Read on for a special bonus scene bridging the gap between to Heart Check and the latest book in Emily Charlotte’s Varsity series, Catching Feelings! (WARNING: Spoilers ahead for Heart Check!)
HARPER
“Did Ryan’s house get smaller?” I squint at the long drive leading up to the Thompsons’. It’s packed with cars, and even more line the road. The spring breeze sprinkles them with white blossoms from the trees above, and everything flowering in the early evening perfumes the air. Every time someone opens the front door, music and voices leak out, but none of the neighbors seem to mind. Maybe they have summer fever, too.
Dawson’s laugh rumbles through me. “Maybe you got taller.”
I wrinkle my nose as I tilt my head up even more comically than usual—it’s still fun pretending not to enjoy the warmth of his arm around my shoulders, his protective bulk hovering over me. “Unlikely.”
His gaze softens. “Or maybe it’s just that you’re more comfortable here?”
I heave a sigh. “If you’d told ninth grade Harper that she’d one day be comfortable at Ryan Thompson’s house, that would blow your time travel story immediately. Straight to the psychiatrist.”
But it’s true. As I let Dawson tug me up the steps after him, laughing and shaking his head, I have to admit he’s right. Where I used to resent the hockey team’s visits to the Lakeside, I now enjoy the chance to steal a few minutes from my shift to chat with them. I went to every home game this season, and—thanks to Ryan—the team started to refer to me as Good Luck Charm Harper.
(“Get it?” he’d asked, grinning. “Beads? Charm? But, like, good luck charm? Because you—” Dawson had cut him off with knuckles to his scalp before he could belabor the point, because yeah, we got it.)
I haven’t been back to the Thompsons’ since the Black Friday party, but the prospect of walking into a group of hockey players is… familiar.
Weird.
When we open the door, the guys surround me just as much as Dawson. Ryan wheels toward us with his arms wide open; a cowboy hat inexplicably perches on his head, and he carries a drink in each hand. Based on the flush painting his cheeks and the daring number of buttons open on his shirt, I have a feeling he’s had one or two of his own already. “Dawson! Braedon! Come in! Have a drink!”
Dawson meets my eyes with a spark. “Want me to DD?”
I flush nearly as pink as Ryan at the reminder. “I seem to remember Ryan has some couches to crash on…”
Dawson drops a kiss on the crown of my head as he accepts both drinks, and the warmth of it trickles through my whole body. It’s a memory, and a promise, and even the thought of him leaving for the Steel soon doesn’t put a damper on the spark I feel tonight. We’ve survived junior year and all its horrors—academic and otherwise—and we have a whole summer together.
I lead the way into the living room, which is overflowing with Hawks. No Noah, thank goodness—I guess he had some senior party to go to—but Brady opted for Ryan’s along with the rest of the team. No surprise there. He wraps me in a bear hug, and it takes a minute for me to unfreeze.
Sam stands behind him, grinning quietly. “How was your math final, Dawson?”
“Aced it,” Dawson says confidently. I glow with pride. “Thanks to your tips.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Hey!”
“And your strict task-mastering,” he amends.
I scowl. “How quickly you replaced your tutor…”
“Oh, baby.” He leans toward me, grin turning wolfish. My stomach flips. “I could never replace you.”
“Okay, okay, we get it, you’re obsessed with each other.” Marissa grabs my hand and tugs me onto the couch beside her, Max, and Alex. “Old news! Hamilton Lakes has got to get some new romantic drama!”
“I thought that was a waste of brain cells and breath?”
“Well, yes.” She waves a dismissive hand. “But I can’t exactly keep the gossip column feeling fresh if it’s just updates about how you two were 97% in love yesterday and today you’re at 98%!”
“Gossip column?” I frown.
Dawson perches on the arm of the couch, handing me my drink and then reaching for my free hand to interlace our fingers. The way they always seem to be, these days. “You better check your facts, Marissa. Pretty sure it was 100% yesterday, and 100% today, and it’ll be 100%—”
“I told you, we get it.” Marissa tries to scowl, but even she can’t help the softness in her eyes.
“It kind of reminds me of the new romantic fantasy we were just discussing.” Max holds up the book that—of course—he has brought to this party.
“The premise is overdone,” Alex says, waving a hand.
“Not if it’s never been done gay,” Max insists. “Harper, you have to read it. You’ll have some spare time now that school’s out, right?”
“Text me the title.” I don’t exactly have an open summer, but I’m dying to get back to reading for fun now that I’ve secured the grant I need and can take some time off from hustling nonstop. I’ve even taken a break from my motivational podcast routine.
Speaking of motivational podcasts.
“Harper!” Sabrina cries as she blasts into the room. “At last! I need my foosball partner!”
I laugh. “I just sat down—”
“Foosball!” she cries, pointing at me emphatically. “You promised!”
I look her over a little more carefully. She’s immaculate as always in a checkered gingham sundress, hair in a bouncy high pony and lips painted a glossy pink. But her eyes are a little too bright, her voice a little too loud. If I didn’t know better, I’d think something was going on.
But Sabrina’s the most put-together person I know.
I frown. Before I can ask her what’s going on, Dawson holds up our interlaced hands. “If she’s playing foosball, she’s my partner,” he teases. “You stole her last time before I even had a chance to discover her hidden talents!”
“You know how competitive he is.” I roll my eyes affectionately. Then I tilt my head up at him with a smile. “And we do make a pretty good team.”
Dawson drops a soft kiss on my lips this time, and a thrill ripples over me at the delivery on his earlier promise. When we part, I glance sheepishly back at Sabrina just in time to see something flash across her face. Okay, definitely not imagining that there’s something up.
But all she says is a soft, “you really do. Who am I to pull that apart?”
I frown. “Are you—”
She’s already turning away. “New idea. Slideshow time!” she announces to the rest of the party. Her announcement is met by whoops and cheers so loud that I’m sure those previously chill neighbors will definitely have something to say.
As Sabrina marches toward the Thompsons’ giant TV, I turn to Dawson. “Slideshow?”
“Yearly tradition,” he says. “Everyone puts in one of their favorite memories from the year. Some people go earnest, some go silly, and there’s always at least one of—”
“I’ll get the shirtless Ryan shots!” Brady calls.
“—of Ryan without a shirt,” Dawson finishes. “Sabrina started it freshman year. One of her best ideas yet. I like that it reminds me of all the smaller moments I might have forgotten.”
I snuggle deeper into his side. “Sounds like a nice way to end the year.”
Sam dims the lights, Brady sets a tray of shots on the coffee table, and the next thing I know, that one song that plays at every graduation is booming over the speakers.
A photo of the guys winning the championship game, a gigantic grinning huddle with Dawson in the center. Brady sniffs audibly when it comes onscreen.
A photo of the Hawks mascot from behind, wearing its gigantic feathery mask… and nothing else as it streaks across the football field as part of the senior prank. (Not caught, not exposed—well, no more exposed than planned—and still a total mystery.)
Ryan at the baseball team’s senior night, chest painted blue.
“Drink!” the room cheers as one.
A photo of Marissa wearing a paper crown and pointing gleefully at Logan. (A celebration of her editor-in-chief win, of course.)
A photo of Dawson and I skating hand-in-mittened-hand. I think Alex took this one, but neither of us is looking at him. We’re both smiling at each other.
“We might need new rules,” Ryan calls. “Shot for every time Dawson and Harper stare longingly into each other’s eyes!”
The next shot is of a Lakeside Diner booth holding twice as many people as it was ever meant to. And, like a Where’s Waldo game, Dawson and I are pressed into the corner with eyes for no one but each other.
“Drink!” someone cries.
“Double drink!” Marissa juts a finger at the screen. “Ryan, have you ever heard of no shoes, no shirt, no service?”
“Rules like that are for ugly people,” he fires back without missing a beat.
She almost chokes. “You can’t just say things like that.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Put it in the gossip column, baby.”
The slides are advancing, each one bringing back another memory. Raucous games and late nights at the diner, study sessions that devolved into food fights, skating dates and concerts and movie nights. Above all, I remember doing so much laughing. The kind of laughter you only get when you’re really among friends.
I’m glad I got to know Dawson for a lot of reasons. But most of all, I’m grateful for being a part of this ride-or-die circle.
But something makes me frown. “Sabrina, you’re not in any of these.”
She shrugs. “Perils of being the photographer, I guess.” But I can’t quite believe that—did she not include any of herself? Or is it true that she’s behind the scenes so much that her memories are never captured? The thought combined with her strange edge tonight makes me suddenly, deeply sad. And a little worried. “No big deal!” she adds. “Plenty of memories still to make!”
“I’ll give you memories!” Ryan exclaims.
The next thing I know, he’s leaping atop the coffee table. It’s a good thing everyone’s taken so many shots already, I guess, but also maybe a bad thing, because Ryan’s swiveling his hips to Green Day and slowly undoing the final valiant buttons on his shirt. No more shots to do, I think dimly. But then Ryan’s swiveling his hips and holding out his hand to Sabrina, and maybe that distraction is exactly what she needs tonight, because she’s grasping it with a laugh.
I turn to Dawson with my eyebrows raised. “Should we give them some space?”
His mouth twitches in a suppressed grin. “I mean, they did choose the middle of a very crowded room—”
But I’m already tugging him toward the doorway and through the hall to Ryan’s expansive backyard. Last time I was at one of these parties, Noah was practicing his slapshot out here—but tonight, it’s quiet and starlit and perfumed with apple blossoms.
As soon as the door closes behind us, I twine my arms around Dawson’s neck. The drinks are already going to my head, but that’s not why I bend toward him. It’s the kiss on the head, and the peck on the cheek, and the promise of summer. “I want to make some memories, too,” I whisper.
Dawson bends toward me until we’re only a breath apart. “Did you see how many shots people had to take in there?” he murmurs.
I furrow my brow. “I didn’t mean memories about Ryan—”
“Me either,” he interrupts. “I meant the number of times I was looking longingly at you.”
All these months later, he still makes me catch my breath. “Yeah?” I murmur.
“Mhm.” He bends his head toward mine, his eyelashes brushing against my temple as he tucks my hair behind my ears. “You don’t have to ask me to make memories, Harper. We’re not going to stop doing that as long as I have anything to say about it.”
And that’s it for me. I tilt my head the way that’s quickly becoming second-nature, pressing my lips to his in a kiss both promise and fulfillment. A kiss to start a summer, and a kiss for every season to come.I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to having Luke Dawson’s arm draped around me in one of the booths at the Lakeside Diner.
It’s even busier than usual in the wake of the season’s final game. Lindsey originally gave Dawson a hard time about working tonight, twisting up her mouth skeptically. “I don’t know, I’ve been picking up a lot of shifts for you… We don’t really have the staff to keep the floor full without you and Harper tonight…”
“Lindsey,” Dawson groaned. “I swear I’ll never ask you for another favor. Just one night to celebrate.”
“To celebrate what? Being league champs?” Her brow furrows deepened. “Doesn’t seem like such a big deal to me. Dime a dozen.”
Before Dawson can lay out his own sister, I stepped forward, clasping my hands in a desperate plea. “Lindsey. If you won’t do it for your smelly hockey player brother—which, I mean, fair—do it for me. The best waitress you’ve ever hired.”
She fell silent at that. “Well. Can’t argue with you there. But I will be squeezing you both for all the shifts you’re worth this spring.”
“Done.” Dawson had turned his sunny grin first on her, then on me.
As he is now, taking my breath away right here in the eye of the hurricane that is the diner in the wake of the game. Waiters are flying between tables, delivering onion rings and fries and coffee and hot chocolate. Everyone’s in blue and white—though with the weather starting to warm with the start of spring, attire varies from coats and jackets to very optimistic skirts and shorts—and the diner roars with the enthusiasm of a crowd that’s just seen their team absolutely decimate the reigning champions.
Max and Alex sit in the booth across from us, bubbling with conversation. “I can’t believe how much time you got on the ice today,” Max is saying. A proud grin splits his face. “Is there an award for most improved? Because you for sure would get it.”
“Is that a way of saying I started the season really bad?” Alex asks dryly.
“No!” Max’s face falls. “Just that you’re really, really good now! Trust me, I would never have dated a bad hockey player. There’s no fun in that.”
“That’s what they all say,” Ryan interrupts breezily from his spot on the end. “Good thing there aren’t many bad players around tonight.” He and Alex smack hands in a high five without even looking at each other.
Marissa, standing over him nursing her decaf (she said she was just “dropping by” but “couldn’t stay”), rolls her eyes. “I don’t know… Your stats were down in this game, Thompson.”
“Thompson?” Max’s eyes widen. “What are you, a jock now? I have some really good book recommendations if you—”
She ignores him. “More intercepted passes than usual. Something have you off your game?”
Ryan just raises an eyebrow, arms stretched across the back of the booth. “You been paying attention to me, Lisa Frank?”
“Just trying to diversify my portfolio. Gotta be conversational about athletics in this town.”
“You going to follow baseball next?” He grins. “Gonna be a good season, let me tell you…”
Marissa crinkles her nose. “I was planning on it, but honestly, tonight is kind of hitting my quota for time with you.”
Sabrina pops up, laughing, from her spot beside me. Her cheekbones shimmer with glitter, though she looks a little paler than usual. Like she hasn’t been sleeping enough. I frown. She’s been working awfully hard to publicize the end of the season, but I should probably check in on her. Before I can do anything, she’s flitting toward the jukebox, calling over her shoulder, “She’s got you there, Ryan!”
But peacemaker that she is, she’s soon got a bop-y dance tune playing over the speakers, and Ryan’s sliding out of the booth to join her. She rolls her eyes at him but offers her hand without complaint, and soon half the diner is dancing in the aisles like this is some kind of Disney movie.
Only Sabrina.
The merriment softens even Noah, who catches my eye from across the diner and gives me a begrudging nod.
We’ll never be friends, but after Dawson knocked some sense into him—quite literally—in the Northview game, he realized it was either get on board or face some serious awkwardness on the team. And when I stuck around, cheering Dawson on at every game, and the team’s performance only got better… well, I guess he realized I wasn’t the number one hockey hater he’d always thought I was.
A surprise to you and me both, bud.
I sink deeper into Dawson’s arms, letting out a tiny sigh of contentment. The knit of his sweater is soft against my arms, and when he rests his chin gently atop my head, I feel like I’m cocooned in the safest place in the world. His freshly-showered scent surrounds me, his laugh rumbling through his chest when Max makes another joke about hockey boyfriends, and I pinch myself once again.
The last few weeks have been far more magical than I ever would have imagined. I’ve done my homework and updated my website in the bleachers of the hockey stadium while he finishes practice; he’s willingly offered his hands for packing jewelry orders and his eyes for opinions on graphic design. We’ve studied together—only occasionally getting distracted by capybaras and the other cute animal videos he’s trained his algorithm to deliver—and he’s now leading the pack in math. Even burning the candle at both ends is somehow more doable with his companionship, and I think he feels the same way.
But we’ve made time for fun, too. We’ve closed the diner together dozens of times, and being stuck late with him was no longer the worst fate I could possibly imagine. And with a few more skating lessons, I’m actually getting to the point where I can make it around the rink without falling. (But can you blame a girl if she still has a few “accidental” tumbles?)
I hum to myself as my memory replays the reel, and Dawson’s arms tighten around me in a tiny, subconscious hug.
It’s in this moment that I realize:
Maybe I could get used to this.
Maybe I am getting used to this.
“What’re you going to do with all your free time?” Alex asks, dipping a fry in his chocolate milkshake. “That’s a lot of hours if you’re not on the rink every spare minute.”
“He has to keep his conditioning up still.” Max frowns. “He can’t get out of shape. Honestly, Alex, it’s like you know nothing about this game.”
Dawson grins. “I don’t know. We should make a bucket list or something, huh? What do you want to do before senior year?”
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Ooh. Pull an all-nighter in the library?”
“That’s your idea of romance?”
I ignore him. “Do a beach day at the lake. An 80s movie marathon! Oh, I’ve always wanted to play a massive school-wide game of assassins… think we could pull that off? I bet with Sabrina’s help, we could. That girl’s never met a project she couldn’t organize.”
“And maybe a road trip? There’s lots of cool stuff to see in Chicago…” His voice is light, but my muscles tense up despite my best efforts.
As if on cue, Coach Dan stops by the table just at that moment. Alex and Max clear out, ducking their heads respectfully and heading for the dance party.
Dan’s looked less tired lately—I guess having a winning team will do that to a guy. Fewer circles under his eyes, less five o’clock shadow on his chin. I even catch Shannon Bittle casting him an appreciative glance from the counter.
Dawson straightens up immediately. “Coach.”
Coach Dan extends his hand, and the two shake briskly. They’ve developed a strong bond in the last few months as he trains Dawson to take over team leadership.
Better choice than Noah, that’s for sure.
“I won’t interrupt long, but I thought I’d bring you one last piece of good news tonight.” His grin twitches at the corner of his mouth. “The Steel’s coach confirmed that there’s a spot for you if you want it. They’d love to have you on the team next year.” The grin breaks free. “Congratulations, Dawson.”
Dawson stares at him for a moment, jaw hanging open. When Coach Dan realizes no words are forthcoming for the foreseeable future, he just claps him on the shoulder.
“I’ll leave you to celebrate. That was one helluva season.”
With that, Coach Dan heads to the counter (Shannon Bittle scoots over to leave a very inviting spot beside her) After a long, speechless moment, Dawson finally turns to me, blinking hard. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes! Come on, you knew it was coming!” A riot of emotions dances in even my gut—a wave of overwhelming pride, and excitement at the path this puts him on, and… yeah, a tiny twinge of grief.
But I immediately shove my own feelings aside. If I’m feeling overwhelmed, I can’t imagine everything going on for him. This is what he’s been working toward all year, long before we started dating. He helped me achieve my goals without blinking—there’s no way I won’t be there for him while he does the same.
So I wrap my arms around him and give him the tightest squeeze I can, hoping my voice sounds normal when I say, “Congratulations, Luke. You really did it!”
He leans back to look at me more carefully, biting his lip. “Thanks.”
I frown. Okay, I’m no actor, but I thought I did a pretty good job seeming totally unconflicted. “Aren’t you happy?”
“I guess. I mean, yeah, of course I am.” His gaze is cloudy, and I silently lace my fingers through his, waiting for him to figure out how to tell me what’s going on. “I just… I don’t know, it’s weird. I’ve spent the last few weeks finding a way to be happy even when I’m not achieving things and making people proud and shit. I’ve been really happy just… being with you.”
I tuck myself back under his arm, doing a terrible job of hiding just how much that sentiment makes me blush. In this moment, I’m pretty sure I could ask him to reorganize his priorities. To keep being happy just being with me. To turn down the Steel, and be captain of the Hawks, and keep packing orders and doing math homework by my side.
But the thought brings me no joy. Only a twisted, hollow sense of regret.
These past few months, I’ve seen just how much he puts into this game. How much it matters to him. How much he loves it—even more now that he’s not carrying as much pressure on his shoulders as he used to.
He’s finally finding a way to love the game and take care of himself, too. I can’t ask him to give that up. Right now, I need to be the one who encourages him to follow his dreams.
The same way he’s done for me.
“Come on.” I keep my voice playful. “I’m glad you’ve found a way to be fulfilled even when you’re not top scorer, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do both. You love hockey, right?”
He frowns. “Yeah,” he mutters, as if it’s something to be ashamed of.
“That’s what I thought. No one who doesn’t love it plays like you did tonight.”
Dawson’s watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before, and I’ve seen a lot in the last few months. Frustrated desire. Goofy happiness. Unshakeable pride. But this one is something… softer. Something vulnerable. The way you look at someone who you need to be the brave one, the one to help you do what you need to do.
We might not have been together long, but we’ve been through a whole lot more than some couples. And if it hadn’t been for our own prejudices and preconceived ideas, we might have been together even longer than that.
We can do this. As long as we do it together.
“We’ll make it work. After all…” I wave the napkin in the air. “We have a bucket list, don’t we? And I bet we can add all sorts of Chicago stuff to it. See the Bean! Go to some used bookstores—I hear they have great ones! See the Impressionist wing at the Art Institute! Go to a Cubs game!” I scribble notes on the napkin, then look up at him triumphantly. “There. Now you have to go. There’s no way we can do all of that in one road trip.”
He shakes his head slowly, but he’s smiling in something like awe. Then he bends to kiss me, so slow and deep that Ryan whistles at us from across the diner.
When he finally pulls back, he’s grinning.
“Give me that napkin. I think it’s still missing something important.”
Before I can protest, he’s scribbled a final item at the bottom. He passes it across to me, and I frown to decipher it.
“Complete inventory in the…” I look up, biting back a laugh.
He’s grinning too, already grabbing my hand to drag me out of the booth behind him. “Lindsey really seemed to need some help tonight, don’t you think? The least we can do is be sure the walk-in freezer is stocked.”
I interlace my fingers through his, memorizing the warmth of his grip. “We wouldn’t want to be negligent employees.”
“Never. In fact, I think I’d better be sure it’s stocked every week.”
As we fall through the door, propping a can in the gap to ensure we don’t end up locked in here for good once again, his hands are already in my hair, his hips pressing me against the wall. I don’t even feel the cold.
Before his mouth covers mine, I murmur, “A tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”