Alle Kapitel von Curvy and Off-limits: Kapitel 101 – Kapitel 110

Harper’s POVThe message arrived on this soft Wednesday. I was sitting in my car in the parking lot outside the cafe, still in my uniform, still smelling like coffee and pastries, scrolling through my phone before I drove home. The shift had been long and my feet were aching and all I wanted was a hot shower and an hour of not thinking about anything. The notification popped up at the top of my screen.Unknown number.I almost swiped it away. I had been getting spam messages for weeks now, everything from extended car warranties to someone claiming I had won a prize I never entered for. But something made me pause. Something made me open it.That green sweater looks nice on you. The one with the little buttons.My blood ran cold. I stared at the screen, my heart hammering, my hands starting to shake. The green sweater was the one I had worn to the cafe this morning. The one with the little buttons down the front that I had thrown on without thinking because it was clean and comfortab

Harper’s POVThe library was quiet on Thursday afternoons. I had claimed my usual table in the back corner, the one near the windows with the rattling heating vent, and spread my books out around me like a fortress. My paper was due in two weeks and I have barely started and the words were not coming the way I needed them to. I have been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes when a shadow fell over the table. I looked up.Roland Reid was standing there with a coffee in each hand and that same awkward smile on his face."Hey." He said it. "I saw you sitting over here. Thought you might want a refill." He set one of the coffees down in front of me."I did not know what you liked so I just got a regular. Black. I hope that is okay."I looked at the coffee and then at him. "Thanks." I amswered because what else was I supposed to say? "You did not have to do that.""I know." He sat down across from me without asking if it was okay. "But I wanted to. I have been meaning to talk

Harper’s POVHarper’s POVZuri leaned in and then her lips were on mine. Her lips were softer than I remembered. She kissed me gently, carefully like she was afraid I would disappear if she pushed too hard. I let myself feel it. I let myself relax into it. I let my eyes close and my hands find her waist and I let the kiss happen. But this time, it was different. This time, she was not holding back.Her hands moved from my waist, one sliding up my back to tangle in my hair, the other sliding down to cup my ass, pulling me closer, a bold, possessive move that sent a jolt of electricity straight through me. I gasped into her mouth and she took advantage, her tongue sliding past my lips, tangling with mine in a slow, sensual dance that was both demanding and inviting.I had never been kissed like this. Not by Declan, not by anyone. It was a different kind of hunger, a different kind of desire. It was not frantic or desperate but it was hungry, a deep, aching need that seemed to come from

Harper’s POVI started digging on a Sunday afternoon. The manor was quiet, everyone else occupied with their own things. I had locked myself in my room with my laptop and my phone and a knot in my stomach that would not go away. I had been thinking about Roland for days now, thinking about the bookshop, the details he should not have known. And I had decided, sometime between the library and now, that I needed to find out if I was imagining things or if there was something real to be afraid of.I started with the yearbook. It was stupid probably. The kind of thing that would not prove anything. But I remembered that Roland had been in my English class freshman year and I thought maybe there would be a picture of him somewhere maybe a club or a team or something that would tell me more about who he was.I found him in the photography club.He was standing in the back of the group photo, half hidden behind someone taller, with a camera around his neck and a look on his face that I cou

His POVThe photograph is old now, creased at the corners from being handled too many times. She is sixteen in it, standing beside her father's car with the sun behind her and a smile on her face that I have not seen since. I took it from across the street. I had been watching her for weeks by then, learning her schedule, learning the places she went and the people she talked to and the way she laughed when she thought nobody was looking. I had a camera in my bag and I had been too afraid to use it until that moment.She was just so beautiful. I could not help myself.I keep the photograph in a box under my bed, along with the others. The letters I never sent. The dried flowers I picked from her garden. The notes I wrote and rewrote and never had the courage to deliver. They are all there, a record of every moment I have ever spent thinking about her, every moment I have ever spent loving her from a distance.She does not know about the box though. She only knows about the message.