by Mazzy King
I blink and squint, smelling coffee. Harlowe sits on the edge of my bed, dressed and smiling. Sunlight streams in behind her, turning her hair a brilliant dark gold.
“I haven’t slept so good in a while,” I admit, pushing myself to sit up.
“Me either,” she replies, blushing.
I give her a sleepy smile and rub my eyes. “What’re you doing up at…” I glance over at the digital clock on my nightstand. “Nine?” Then I notice a steaming mug of coffee and reach for it gratefully.
“I need to go work on the apartment a little more,” Harlowe says. “I still have a few things left there, and I need to meet with the landlord and the insurance adjustor. I just went to my place to shower and change and make coffee. Thought you might want some.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip. “You want some help?”
She brightens. “Really? I didn’t want to intrude on your day.”
I take her hand. “I’d love to spend more time with you. Are you on a time crunch? Can I take you to breakfast first?”
Harlowe smiles and leans forward to kiss me. “You sure can.”
I grin, then whip the covers back and stand up, forgetting for a second I’m totally naked. “Then let me hop in the shower.”
She smacks my ass—hard—as I walk past.
We’ve sort of already put the cart before the horse, but as I shower, I couldn’t be more excited about our little date. It’s our first official one in over twenty-five years of knowing each other.
I dress in jeans, a white thermal crewneck, and Nikes. When I emerge from the bedroom, Harlowe’s leaning over the kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone.
“Why so serious?” I ask, leaning in to drop a kiss on the back of her head.
“My landlord texted me and said they need to check the plumbing again, but he can’t get one out today.” She frowns and sighs. “I swear, it’s always something.”
I pull my phone out. “Hold on. I have a buddy who’s a plumber.” I find his number and type a quick text. “His name’s Rocco. He’s fast, reliable. He might be able to—” My phone dings with the reply and I open it up. “Yeah. He says he can meet us at your place this afternoon. That work?”
“Yes!” Harlowe smiles. “That’d be great.”
“Good.” I slide my phone in my pocket. “Can I feed you now?”
She slips her arm around my waist and leans into me. “I suppose I can make that sacrifice.”
We spend a couple hours chatting over a breakfast that seems especially delicious this morning. It’s fascinating getting to relearn someone you knew before you grew up. And she’s so much better than anything I ever fantasized about. She’s not just intelligent; she’s brilliant. She’s well-spoken and funny. She’s compassionate and thoughtful.
“Do you remember that one time our families decided they wanted to go camping?” she asks with a grin.
I groan. “We were in…fifth grade, right?”
She nods. “Remember how it rained the whole time? How our parents had all those outdoor activities lined up?”
“They were so pissed,” I say with a chuckle.
“We had fun, though.” Harlowe smiles. “I remember me and you hanging out in my tent, playing cards.”
“I think that was the first time I knew I wanted to kiss you,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure you would’ve socked me.”
“You would’ve been right,” she shoots back sassily.
“How about that night of the fall cookout?” I ask, leaning toward her.
She blushes and bites her lip, smiling down at her plate. “You wouldn’t have gotten socked that night.” She sighs. “I wish…”
“What?”
“I wish we hadn’t been interrupted,” she murmurs. She gazes at me. “I think things could’ve been…really different.”
Part of me loves hearing that. Part of me hates it.
As we walk back to my car, her hand slides into mine. It feels so natural, as though we were designed for each other. As if we had a lifetime of practice.
I bring her hand to my lips. “To the apartment?”
Her mouth quirks up at one corner. “Your place or mine?”
With a low, playful growl, I draw her against me and kiss her deeply, right there on the sidewalk. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart.”
She makes a soft purring noise, trailing a finger over my lips. “Kiss me like that again and that apartment can burn for all I care.”
I let out a combination of a groan and a chuckle as I open the passenger door for her. “Come on. Let’s get your place squared away. Besides, Rocco’s meeting us.”
“Then we can go home,” she says lightly and steps into the car.
Home?
That word has a few possible definitions, but now’s not the time to try to get to the bottom of any of them.
Still, I can’t keep a slight smile off my face as I walk to my own side.
Harlowe directs me to her two-bedroom condo downtown. Even from outside, I can tell how nice this place is.
Not like my “dump”…
I shake off the thought before it creeps over me and steals the sunlight out of our day.
We walk into the sun-soaked lobby. Tall, gleaming windows are positioned perfectly to let the sunlight in. Huge, potted plants sit in each corner and against the wall by the elevator bank is a table with a coffee bar.
“Nice place,” I comment.
“It’s all right,” she says. “I mean, it is nice. But it’s never felt like home.”
There’s that word again. It strikes me in the chest, and this time, Harlowe holds my gaze as we step into the elevator.
She reaches out to jab the button when Rocco calls me. “I’m lost,” he announces. “I think I parked where I’m supposed to, but, I dunno. I might get towed. I’m across the street. I think.”
“It’s the plumber,” I tell her, tilting the phone away from my mouth. “I need to meet him.”
“Oh.” Harlowe stabs the open-door button. “Okay. I’m on the nineteenth floor, apartment 1908.”
“Meet you there in a sec.” I step out and head back through the lobby. “Roc, it’s a fucking mammoth building. How are you lost?”
Outside, I spot him. He’s tall and broad, like me, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and lugging a heavy-duty utility tote of supplies and tools.
He strides across the street toward me, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not used to the rich part of town. All these skyscrapers look alike.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re from New York.”
“I’m from Brooklyn,” he corrects me immediately like I knew he would as we walk. “I didn’t live in Manhattan. I didn’t grow up in a place like this.” He gestures at the building. Then he turns to me, brows raised. “No offense meant to your lady. I’m sure it’s great for her.”
“Maybe not so great,” I reply as I lead him through the lobby. “Why I called your overly brolic ass.”
He gives me a shove as we get into the elevator. “Hit the gym and step up your game, my brother. Maybe these crooks out here will stop giving you a run for your money.”
I laugh. “Right.”
“So,” Rocco says, setting down his heavy tool bag and folding his arms. “Harlowe, huh? The Harlowe. You finally got your girl.”
Rocco and I have been friends since college, and he may or may not know my miserable, unrequited-love story. “Well, we haven’t had that exact conversation yet,” I admit. “But we had another kind of…talk.” My face heats as I recall everything that happened in my bed last night.
Rocco lifts a dark brow. “Talking. Sure.” He smirks. “I’m happy for you, brother. I hope it all works out.”
“Thanks.” I tick my chin at him. “What’s going on with your ex?”
“Absolutely nothing, which is exactly what I want.” Rocco shakes his head. “It’s funny how we find ourselves in bad situations and then justify reasons to stay in them. I’m just glad the
blinders got ripped off when they did.”
I feel for him. He found out earlier this year his girlfriend of a couple years had a different definition of what exclusive means than he did. He went through it, but he’s doing a lot better now. He’s a no-bullshit, hardworking dude, and it’s in his nature to take care of whoever’s in his life.
“I got my dog, I got my business, I got my buddies. I’m good.” Rocco flashes me a smile as we step off the elevator onto the nineteenth floor. I don’t quite buy it because I know him so well, but now’s not the time to get into it.
I follow the posted signs toward apartment 1908. The door is propped open and I hear a fan running—carpet’s probably still drying out.
“Better take your shoes off,” I tell Rocco, but he’s already stopped behind me to unlace his work boots.
From inside the apartment, I hear slightly raised voices.
“…no chance, Mom,” Harlowe’s saying, and there’s an edge to her voice. “So let it go.”
I perk my ears up. She doesn’t sound happy. Shit. Do I interrupt, or back off? I hate to be an eavesdropper…
…and then I hear my name.
“Do you honestly expect it to work out with that Cisneros boy?” Harlowe’s mother says impatiently. “Honey, he’s a wonderful man. Very kind. And he works hard for the community. But you’re an accountant. You live in places like this—nice places. You don’t live over in apartments that border the questionable part of town and haven’t been updated in ten years. You’re successful, you’ve made a lot of excellent connections in your job, and you graduated magna cum laude. He attended community college. Do you expect him to be able to provide the lifestyle you want?”
My mouth falls open.
Harlowe. Say something.
But she doesn’t.
“Honey, look,” her mother says in a gentler voice. “You have to start thinking bigger picture here. Think about what’s going to be best for your future. Your sister didn’t and look what happened to her.”
“Are you blaming Nancy for what happened?” Harlowe gasps.
“No. Not at all. But I am saying that if she thought more about her future instead of what she thought she wanted in the moment, she might not have gone through what she went through.”
“That sure sounds like blaming to me.”
“Harlowe, I love both of you girls,” her mom says. “I want what’s best for you. I don’t want you to struggle in life. It is possible to have love and have money and security, too. And if you keep seeing the Cisneros boy, you’re not going to have that.”
“I can make my own money and provide security for myself,” Harlowe says. “I don’t need a man for that.”
“But two driven, well-off people are always better than one. Look. You and Bill will get back together like you always do. Maybe he made you mad this time around, but he’s a good guy, Har. You always get back together.”
I’ve heard enough at this point.
I turn to Rocco, who’s watching me carefully, a sympathetic look in his eyes. I can’t look at him. “I just remembered I have to—go to work early,” I say, stepping around him. “If you could still check on that plumbing for me, I’d be—”
“Say no more.” Rocco rests a hand on my shoulder. “I got you, brother.”
“Thanks. Look, I’ll call you later.”
Rocco nods gravely. “Be safe out there.”
“Always am.”
I walk back toward the elevators, my back straight and head held high.
I’ll never be good enough for Harlowe’s family, which means I’ll never be good enough for her. And the fact that she didn’t stand up for me…
Well, at least we had our one moment.
8
Harlowe
I gape at my mom, hardly believing the words coming out of her mouth.
“Let me tell you something about Bill, Mother,” I say heatedly. “He was a controlling asshole who was so insecure he had to try to assert himself over me in order to feel good about himself. I don’t give a shit about his money. I don’t give a shit about his status. I let myself be manipulated by him for far too long, and you should be proud of me for breaking away from him.”
“Harlowe, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Mom says, folding her arms. “Don’t forget I know Bill too. He’s always struck me as completely respectful of you.”
“That’s because he’s a goddamn narcissist!” I yell. I shouldn’t yell at my mother. I know. But I’m so beside myself right now. I feel like she’s gaslighting me. “He gets off on people having high opinions of him. He only shows you what he wants you to see. Trust me, life with him behind closed doors was totally different. I was unhappy, Mom, and that’s putting it as mildly as possible.”
I jam my hands into my hair and take a deep breath before I completely lose my shit. “Mom, Bill and I are done. Period. And both of you need to accept it.”
“And Darby Cisneros needs to be accepted too?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “He does. I can’t believe you’d turn your nose up at a good, caring, loving, kind man like him and rather see me with an asshole like Bill. All for money.”
“It’s not that I don’t think he’s a good man. I just don’t think he’s good enough for you.”
I step toward her. “Mom, you need to get your priorities straight.”
She sucks in a breath.
“Darby is a part of my life,” I tell her in a shaking voice. “And with any luck, he’s going to stay that way.”
“Uh…ahem.”
I flick my gaze over her shoulder as she turns. A tall, dark-haired, built guy stands in the doorway, looking uncomfortable. He offers a tense smile. “Hey. I’m Rocco. Darby’s friend. Said you needed a plumber?”
“Yes, come on in,” my mom says.
“Where’s Darby?” I ask at the same time. For some reason, anxiety gnaws at my gut. He said he was going to meet Rocco. Where is he now?
Rocco clears his throat again. “He said he, uh, needed to head into work early.” He avoids my gaze.
My mom seems oblivious. “Well, the bathroom is this way.”
“Just a minute,” I say to her, then walk up to Rocco. “Can I talk to you in the hallway?”
“I really just—”
“Now.” I know I don’t know this guy, but the warning bells in my head send all social niceties out the window.
In the hall, I fold my arms and face him. “Where’d he go?”
Rocco holds up his hands. “Work. I swear. That’s what he said. ‘I have to go to work.’”
“He wouldn’t have left without saying something to me,” I tell him.
The man blows out a breath, tilting his head back like he’d rather be anywhere than having this conversation with me. Then he looks me in the eye. “Listen. We were walking up to the apartment, and…he overheard your conversation.”
The blood freezes in my veins.
Rocco lifts a shoulder. “When he heard enough, he split. To be honest, and no offense to your mom, I don’t blame him. Who wants to stand around and listen to his girl’s mom trash him?”
“Oh my god.” I press a hand to my mouth.
“I don’t mean to get in your business where I clearly don’t belong,” Rocco says, “but Darby’s one of my best friends. It’s actually really weird to be talking to you right now. We’ve never met, but I feel like I know you because he’s talked about you so much. And I can tell you one thing about him—he’s pretty prideful when it comes to his emotions. Specifically hurt feelings. He’s every bit the type to lick his wounds in private than ever let you know he’s hurt. But I saw the hurt on his face when he left.” He shrugs again. “He’s never really felt like he’s good enough for you. I mean, you have a lifestyle that lets you live in a place like this.” He gestures around. “Darby’s not a luxurious kind of guy. He’s salt of the earth. Blue collar. Guys like us only have our hearts to give.”
The little slice of pain that cuts into Rocc
o’s voice makes my eyes sting.
“I have to go,” I say abruptly. “I have to go after him. Thank you, Rocco.”
I don’t wait for his response. I don’t say anything to my mother. I just run.
On the way out to my car, I call Darby. It goes straight to voicemail.
I drive straight to the precinct he told me he works at, park right in front in an area clearly marked “No Parking,” and race toward the glass double doors. I pull one open and hurtle into the lobby.
Immediately the officer on duty at the desk steps around, his hands up. “Whoa, there. What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to Darby,” I demand. “Officer Cisneros. Now.”
“I’m going to need you to calm down, ma’am,” the officer replies. “What do you need to speak with that officer about?”
“This is an emergency!” I exclaim, trying to rush around him.
He catches my elbow. “Ma’am, you cannot go back there,” he says sternly. “If you don’t calm down, I’m going to have to restrain you for my safety as well as your own.”
“Just let me talk to Darby!” I swat at the hand still on my elbow.
Immediately, I’m whirled around to face the wall, and my arms are tugged behind my back. I yelp as cold metal clamps around my wrists.
“Ma’am, you’re being detained—”
“What’s going on?”
I turn.
Darby stands behind us, arms folded. He’s frowning, one brow raised.
“I need to talk to you,” I tell him urgently.
“Do you know this woman?” the officer who cuffed me asks.
“I thought I did,” Darby says softly.
“I’m not crazy,” I snap at the officer. “Darby, please. I need to talk to you. Whatever you heard my mother and I discussing—”
“It’s all right, Joe,” Darby says. “You can take the cuffs off her.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Muttering to himself, Officer Joe unlocks the cuffs and pulls them off. Then Darby takes my elbow and leads me outside. Is he kicking me out?
“You should go,” he tells me quietly. “You don’t belong here.”