laugh, and it feels good after a conversation it hurts to have.
“Seriously, let me know if you want seats.”
He lays another quick, hard kiss on me, then pulls me up and challenges me to a race back.
Wade
I’d like to say I let her win, but Harlow guts it out fair and square, making it back to the hotel besting me by less than a two-foot lead.
Damn, she’s intense.
I reward her with the first turn under the shower spray and a full body wash so thorough and complete, I’m rewarded with my name echoing off the walls as I get her dirty all over again.
We have breakfast at the bakery in town. Harlow wants to hear more about the team, and I tell her about the guys I play with. I give up the stories I know will make her laugh, even the ones that make me look like a tool. But I can’t stop thinking about her job. I hate the idea of her getting screwed over like that. And more, I hate the idea of what she’ll be going back to when this trip is over.
I can relate to going after something not everyone believes is within my reach. But at least when I prove I can deliver, I get to keep the job.
After breakfast, we drive out to the city to pick up the place cards from one of Janie’s aunts. My mom tried to talk me into leaving Harlow behind to hang out with her—and I get it, we all want more of her—but she’s mine, and I’m not giving up a minute I don’t have to.
We hold hands in the truck.
I make her laugh and make her blush and ask her a million questions.
On the way back, we ride long stretches with a kind of comfortable silence between us I’m not used to. It’s nice. It makes me want to take her to the hotel and pull her into my arms for more.
But my mom is waiting, so we head to my parents’ place instead.
“These turned out so pretty,” my mom coos, checking over the hand-done calligraphy with Harlow at what used to be our dining room table. Currently, it’s covered with every kind of crafting DIY supply you can imagine.
“What’s with the hot glue gun?”
She rolls her eyes and laughs like I’m pulling her leg.
Harlow gives up one of those soft smiles that’s somehow twice as potent as its full-bodied counterpart.
Then she’s offering to help with the “embellishments,” and even though I don’t know what the hell that means, I’m assuming it’s this arts-and-crafts stuff. “Yeah, I’ll help too.”
Both women turn to me with raised brows.
Okay, so my hands are twice as big as theirs, but I think I can handle some glitter and sticking a few of those beady things to a card.
“Wade, honey, you don’t have to help. Why don’t you call your brother or Tommy? Relax a while.”
Harlow bites her lip against a smile. So cute.
“Nah, I’ll help.”
She peers up at me. “When was the last time you did anything crafty?”
“Art class in high school.”
My mother’s hand moves to her hip, her eyes going narrow. “You got a C.”
Harlow coughs, her eyes going wide like she’s just uncovered my greatest shame and doesn’t quite know how to face me.
Jesus.
“C-plus.”
“Only because Sandy White did half your projects.”
How the hell does Mom know that?
I straighten, digging in because I can’t fucking help it. “The bad half.”
And then I’m pulling out my chair and sitting down. End of discussion.
Two hours later, I’m going blind beneath the glare of my mother’s makeup mirror, my two favorite women in my face, both fussing at once.
“I told you not to touch your eyes.”
“Jesus, it’s in his ear.”
“Have you seen his hair?”
“We may have to cut that out.”
I try to push them away—gently—but my mother says my name in that way that has me slumping back.
“It was an accident,” I groan.
“We have more glue, honey.”
“I can drive back out for more of those card things.”
Harlow pauses from working the coconut oil into my face. “This one’s like a glittery beauty mark. I kind of want to leave it.”
They both fall into another bout of teary-eyed laughter, and suddenly, I don’t really mind at all.
When they can breathe again, my mom pats my chest and then sighs at the fresh coating of glitter on her hand. “Honey, don’t worry about the place cards. I only gave you the ones for the guests that canceled after we placed the order.”
“What?”
My mom