Harpers Coming Of Age

CHAPTER ONE

My twenty-first birthday turned out to be magical for more reasons than one. It was the night I officially stepped over the line into adulthood and joined my sister Zoe and her intimate cadre of close friends for a night on the town.

It was also the night I first encountered Riley Maddux.

Seven of us had just spilled out of a local bar, along with a few moments of its raucous music that, just like us, polluted the peacefulness of the spring night. The cool evening air hit me as I exited the building, making me cross my arms in a gentle hug and wish that I'd thought to bring a light sweater. It was uncommon for it to feel that way in Georgia in late May, but a boisterous thunderstorm had hit while we'd been inside, with a predicted cool front moving in behind it—not that I'd bothered checking the weather beforehand. If I had, I'd have brought a sweater.

I was standing off to the side, observing my sister and her friends as they drunkenly interacted with good-natured frivolity. Zoe and her longtime boyfriend, Brandon, embraced each other tightly, as if they were still dancing inside. Zoe had her head laid against Brandon's chest with a blissful look on her face. Brandon dipped his head and kissed the top of hers as he pulled her in tighter.

That the pair were deeply in love was evident to everyone around them. It was even more apparent to me, because I'd lived with them since my mother's passing—almost three years, then.

Zoe had taken care of me while my mother worked and dealt with her sickness. By the time I was five, the two of us had become nearly inseparable, and even once Zoe had reached her early teenage years, she'd never shut me out. Her friends had just come to accept her precocious little sister sitting quietly in the corner while she'd unobtrusively read. They'd adjusted their behavior accordingly whenever I'd been around because they'd known that to do otherwise would mean incurring Zoe's wrath.

It was Zoe who'd been there when I'd hit puberty and had had my first period; it was she who'd helped me prepare for my first date when I was sixteen—she'd come all the way home from college during a busy time in her senior year to do that. Zoe had been the one who'd held me as I'd cried at our mother's bedside after she'd lost her long battle with cancer.

By then, she'd already been living with Brandon Davis in a small two-bedroom house that he'd inherited from his late grandmother. The ramshackle residence had been falling apart when Brandon had first taken possession of the property, but over the years, he'd redone it all, including a sizable addition that included a second bathroom and an expansive new kitchen. Brandon took great pride in his construction skills. The only thing he put more effort into was his relationship with my sister.

Brandon was tall and solidly built, with a good head of hair and a handsome face. He was an excellent entrepreneur and a skilled craftsman. More importantly, he was a gentle and caring person when it came to those he cared for. I'd always thought of him and Zoe as the perfect couple, and I knew that when the time came for the pair to make me an aunt, their offspring would be gorgeous.

Standing next to them was one of Brandon's two best friends, Steve Adams, and Steve's longtime girlfriend, Victoria Mason. Those two were the group's closest things to a power couple. Steve was fresh from passing his bar exam and had just joined his father's very successful law firm. It was widely assumed that he was being groomed to take over when the time came.

His cute and petite blonde girlfriend came from old money rumored to have roots in the south's reconstruction after the Civil war. From there, it had expanded its reach into railways, timber, and then textiles. Victoria had told Zoe that she'd once asked her daddy how much money he had. Mr. Mason had simply said that there was enough for his grandchildren's grandchildren, provided they deserved it.

Victoria was a law clerk for a district superior court judge. While it wasn't a glamorous job, it did give her access to all the best gossip and most salacious tidbits regarding the trials her boss adjudicated.

That left Brandon's other partner in crime, Malcolm Jackson. He stood out from everyone else for several reasons. Malcolm was the tallest of the group at six foot five inches and had wide shoulders and a broad chest that was well muscled. He'd played football at the University of Georgia for two years before a devastating knee injury had sidelined his career. With his hopes of going pro crushed, it would have been easy for him to have headed down a dark path. Instead, the handsome black man had finished his business degree and earned his MBA before returning home and taking over his father's floundering car dealership.

The statuesque blonde with Malcolm was his flavor of the week. It was Malcolm's belief that monogamous relationships were just another plan by "the man" to keep him down. He seemed to favor blondes, but there was no shortage of brunettes and redheads eager to make his acquaintance as well. Malcolm had a different woman on his arm every time I saw him.

"The birthday girl isn't drunk, is she?" Zoe asked as she and Brandon sidled up next to me. I could see the smile on her face and a hint of concern in her eyes.

"I'm fine, Zoe, honest. I'm a little tipsy, but that's all—and it's not like I plan to drive. I've already texted for an Uber. It should be here any minute."

"But did you have fun?" she pressed. She knew I was lonely and had freely expressed her opinion on how my situation with Martin—the man I was in a long distance relationship with—was holding me back.

I'm beginning to think she might be right, but I'm not sure what other options I have.

"Yes, I did," I said, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her tightly, "even if Brandon stepped on my toes when he danced with me."

"That's a slanderous lie, Harper Bennett," Brandon replied with mock anger as he leaned over and kissed my forehead, "and you have no proof of it."

I rolled my eyes and leaned in to give Brandon a hug, which he graciously returned. "Happy birthday, kiddo," he said.

The words "thank you" were on the tip of my tongue, but I never got them out, as Malcolm's deep and booming voice snapped my concentration.

"Holy shit, is that who I think it is?"

All eyes went to where the behemoth's giant index finger was pointing across the street. At first, I thought he was pointing at the convenience store on the corner of King and Main. But in an instant, it became apparent to me what he'd actually been pointing at: a tall redhead wearing a tight white crop-top tank top and a pair of Lycra biking shorts. Both garments hugged the curves of the lithe and athletic-looking beauty like a second skin. She stood there with a water bottle in her hand while leaning over what appeared to be an expensive road bike, fiddling with something on the pedals.

Even from where I stood, I could see the definition in her arms and shoulders. Her midsection appeared tight and firm as well, and her haunches and legs somehow managed the trick of being taut, powerful, and extremely feminine all at once.

"Fuck..." I heard Brandon mutter as I felt him stiffen. I could tell ‌that he'd suddenly become upset. I knew I should offer him comfort the way he'd always done for me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the redhead across the way. I couldn't explain it, but the mere sight of her had stirred something in me.

"Well, when did she get back into town?" I heard Steve say—though it sounded very far away for some reason.

"I don't know," Malcolm replied, "but damned if she isn't looking even more delicious than she did back in high school. Why'd you have to turn her gay, Brandon?"

The gorgeous redhead settled down onto her bicycle and clamped her left foot onto the foot pedal. With a mighty push of her right leg, her bike glided into a smooth motion. Her right foot found its spot on the appropriate pedal, locking itself in place. Her knees began to piston, propelling her forward, and just like that, she was gone as her knees began pistoning themselves up and down.

It was only then that I turned to look up at Brandon. He maintained a guarded expression, but his eyes hinted at irritation. I turned to look at Zoe, but she gave me the slightest shake of her head. It was a clear indicator for me to leave it alone.

"Hey, maybe she started feeling straight-curious and came back to town so that Brandon can convince her she's gay again," Steve said, followed by an uproarious laugh.

That got a deep, bellowing chuckle from Malcolm, who said, "I still don't know how Zoe has managed to be with him this long without having a desire to go eat at the Y."

Both men doubled over in laughter, neither of them showing any signs of empathy for their longtime friend. Victoria, with her hands resting on her hips, gave her boyfriend a disapproving look. It was clear to me from her reaction that it wasn't the first time she'd witnessed the pair behaving in such a manner.

"Alright, guys," Zoe said, her voice riddled with tension, "you've had your fun. Let it go." Brandon, meanwhile, hadn't said a word. He'd gone utterly silent.

"Zoe's right, Steven," Victoria said, punching her boyfriend's shoulder."And I heard that her parents died recently. They left her their house and she moved back here to take care of it."

"Maybe she's just here to sell it, baby," Zoe said, her voice sounding hopeful as she stared at the man she loved with concern.

Brandon took Zoe's hand and finally spoke. "I'm not that lucky, baby. Come on, let's go have a late dinner and some coffee." He turned to me. "Of course, you're welcome to join us, Harper."

I didn't really want to go. I knew that Brandon's idea of a late dinner and coffee meant sitting for a couple of hours in an uncomfortable booth at the local Waffle House. It had become a tradition between the two of them to coat their insides with copious amounts of scalded shredded potato that were, of course, scattered, smothered, and covered. They'd then drown that concoction in what seemed to me to be gallons of black coffee.

How either of them can go home afterward and sleep has always been beyond me.

Besides, the look on my sister's face held a silent plea for me to say no. I suspected Zoe needed time alone to talk through whatever it was that had Brandon tied in knots so suddenly. I had a million questions, but Zoe's look seemed to promise answers later, so I took all the hints she'd been giving me. I begged off and headed home without pressing Brandon or her for any details. Victoria dragged Steve away; Malcolm didn't have to convince his date to follow wherever he led. Happy birthday to me.

As I lay in my bed later that night. I couldn't help but wonder who the mysterious and beautiful Riley was. I'd gone to school with several girls who'd been lesbians, but none of them had looked like her. They'd all been very butch, playing up the masculine aspects of their personalities. People had spread rumors about them seducing various girls in school, but none of them had ever approached me.

I had wondered at the time about what it might be like, but my curiosity hadn't been strong enough to make me act on my feelings—or there hadn't been that one person there to stoke those smoldering embers into true flames.

CHAPTER TWO

It was nearly two more months before I had my first opportunity to meet Riley Maddux. I'd learned a lot about her during that time. Some of it had come from Zoe, while Victoria—who'd been close friends with Riley in high school—had filled me in on many other details. The rest I'd picked up on my own from various sources on the internet.

Riley had grown up here in town. Her mother was an oncologist at the local hospital, and her father had owned a successful accounting business. The couple had owned ten acres and a rather large house that sat only a quarter of a mile from where I lived with Zoe and Brandon, so it wasn't uncommon for me to get brief glimpses of Riley as she zoomed by on her bicycle. They were just flashes, but every single one fed my then-inexplicable curiosity.

Brandon and Riley had always been close while growing up, and while there'd been no more-cute-than-creepy marriage proposals in kindergarten, most folks had seen which way the wind had been blowing. The summer after their freshman year of high school, they'd made things official. The only surprise had been that they hadn't been dating already; some people refused to believe they hadn't been.

From there, they'd been exclusive with each other for two whole years—no small feat for two of "the beautiful people." According to Victoria, neither Brandon nor Riley had been late bloomers. Athletic, well-proportioned, and even blessed with pretty faces, they could've played the field—and won—but hadn't.Then Riley's parents decided to spend the summer in the south of France.

Riley had admitted to being excited by the prospect while also dreading being away from Brandon and her friends. The two had shared a tearful goodbye, with both promising to stay in touch while she was away. Maybe they had, or maybe they hadn't, but regardless, the Riley who'd returned hadn't been the same young woman who'd boarded that jet to Europe.

Zoe said that Brandon had told her he'd noticed the changes right away. Riley had always been a little reserved, but the young woman who'd returned had been much edgier and quicker to speak her mind. At the same time, she'd held Brandon at arm's length, and he'd known almost instantly that something was wrong.

She'd been back almost a month before she'd come clean to him. She and Brandon had taken a quiet ride out into the country and parked by a small pond that bordered the Miller farm. Riley had seemed pensive to Brandon. When she'd suggested their brief trip, he had hoped it had been intended to rekindle the spark that had always existed between them.

Zoe said that Brandon had started to suspect Riley had cheated on him overseas. After all, France had a reputation, and nude beaches. Brandon had even admitted to forming a picture of the French lothario in his mind. He'd imagined him as being tall, with wavy dark hair and an athletic build. Brandon thought he would be older and sophisticated—a man, not a boy, who was suave and confident. Zoe told me that Brandon had confessed he would've forgiven her—after some theatrics, of course. He'd had a plan for what he'd thought was the worst.

As it had turned out, the person who had come between Riley and Brandon while abroad had been French, tall, and older, and with a definite touch of sophistication. But that was where any similarities to what Brandon had imagined had ended.

Riley had told Victoria that Simone Francois was an artist—thirty-two at the time—who owned a seaside gallery not far from the home her parents had rented for the summer. Riley had first noted her while on an early morning walk shortly after they arrived. She'd been strolling along the empty beach just as the sun was beginning to crest the distant horizon when she'd spotted a woman sitting atop a grassy dune. The stranger was working diligently at a canvas perched on an easel in front of her. She'd been so focused on her art that Riley had stood and watched her for nearly an hour without the woman ever seeming to notice her presence.

Victoria said that Riley had claimed to not know what it was that had rooted her in place for so long; she'd said it was like a door had suddenly opened in her mind, and she'd been momentarily swept into a new world and been utterly enraptured by what she'd seen there.

It was only as other beachcombers started strolling by that Riley had been snapped out of her reverie. She'd found herself looking around at a family of vacationers walking along the ocean's edge. The waves had lapped at the small children's feet, making them laugh joyfully.

When Riley had looked back towards the dune, the intense artist had been looking right at her. Riley had said the woman's gaze had left her feeling naked, stripping away all the layers that, until then, had made her who she was. She had been unable to breathe while caught up in the beautiful artist's stare and had been helpless or unwilling to explain to herself why.

And when the beautiful older woman had smiled down at Riley? Well, her life had changed in an instant.

Riley had admitted to Victoria that she'd gone back to that spot every morning after that. Feelings drew her there that she hadn't yet understood and had been unwilling to question. Some days the beautiful woman had been there, her brush dancing lightly across the canvas as she worked to uncover the truth of what it was her eyes were taking in. Others, she hadn't been, and on those days, Riley had felt oddly empty inside.

About two weeks into that routine—one that, granted, had only taken up a few hours every morning—Riley had been wandering through some seaside shops in the early afternoon. It had been one of the hollow days for her, with no sighting of her mysterious and silent siren. Her parents had gone on a wine tasting excursion with new friends and had left Riley to her own devices. She'd been more than content to be by herself—to affirm and to wallow in the melancholy she'd been feeling. That sadness had burned away, however, when she'd glanced through the window of a random seaside gallery and spotted Simone talking to a customer.

As she'd been standing there on the street, observing the artist, feeling herself rejoice inside at finally knowing more about the eclectic woman who'd consumed her mind since arriving in France, the conversation between the artist and her customer had ended. Simone's eyes had immediately gone to the shop's front window and met Riley's. A smile had blossomed on the artist's lovely face.

Victoria swore to me that eighteen-year-old Riley's face had lit up when describing Simone that day. She'd literally glowed. Just seventeen herself, ‌Victoria had nevertheless recognized it. It had been love; Riley had fallen in love.

Simone had invited Riley inside, and the pair had spoken for the first time. By the time the eighteen-year-old American teen had left Simone's shop, she'd been floating on air and staring down a realization that, far from sobering, had had her feeling drunk. She'd found herself attracted to the gorgeous and enigmatic artist—not just in one way, but in every way.

Riley had sworn to Victoria that before then, she had never even considered the prospect of being gay. Until that trip to Europe, she'd never even kissed another girl, much less done anything more.

Simone had clearly taken to Riley, curling the younger woman under her wing. Instead of watching Simone paint from afar, Riley would sit quietly nearby and watch as the pretty artist had worked on her canvas, bringing the beauty of the ocean to life in ways Riley had never thought possible.

The teen had begun spending all of her free time with Simone, and doing her best to slip away from her parents whenever she could. The two had eaten lunch together every day, with Simone teaching her all about fine French wine. They'd spend their afternoons discussing art; the French beauty had been eager to nurture a love for painting in the young American. Riley had then begun painting under Simone's guidance. She'd taught Riley techniques that might have otherwise taken her years to pick up. And to the teen's surprise, she'd actually shown a natural affinity for the craft.

It had surprised Riley to learn that the beautiful blonde was married, but that her husband spent nine months out of the year working in South America. A French energy company that held a significant stake in that region's oil reserves employed him. Riley had admitted that Simone's admission had surprised and saddened her because she'd fallen so hard. Victoria said Riley had blushed upon admitting she'd been actively fantasizing about Simone seducing her.