Crazy in Love

Nick eyes me, seemingly invested in Tatum’s well-being. It’s not like he hasn’t known me his whole damn life. “Really?” I ask, annoyed.

He crosses his arms, and something appears to satisfy him. “I think you should let him go, Nat. It sounds like they have some unfinished business to take care of.”

Natalie’s gaze volleys between us a few times with a debate sparked in her eyes. “I don’t know if that’s wise since you had a fight with her as well. It’s not dump on Tatum day.”

“You’ve always been there for her, but today, I can be the one,” I say. The words that came so naturally off my tongue sound strange to my ears.

The one?

What the fuck am I saying?

I barely stepped foot in Manhattan, and she’s already written me off. That’s my wounded pride speaking. My heart says otherwise. Something tells me she needs to know someone else is in her corner right now. I can be that person.

She sets her bag on the counter. “All right, but promise me you’ll tell me everything when you get back.”

Holding up my hand in Scout’s honor, I say, “I promise.”

Since I have my wallet and phone, I don’t need to go back upstairs. “Text me the address?”

“I will.” Natalie then adds, “Be gentle. She’s strong, but her Achilles’ heel is her vulnerable side.”

I know. I found out the hard way, but I don’t say it, feeling protective over the time I’ve had alone with Tatum. “You can trust me.” I head for the door with the two of them in tow. Just before I reach it, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

“The address,” Natalie says.

“If you hear from her again, convince her to stay.” I walk out and down the stairs. It’s faster to take a cab since one’s already heading my way. I raise my arm, and when it zips across the lane to the curb, I look back at them. They’re still standing there like worried parents. “I’ll take care of her,” I say and then get in the back of the taxi.

On the ride over, I debate if I should warn Tatum that I’m coming. If I do, she’ll leave. I know it. I’ve also learned how she handles confrontation. She ditches the situation. A trait she inherited from her mother.

If I don’t tell her, she may leave as soon as she sees me.

I’m willing to take my chances.

The ivy-covered restaurant has seating on the sidewalk, but I don’t see Tatum. I stop at the hostess stand, and say, “I’m looking for a friend. I’m just going to cruise around real quick.”

“Let me know if I can be of assistance,” she replies with a smile that I’m used to receiving.

My parents gave me my good looks, and I’m just naturally charming. Amusing myself while I search the restaurant, I don’t find her, but there’s a large patio out back, so I make my way outside. As soon as I do, I see her under a flowering tree in the corner. Seated alone.

I’d love a chance to admire how beautiful she is in a deep pink dress with bows on top of her shoulders. Her hair is in a ponytail high on the back of her head, and her chin rests in her hand.

I keep moving, though, wanting to be the one she can lean on. As soon as her eyes spy me coming, she’s stiffening her spine and clasping her hands on her lap under the table. I barely reach the vicinity before she’s asking, “What are you doing?”

I take the napkin from the plate and whip it in the air, freeing it from the shape of a fortune cookie, and sit down across from her. “I’m having lunch.”

“Here?”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

She looks around like I’m making a scene. I’m not. Just having lunch with a gorgeous woman on a Sunday afternoon in June.

Leaning closer, she whispers, “The check is on its way, Harrison.” She tries to catch the waiter’s attention by raising her hand, but when that fails, she adds, “I was already planning to leave.”

“Change your plans and have lunch with me.” My voice is even, my offer genuine.

We share an exchange, and then she asks, “How do you know I haven’t eaten already?”

I glance at the clean plate in front of her and the silverware that shines on either side of the porcelain. She continues looking around for any last-ditch efforts, but when she can’t think of any, she says, “Fine. I’ll stay to keep you company, but don’t drag this out. Just lunch, and then we go our separate ways. Okay?”

Grinning, I adjust the napkin across my leg and pick up the menu, settling in. “What do you recommend?”

“Harrison?”

My gaze slides over the top of the menu. “Yes?”

“Okay? No dragging this out.”

“Fine. Long lunches that lead to lazy Sunday afternoons in bed, which then lead to dinner and a hot bath right after. Your body slick against mine, coming until—”