Page 18 of Even After This
“Okay.” A huff of breath escapes and I wring my hands. “I don’t understand what happened, but by a complete fluke, I walked into someone else’s life. Now I must leave.” I start to turn. What else is there to say? Tears are forming. Why tears? I don’t know. Rather than blush like an ordinary person, I am dying.
Their collective laughter follows me as I turn to escape. I will be an entertaining story at their next Hollywood stars support group.
“Hey, hang on.” A chuckling Harlan uses his long, jean-clad legs to slide in front of me and cut off my getaway. “What’s wrong? You survived meeting me the other night. And you survived our moment in the spa.”
“You guys had a moment in the spa?” This from Spence. Super-Famous Man number two looks to Harlan, who is nodding.
I squinch my eyes. “We did not have a moment in the spa. We had a short conversation.”
“It was definitely a moment. But you have a point. I can’t prove that one.”
I have a point? There are no points. There are no coherent thoughts in my brain right now. How can there be points?
Oblivious, Harlan keeps talking. “But you did dance with me. There were witnesses. And you survived.”
“Barely. No thanks to your dancing.” Filtering doesn’t occur to me or my flailing hands. “Let me start from the beginning. I met Sally today and we had a wonderful conversation. I thought she was just a normal person.” My torso twists, and I whisper at her through clenched teeth, “I thought you were normal.”
Sally slaps a hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shake in muffled amusement.
My body spins back to Harlan. “Apparently she isn’t normal, because a few minutes ago, I found out she is married to Spencer Dean and they are friends with Harlan Holcombe. All are delightful people but also frequent the cover ofPeoplemagazine’s Most Beautiful list.”
Harlan clutches his navy Henley shirt over his heart, feigning hurt. “Only once.”
“Twice for me,” Spencer says in a cocky voice.
Harlan half turns to punch him in the shoulder. “Jerk.”
Spencer returns his focus to me. “Why is this a problem?”
Exasperated that they can’t understand, I open my arms wide. “Because you aren’t real people. Besides”—I squeeze my eyes shut—“it’s painful to talk to you.”
Harlan nudges me with his elbow, and my eyes pop open. Good Lord, he just touched me. He leans in and says in a low voice, “But isn’t it also just a little bit fun?”
Spencer studies me. “We went to high school together. Why is this a problem?”
I point between both of them, my finger wagging in the space between us. “Don’t try to make this okay.”
Spencer grins. “High school puts everyone on the same playing field. We’re normal. He and I played football together. Doubled to homecoming. Spent countless hours playing Nintendo.” He kisses little Layla’s hand. “Listen, we’re going to grab something to eat. The studio switched up our schedule, which means the next few hours are free. Why don’t you come with us? I’ll tell you all about this guy’s ninth grade mullet.”
Hmm. Hearing about Harlan Holcombe’s unfortunate hair dayswouldknock him down a few notches.
Sally chimes in with a chagrined smile. “Spence called right before I left the room. What do you think?” She leans closer to confess and conspire. “I’m a real person. Ignore them.”
With cautious movements, I shift to inspect each person. Surreptitious Sally. Spellbinding Spence. Hero-worshiped Harlan.
Nope. Not ready yet. I lift my hand and make a shield to block my view of Harlan’s face. “Why don’t you let me babysit so the two of you can enjoy a romantic date alone?”
Harlan’s suave voice breaks through my hand barricade. “Can I stay and help you with the kids?”
My arm dips, and when he comes into view, I glare at him. “Absolutely not.” I shoot the barrier back up.
Two women eyeing our discussion scoot past Sally, and she takes a step toward me. “No, no. Thank you so much for the offer. But the kids are super excited about hanging out with their daddy. Plus, they love climbing all over Uncle Harlan.”
On cue, Toby swings on Harlan’s arm.
In one of my more courageous moves of the afternoon, I glance at Harlan.
His laser eyes are directed at me, and I’m stuck in his tractorbeam. “You made plans with Sally,” he says. “No pressure, but refusing is not an option because we know you’re available.”
