herself as James carefully used his thumb to wipe a drop of paint from the wallpaper, sneakily looking over one shoulder to see if he’d been caught. Of course, he wasn’t ugly either, and he’d played well in the Pens game last night. Harper wondered if Rachel had been there, and been here at the house afterward. The idea still sizzled through her veins.

James used to think white was white. Now he knew white was a hundred shades, every one distinct, and every one of them better than the blank his walls had been before. Harper showed him that. He had the feeling there were a hundred shades of Harper too, from the enthusiastic girl who renovated his house to the sexy girl he’d gotten close to on Halloween, all the way through the vulnerable girl who’d heard him say he was seeing someone else. It hung over them even now: Rachel.

James liked Rachel. He wasn’t crazy about her, but he’d had plenty of crazy and it never did him any good. In a month he’d stayed out of trouble, off Twitter and mostly out of the coach’s office. Three small victories. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure his heart was back in one piece after the mess over Meghan. It made no sense to risk himself until the glue dried. And yet Harper’s presence, just across the room whisking paint onto a wall like it was her superpower, reminded James of everything he might someday have if he were ready to put it all on the line again.

When I’m ready, he rephrased.

The paint was up by dinner. James offered to order in but Harper declined. Instead they cleaned the day’s supplies and left the room as it was. Just like that, time ran out. But instead of letting Harper just go as he had the night before, he made a bold move. His emotions were up: sad he couldn’t have her, sorry he wasn’t ready, proud that he’d at least told her the truth. For all that, James thought they both deserved a little reprieve. He opened his arms, unsure for a moment, until Harper walked right into his embrace.

Harper couldn’t help it. She was happy for James: his house was coming together, his game was going well and maybe even his life was too. That had been her goal back before she lost perspective on this project. But if James’ life was so good with some other girl, why was he so tall and warm and holding her so tight? Unable to resist, she settled into his embrace like curling up in a blanket.

“Good luck on your road trip,” she said. The Pens were due in Toronto, Detroit and Chicago before coming home in a week. “This will be done when you get back.”

“It’s going so fast,” he said, wishing he could somehow slow their progress while keeping them working together, side by side.

“You waited so long, don’t you wish you hadn’t?” Harper asked.
____

It was like vacation for Harper, with James gone. She did a second coat of paint, reinstalled the moulding and drank a beer while the furniture she ordered was delivered. That queen mattress went easily onto the new frame with headboard, and the stark contrast of white against the blue papered wall accentuated the curves of the woodwork. Nothing was too pricey, but Harper knew how to make it look like a million bucks. Side tables, a new dresser in distressed, bleached wood that was almost gray - it gave the whole room a nautical, driftwood feel. She even ordered a print from Etsy to be framed above the bed: an anchor in navy, red and white.

The Pens won in Toronto. James didn’t have any points, but Harper remembered he was from an hour away and wondered if his family travelled there to see him play. Maybe his friends were all there, cheering him on, waiting for him to cover their bar tab afterward. She smiled at the idea - James had a wild streak, she just hadn’t seen it yet.
____

In Toronto, James passed a round of shots to his friends and listened as someone made a bawdy toast about sisters and teachers or whatever. He was thinking that last year, Meghan would have been among the faces celebrating James’ stop in Toronto. Now she was on Long Island, celebrating someone else. The Pens were due to play the Isles in Pittsburgh shortly and James hadn’t talked to Meghan in a while. Assuming she’d still take his calls, of course.

No place they traveled loved hockey players like Toronto. They might be revered in Montreal, but James never fit in there. Vancouver was too easy, too full of chicks without panties at the Roxy. Toronto, though, was the place he’d always thought of as “the city.” When his team rolled into town, friends and family pouring in from the suburbs, James used to feel like he owned the place. Many an epic night had transpired. Now he watched some of the younger guys live it up and finished a beer. Then when Crosby went back to the hotel, so did James.

Detroit was different, their next stop on the road trip. That was twice this year already. The Wings were both older and rebuilding, moved into the Eastern Conference for the sake of balance. The Penguins beat their once back-to-back Cup Final opponents easily. Something about that changing of that guard made James feel old and unsure about his own life in Pittsburgh.

He did have a life in Pittsburgh, though - now more than ever. He missed his house. He missed the comfy couch and pretty kitchen and even the rooms that weren’t decorated, James missed their promise. But mostly he missed Harper.

So he called Rachel.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“It’s Kristen’s birthday, we are going out! I got a new dress. Also work was shit today so I’m trying to forget it. How is... Detroit, right?”

“Yeah,” James said, nodding because she usually didn’t know where they were. “Good game last night, got to see my mom and dad.”

“They came to Michigan?” she asked.

He paused. “No, last night we were in Toronto. They drove in - it’s about an hour from their house. My house.”

He could hear someone talking in the background behind Rachel. “Oh yeah, right. I saw that you guys won. Congrats! Fun to win in front of your family!”

James could tell she wanted to say more, to compliment his play but that Rachel had no idea if he’d played well or not. She didn’t know if he’d scored. In fact she hadn’t watched a second of it.

“Well, happy birthday to Kristen, okay? Buy a round on me. And Rach? Text me a picture. I bet you look great.”

She giggled, and James felt it on his skin like silk. “Oh I’ll send you a few.”
____

Playing in Chicago sucked. Unless you’re a Blackhawk, James assumed. The building was deafening, dripping with history and had the best pre-game show in the League. It was intimidating enough to face a defending Stanley Cup Champ, but two wins in four years? He thought expectations in Pittsburgh were high.

Halfway through the second period, James took a high stick from Duncan Keith in the face. He lifted his head to see blood - his blood - like tiny red pearls on the ice. The ref blew the whistle and James was ushered off. It was just his nose, smacked around and bleeding. The trainer stuffed it, wiped it and sent him back out to no avail: the Pens lost 3-1. After the game and a slow, tired shower, James pulled his phone from his bag.

Harper: You okay?

Nothing from Rachel.

James: Ugly, but numb.

Harper: So I should be talking to your friend Rob instead? He did give me his number....

James’ head snapped around hard enough to restart his nosebleed. Bortuzzo was trying in vain to windsor his tie - he kept pulling the short end and undoing the entire thing. Finally he left it open around his neck with a creative curse.

James: I just punched him so we match.

Harper: I’ll go take all the mirrors out of your house right now.

James smiled at the joke, imagining Harper driving to his house late night and pulling down fixtures before the Penguins plane could land. He almost wanted to her to do, just so he could say, Wait there for me. Be there when I get home. He wondered what she’d do if he asked. It would be so easy to send the text, not have to actually look at her and form the words. What if she said yes? What if her reply was simply: Hurry.

“Yo, Nealer. You coming or you wanna stay here and get your face busted again?” Nisky called from the doorway. The locker room was empty save for James and the equipment cart. Matt gave James a look that said he knew exactly who James was texting and why he was lost in some daydream. James jammed the phone into his pocket.

Three hours later, well after two in the morning, James shouldered through his front door. He’d gotten used to the gorgeous living room greeting him on arrival. His bag hit the floor with a thump and he dragged himself up the stairs. Another round of painkillers waited in his pocket to be taken before going to sleep. The nose wasn’t broken, didn’t look too bad. He passed the door to the guest bedroom, stopped and went back.

“Wow,” he said out loud. Harper had not only finished the room, she had transformed it. The wallpaper was a loud pop of color and depth. White furniture brought out colors James hadn’t noticed in the pattern while hanging it: light blues and grays. She’d rigged the lights to include a bedside lamp and installed a dimmer too. The comforter was covered by a fresh white duvet with a bright red blanket folded over the foot of the bed. It matched the print of an anchor she’d hung above the headboard.

Anchor. He’d wanted to think of Harper that way since meeting her, since promising himself he wouldn’t get carried away as he had with Meghan. So far, it had pretty much worked. How fitting she’d hang that picture in here, though she didn’t even know.

James thought about how no one slept there. All this work into a room no one ever used. Even as he was thinking it, James was stripping off his suit and falling exhausted between the sheets.
____

James wasn’t sure he was awake when he opened his eyes, because Harper was there. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a wine-colored sweater with hair swept back from her face. Then instead of smiling at him, she winced.

Not dreaming, James knew.

“How’s your nose?”

He groaned, rolling onto his back. He’d kept his t-shirt on, barely making it out of his suit before tumbling into a deep sleep. Sun peeked in the windows, illuminating the guest room around him.

“You tell me. How’s it look?”

“Well you said ugly, but numb, so....”

James gingerly felt his face, grimacing. “Not numb anymore. There are two painkillers in my pocket, could you hand me my jacket?” He sat up a little, a dull ache that originated in his face moving through his head. This was not at all he’d pictured waking up to Harper for the first time.

Harper hid her smile. She’d let herself in, calling for James, but no answer. It was so quiet she thought he’d gone to Rachel’s, but for the bag inside the front door. She was just going to see if his bedroom door was closed, since Rachel could just as well be here, when she found just one lump in the bed in the newly finished guest room. James was curled onto his side, faint discoloration around his nose but otherwise looking like an adorable, sleepy hedgehog. He had a shirt on and she’d been unable to resist sitting down next to him. It was all Harper could do not to run her fingers through his hair. Rachel was missing out, she thought, on one of the few times James would probably ever let someone take care of him.

“It’s not that bad,” she passed him the coat. “Good thing you were alright looking to start with.”

James swallowed the painkillers dry and gave her a little grin. “You’re going to charge me for saying that, aren’t you?”

“Oh your itemized receipt will be a hundred pages long,” Harper promised. She gestured at the room around them. “What do you think of this?”

“Looks so good I had to sleep here,” he shrugged. “Really, it’s awesome. I might have to get a roommate, it’s too nice to leave it empty all the time. Two roommates, I guess, since....”

Sitting at the edge of James’ bed and seeing him sleep was very platonic and protective for Harper - she’d been worried since the game about how he’d be feeling. It wasn’t like the Pens had won to make it worthwhile. Now that he was sitting up and talking - still in bed - with his hair all mussed and warm blankets everywhere, Harper knew she wasn’t ready to tackle the project of his bedroom. Or any other room with a bed. Thinking about it made her heart race.

“Before we do that, I have an idea. The schedule says you’ve got home games Friday and Saturday after Thanksgiving, so I assume you’re not going home.”

“No, that’s a big weekend. Canadian Thanksgiving is in October anyway, so there’s nothing special on at home.”

Harper made a face. “October? That’s dumb. But I was thinking - what if we did the dining room next and then you could host Thanksgiving here? You said that you loved that most about home, a big, busy kitchen with people around, all that food. This place could be ready. And you can order in everything from Whole Foods.”

“Yeah?” James processed the idea like he was translating it from French. “ I guess I could. Some of the guys have family stuff but the rest usually go wherever. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“Well you’ve been working really hard and the house looks amazing, if I do say so myself. Maybe you want to show it off a little.” James had mentioned the project to the guys she’d met, and she’d been talking it up to Anne and Craig. People were as curious as they were impressed that James was actually doing it. Harper wanted him to be proud of the house and proud of himself.

“Okay. We have what, two weeks?”

“Ten days.” She patted the blanket. “So you need to get up.”
____

James felt like Crate and Barrell was becoming his regular hangout. He used to spend this much time in bars, but for the second day in a row he and Harper were looking at dining room tables.

“You are being impossible,” he said. She laughed, per usual. “You are the decorator, you pick it.”

“Nope, this is where we see what you’ve learned over the last two months. My only stipulation is that it be natural, kind of farmhouse-style. I hate really modern dining rooms. We are not on the Starship Enterprise.”

After all the pictures and ideas they had poured over, James had to agree. That’s why they were back at the same store, considering chairs. It turned out the kind of chairs impacted the selection of a table, which in turn moved every other piece of the room. His dining room was a fairly wide rectangle, partially open along one side to the living room. It didn’t have to match the gray, white and red of the living room, but James was leaning that way.

“I like these.” The chairs he pointed to were simple, wooded with a medium height slatted back and a comfortable seat. They came in an array of finishes. He pointed to a nearby dining table from another display. It was simple and sturdy oak with wide legs at the corners only, in a weathered grey finish. It looked like a hundred dinners had been enjoyed there before.

“Thank God,” Harper said dramatically. “I was going to die if you didn’t pick that table.”

“Why didn’t you say?!”

“It’s your house!” She’d repeated that a zillion times. “But if I may suggest, get the chairs in blue. It pulls the gray from the living room and blue from the kitchen and bam, middle ground in the middle of the ground floor.” She didn’t mention the blue matched the hoodie he was currently wearing, which gave his eyes the most incredible clear-water vacation look.

“Oh now you want to help?” he teased.

“No, I want to make you think all this was your idea. Now, this table seats eight. Is that enough for your dinner? It says we we can custom order a ten top.”

“No, eight is right.” James had talked to the single guys at practice - there weren’t as many as there used to be - and most had accepted. “It’s me, Beau, Borts, Paul and Sid. Plus Rachel,” he said a little more quietly, “and she asked to bring her friend Kristen.”

“So seven. Perfect. Delivery takes....”

“Plus you is eight,” James said. Harper looked at him a little blankly. “Wait, are you not coming?”

“Am I?”

“You have to. What? Do you have plans? Oh my God,” James closed his eyes, feeling stupid. “Of course you do. You’re American. It’s Thanksgiving.”

Suddenly faced with the idea of doing an entire Thanksgiving, minus the actual cooking, without Harper, James wanted to back out. He’d just assumed she would be there since the whole thing was her idea. But it wasn’t her house and it was almost finished, and she wouldn’t always be around. Her work would be there though and everyone admiring it and James having to explain what they’d done and why....

“James,” Harper grabbed his arm. “I can come. I’ll be here.”

He practically wiped panic sweat from his brow. “Good. Okay. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said.
_____

For a big deal, it came together pretty easily. Harper and James gave the dining room walls a fresh coat of white paint with an almost pearlescent finish, as if the sun were somehow shining into the room at all times. She installed wainscotting up to waist height, with a band of blue along the top curve and a more matte finish white to the floor, lifting the light in the room. The hardwood floors were already polished and sealed. For creativity, she bought single lights made from cut and frosted wine bottles and hung a row of four, evenly spaced, over where the table would go. The window got a gauzy white treatment with faint blue victorian print. Two days before Thanksgiving, the delivery team brought in the table, freed it from the packaging and then Harper and James arranged the eight blue chairs. It was simple, almost beachy in it’s simplicity - just wood and light and splashes of color, waiting for food to arrive.

“I need to come up with a new way to say ‘I love this room’,” James said.

Harper wadded up a roll of bubble wrap and stuffed it into his arms. “Nah, I’m not tired of it yet.”
____

Notes

So sorry I didn't get this chapter up before leaving on my no-computer vacation. I'll post another chapter tomorrow to make up for the wait! - J