“You’ve cost us fifteen customers and two private tours.”
“I’ll grab my things and get out of here.”
“Thank you.”
I walked past her and grabbed my purse from the office. I stepped outside into the alley, stopping when I saw Tyler walking toward me with an oversized brown bag.
“Leaving work early?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m on my way to a date with another guy I’m sleeping with, one who actually texts me when he says he will.”
“Oh?” His lips curved into a smile. “Would you like me to drive you to see him?”
“I can get there myself.”
“I insist.” He laughed, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
“I don’t live in Seattle,” he said. “Portland, remember?”
“You said that you would text.”
“You said that you wouldn’t answer.” He flashed me a boyish grin. “But you’re also a very bad liar, and I don’t think you can handle just sex with me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This.” He kissed me until I lost all sense of space and time. When he was certain I was breathless, he whispered, “You should let me buy you lunch and take you out like I’ve always wanted to. Treat you to nice things and show how much I want you.”
I blushed and realized the bag he was holding came from my favorite catering company.
“If I promise to stay on top of that,” he said, looking into my eyes, “Will you answer my sext messages?”
“Depends on how many you plan to send a day.”
“Two to start,” he said. “It’s a yes or no question, Harlow.”
“Yes.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times.
My phone buzzed against my chest seconds later, and I checked the screen.
Tyler: Me. You. In your gallery’s office. Right now.
Tyler: And after, back at my place in Portland for the night.
Lost in Translation
Harlow
A few weeks later
Subject: Hey. Did You Forget?
I see in our bestie app that you’re in Portland right now. (What are you doing there?)
Today is my cake testing day.
Will you make it back to Seattle in time to help me?
Chelsea
Subject: Wedding Stuff. O_o
Harlow,
You’re LATE again.
You know I can’t finalize the flowers or the decor without you being by my side.
I also called your gallery, and you weren’t there.
Get it together.
Chelsea
Subject: Maybe Another Time?
I’m sorry Chad kept insisting that he and I join you on a double date with the resort guy at brunch yesterday. (The sex must be really good with him, huh? *wink wink*)
He doesn’t know that you like to date a guy to yourself for a while before bringing him around.
ANYWAY, I’m currently outside your new condo, and you’re not here. I just placed some tacky wedding favors that I WILL NOT be using in your mail slot. LOL
Call me when you’re free, so we can taste them together.
Chelsea
Subject: Maid of Honor sleepover.
I’ve decided that you can make up your recent M.I.A. & tardiness up to me by preparing your condo for a sleepover.
Just like old times.
Okay, but really: Want to help me put together the guest bags for the executives from Chad’s company and the gifts for the bridesmaids?
I know it’s a yes, so Friday?
P.S. I know it’s number four, but I truly think this marriage is the one. Do you? (Be honest.)
Secrets and Lies
Tyler
Knock! Knock! Knock!
I walked over to my condo’s door and opened it, expecting to see a half-naked Harlow for the third night in a row, but it was my sister.
Shit.
“I can’t believe that Harlow blew me off for Tequila Night, so she could go on another date with her mystery guy.” She walked inside without an invitation. “This guy better be a twenty out of ten whenever I meet him.”
“I’m sure he is,” I said. “You drove to Portland without calling me first?”
“As if you’re doing anything.” She looked around the living room. “Since Chad is training a new employee and Harlow is being a girl in lust, I figured the two of us should spend some quality time together.”
“I have plans tonight, too,” I said, hoping Harlow wasn’t on the elevator. “It’s a last-minute client. A very important client.”
“Ugh!” She groaned. “Well, I guess I’ll treat myself to some of your food and crash in your guest suite for the night.”
She didn’t wait for my permission. Instead, she waltzed into my kitchen like she owned the place–taking out the parmesan pasta I’d made for Harlow.
“By all means,” I said. “Help yourself.”
“I know, right?” She smiled. “Thanks for your incredible hospitality. Oh! I should take some extra plates home. Harlow loves parmesan pasta.”
I’m aware.
I pulled out my phone to send Harlow a text.
Me: Change of plans. I’ll call you in ten minutes.
Harlow: I don’t know if I can wait ten minutes … I’m not wearing anything under my jacket, and it’s freezing in your lobby.
Me: I’ll come down and get you now. We’ll have to go to a hotel, though.