The Return

They didn't stay to order pie.

Julian paid the waitress a twenty-dollar tip just for letting them use the booth, grabbed the handles of Harper's two massive, heavy suitcases, and led her back out into the night.

The rain had softened from a torrential downpour to a quiet, steady drizzle. The urban streets, previously imposing and dark, now reflected the glowing streetlights in a thousand shimmering puddles.

Harper walked beside him, her hand tucked securely into the crook of his arm. The sapphire ring felt heavy and solid on her finger, a tangible anchor tying her to the man she loved. She wasn't an ugly duckling. She wasn't an imposter trying to fit into a sleek, glamorous world. She was Harper, and she was exactly where she belonged.

They reached the brick apartment building, hauled the suitcases up the four flights of stairs, and stood in front of their door.

Julian pulled out his keys. He unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open. The apartment was exactly as she had left it—warm, slightly cluttered, smelling of roasted coffee and cedarwood.

Julian set the suitcases down in the foyer. He turned to Harper, wrapping his arms securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

"Welcome home," Julian murmured, burying his face in her damp hair.

Harper wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him with a fierce, unbreakable grip. She looked past his shoulder, out the window at the city lights blinking through the rain.

"It's good to be home," she smiled, finally believing it.