Page 27 of Even After This
Look at me, I’m really growing.
Running his hands through his hair, face contorted in frustration, Harlan pulls his phone down and stares at it.
Two teenage boys shove a piece of paper and pen in his face. Harlan gives them a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes while he signs his name and says something that makes them all chuckle.
His acquiescence is generous, but I find myself wondering what it costs him to interact with passing fans. Then I think about me standing there waiting to ... what? Talk to him?
Nope. I’m not growing anymore. I start to turn on my heel to retreat before I also look like a fan.
Harlan jerks his head up and spots me. “Hey there.” A tight smile accompanies his greeting.
Oh-kay. Apparently we’re doing this. I’m going to speak with Harlan like a regular human being.
My hand offers a small wave, and I take another stride forward. “Hi. Um, hi.”
He says nothing, and I realize my epic mistake. I was just going to say hi. And now I’ve accomplished my goal. I was so focusedon the one word I wanted to say to him, I had not created an exit plan, and the longer we stand together, the more awkward I feel.
“Um,” I say brilliantly while I stall to find something else to say, “are you ... still recovering from your loss last night?”
I did, in fact, beat him at Skee-Ball, thus proving no skill is required to play the game.
Without responding, Harlan surveys the lobby. Stress seems to come off him in waves, like heat rising from a sidewalk during a Texas summer.
One small step closer and I lower my voice. “Is everything all right?”
“Not exactly.” He glances at his watch and releases an exasperated breath.
That’s when I catch sight of her.
Giant brown eyes, set in the precious face of a little girl dressed in pink skinny jeans and a waffle shirt, peer at me from around Harlan’s pant leg.
“Well, hello there.” I crouch down and grin. “I love the monkey on your shirt.”
She shies away from me, hiding behind Harlan.
“My name is Meredith. What’s your name?”
Three dainty fingers shove into her mouth and impede her answer. “Owlex.”
“How old are you, Alex?”
Those same fingers, now covered in saliva, outstretch in front of her. “Thwee.”
I gasp in dramatic awe. “Three. You’re such a big girl.”
Glancing up, I do a double take. Another pair of beautiful brown eyes stare at me. But this set makes me nervous.
I use my knees as leverage to stand. “Is she the president of the PHHFC?”
Harlan’s brow furrows.
“Preschool Harlan Holcombe Fan Club.”
He rubs his chin. “She’s my daughter.”
My expression freezes as the statement tries to penetrate. An instant later, something in my heart squeezes.
“Oh, wow. What a cutie patootie.” Of course she’s his daughter. The eyes and hair color are an exact match. Does Alex’s smile mirror her daddy’s gorgeous one?
