Page 37 of Even After This
Harlan tilts his head, and his eyes dart between us.
Prissy shrugs and clasps her hands. “I’ve been in this industry a long time, Meredith, and seen every scenario. Clients who make hurried decisions. Ones who don’t recognize what they want. Others who purchase property for the wrong reasons. My business is leading them to their choices.”
Gnawing the side of my lip, I consider her words. “And me?”
Her astute gaze remains locked on mine. “Some clients are too paralyzed to make decisions.”
I play with the hem of my shirt. “Prissy, I—”
She steps forward and gives my hand a squeeze. “Feeling anxious is normal. Just don’t allow fear to be the guest who won’t leave. Doubt should never take up residence.” Her focus transfers to Harlan. “And you, young man. What are your intentions with my client?”
Ohmyword.
Where is the eject button for this conversation? I spot a fire alarm across the room and want to spring over and pull it with all my might.
Harlan crosses his arms over his chest and cocks an eyebrow. “My intentions are to take her to the Garden of the Gods today.”
“I’m depending on you to do an upstanding job representing Colorado Springs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Prissy gives a sharp yank to straighten her crisp jacket. “Many wishes for a lovely day, you two.”
Harlan and I watch as she marches through the lobby, the crowd parting like she reallyisthe queen of England. While my focus doesn’t leave her grand exit, I nudge Harlan in the side. “I cannot believe you talk to Prissy as if she’s a normal human being instead of the bulldog businesswoman in couture that she is.”
“Are you kidding? She’s a teddy bear. Plus, she’s hilarious.” Heturns me to the exit and offers a gentle nudge to prompt forward movement. “Did you catch what she said? Prissy’s a realtor, and she told you she didn’t want doubt to take up residence. Brilliant.”
“I wanted to introduce you to my friends earlier, but I hesitated.” Harlan brings his black Jeep Wrangler to a halt in a parking lot closest to the Perkins Central Garden Trail.
Thank God we’re taking the easiest path in the park. I strain forward to tie my shoestring. “Why’s that?”
“Well, those guys aren’t famous yet, but they will be. So, do you also hyperventilate around future famous people or only current celebrities?” He sports a playful smile and reaches over to squeeze the back of my neck.
With a huff full of feigned attitude, I open my door and try not to fall out of the SUV. However, I can’t stretch out my fake dramatic reaction too long because in front of me is pure, unadulterated beauty.
Pure, unadulterated beauty being interrupted by a vibrating phone in my back pocket. I yank it out and am beyond annoyed when I catch Stanley’s name at the top of the screen. We’re friends, but we aren’t call-each-other-on-vacation friends. After powering down my phone and stashing it back in my jeans, I refocus on the scenery before me.
About twenty minutes from the Broadmoor, the Garden of the Gods holds a series of breathtaking sandstone rock formations with a backdrop of Pike’s Peak. In 1893, Katharine Lee Bates penned a poem describing this view, which later became the patriotic song “America the Beautiful.” Frustration fills me because I can’t think of any competing intelligent words to describe what my overwhelmed eyes see.
It is, simply, beautiful.
Harlan rounds the hood to join me. He shrugs on his backpack and grips each shoulder strap. His intense gaze skitters acrossthe natural structures in front of us. “It’s like muscular, salmon-hued hands of the earth grasping at the blue heavens to declare their love.”
Ugh. Really? “Show-off.” I stomp in the direction of the trail, calling back to him, “Why can’t you just call the scenery beautiful like the rest of us normal people?”
Harlan’s chuckle gets louder as he catches up to me. “Okay, Meredith. You mentioned you’re not a hiker, so we’ll take the concrete path to find our bearings. No elevation climbs. The view from the base is still spectacular. If you’re lightheaded or need to rest, we’ll stop.” His thumb hitches behind him. “My pack is well stocked with water and snacks.”
Last night, the only thing Harlan told me about our plans was to wear jeans and running shoes. I understand some women love being super girly and dressing up in fancy heels and shiny lipstick, but telling me the attire is sweatshirt-required is like some kind of foreplay.
Not that I’m thinking about foreplay. Ever. With Harlan Holcombe. Or anyone. What’s wrong with me? Must be the beginnings of altitude sickness.
We settle into a comfortable pace, and Harlan glances at me. “Can I ask you a vain question?”
“Sure.”
He clutches the back of his neck with his hand. “How much do you know about me?”
“About what?” I kick a rock to the side before taking my next step.
