“I’m not a princess,” I mutter, faking a smile when the barista slides our drinks across the counter.
We thank her before grabbing our cart and heading to the checkout.
“Every woman should be treated like a princess, Ali,” Boomer says as we load the conveyor with our items.
I just give him another smile. After being treated less than human by my abductors, I honestly just want some form of normal back. I have no expectations of anyone going above and beyond.
***
“These are amazing,” Grace says as she pops another ranch powder-covered cucumber slice in her mouth.
“Told you,” I say with a smile. “I saw the recipe online and was hooked the first time I tried them.”
April scrunches her entire face up when Grace grabs another one from the tray.
“Don’t like ranch?” I ask.
“Love ranch. Love cucumbers. But the thought of eating it like that makes my stomach turn.”
“Maybe you’re pregnant again,” I tell her with a wink.
Her husband is the kind of man a wife wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off of.
“I’m-Apollo can’t-I’m not pregnant.”
“Crap,” I mutter. “I’m sorry.”
“No big deal,” she says with a flutter of her hand.
Grace leans in closer. “She’s not upset that she’s not pregnant, and that Apollo had a vasectomy. She gets shy talking about anything related to sex.”
April’s cheeks turn pink as her eyes drop to the sandwich on her plate.
“Don’t tease her,” I mutter, coming to my new friend’s defense.
“It’s fine,” April whispers. “I shouldn’t get so embarrassed.”
I glare at Grace who just chuckles.
“Is it hard for you to talk about sex after… you know?”
I look at Grace. “I wasn’t sexually assaulted. I guess I should consider myself lucky.”
“There’s nothing lucky about getting abducted,” Grace mutters.
“Oh, I’m not saying it wasn’t horrible. As you can see, I’m still having problems all these months later. It’s just that some people have it worse.”
April nods. “I was—”
Her words cut off, and I follow her gaze to the kitchen door.
Harley is there, halted in his tracks as his eyes move across each one of us. He’s sweaty, probably from working out at the gym, and I hate that I spend a little too long looking at the way his shirt clings to his chest. I hate myself even more for imagining him shirtless, because I swear the man probably looks like he’s been cut from marble by an artist’s hand. When Harley looks at me, he turns around and leaves the room without a word.
“Bless his heart,” April says, and it pulls a huff of breath from my lips before I can stop it.
“What’s that about?” Grace asks.
“My reaction or his?” I mutter, tossing the cucumber slice I was holding back on my plate.
“Both,” Grace prods.
“He hates me and he’s hateful.”
They both look at me like they no longer understand English. “What part of that confuses you?”
“I don’t know him well at all. I will say, I was becoming really good friends with Lana before she died. It crushed him,” April says. “She was the nicest woman.”
“I didn’t know her at all,” Grace adds. “I wasn’t here for very long when the accident happened, but I can tell you it rocked the entire clubhouse. Just walking into the room, you could feel the devastation. The way he broke when he got the news was gut-wrenching.”
April nods in agreement.
“Losing someone you love is horrible,” I say.
“But that doesn’t explain what you meant,” Grace says, not giving me an inch.
I shrug. “I don’t know what his problem is, but every single conversation we’ve had has been him snapping at me and storming away.”
“Are you flirting with him? He just lost his wife.”
“Grace!” I hiss. “No, I’ve never flirted with the man.”
She holds her hands up by her head in surrender. “Sorry. He’s hot. If I weren’t taken, it would take me about a minute and a half, probably less to throw a wink his way.”
April chuckles, but it sounds forced. It’s clear she’s not very comfortable right now.
“The first day I arrived, after I went in to help in the daycare, I was singing Aria a song. He stormed in and jumped on me about it. He demanded I never sing that song to his daughter again.”
“Was it ‘This Little Light of Mine?’” I nod, answering April’s question. “That was the song Lana sang to Aria all the time.”
“I get that.” I huff out a sigh. “But how was I supposed to know that? The next day, he snapped at me because I mentioned her bottom being a little irritated.”
“He blamed you for her rash? Nate is always a little red, no matter how much cream I use,” April says with a frown.
“It’s just part of having a diaper on twenty-four seven,” I mutter. “He didn’t blame me. He said something like, I know how to take care of my daughter. He growled it actually, then stormed away.”