Page 56 of Even After This
He turns to face me. “This movie’s pretty intense. I only have a minor role, but the next six weeks will be grueling. Long hours, an unpredictable schedule, and several tough-to-shoot emotional scenes aren’t a great cocktail for the time and energy required in a new relationship. Hang in there with me. Trust me.”
The concierge catches my eye, and I address him. “I’m on the six o’clock shuttle. Meredith Harper.”
He glances down at some paperwork on the tall, ornate wood podium in front of him. “Ah, Ms. Harper. Yes. We tried calling your room. Your ride is running about ten minutes late due to traffic from an early-morning wreck. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
Harlan peers down at me. “I can give you a ride to the airport, you know.”
I put my hand on his forearm. “No, my flight doesn’t take off for a while. Plus, we talked about this last night. I don’t want you to skip time with your guys. If you don’t leave now, they may bail on you, and I know it’s your favorite part of the job.”
Harlan’s head tilts and his eyes soften. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
My heart is unsettled, and I offer him a small smile. “Listen, I just—I’m just grateful, Harlan, to have had this week. If we don’t ever speak—”
The forward motion of his body stops the words from coming out of my mouth. He cradles my face with his hands, and I clutch his shirt at his waist. He kisses me on the forehead, pausing for two glorious seconds, then rests his forehead on mine. “We talked about this last night.” He shifts and rubs his cheek against mine. Once. Twice. Then moves to kiss me. One long, lavish kiss letting me know he has every intention of speaking to me again. Kissing me again. When he draws back, one hand snakes aroundmy back and the other into the hair at my neck, holding me to his chest. “I will see you. In six weeks.”
Engulfed in his scent, warmth, sweetness, and the solid beat of his heart, I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight. The gentle swing of the chandelier cradles me.
On a sigh, I exhale everything I was going to say to him about how it was okay if we never spoke again, because I know that while this was a short trip, I didn’t buy any property, and there is a possibility I’ll lose touch with my new friends, my life has shifted monumentally. And on the small, fluttering wing of hope, I inhale all that is and all that could be of Harlan Holcombe and myself.
“I will see you in six weeks,” I whisper against his chest.
When he saunters away, I can’t help but watch the show. Those jeans could win awards. But I’m distracted when I hear the faint sound of ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me.” I peek around the room. The song is an odd choice for piped-in music in the Broadmoor lobby.
Then I discover the peppy chorus is coming from my purse.
Gasping, I reach in to find my cell announcing “Hercules calling,” accompanied by the selfie Harlan took of us at Garden of the Gods. I whip my head up in his departing direction.
His arrogant grin blinds the room as he holds up his phone, and I burst out laughing when he turns to swagger away.
Ten minutes later, I’m still smiling.
With my luggage packed into the back of the shuttle and my body tucked into a window seat, I overhear the driver telling someone he could wait a little longer. I glance at the couple across the row. The wife mouths to me,What’s going on?
Once off the phone, the driver addresses us. “I’m sorry, you guys. One more person needs to catch this ride to the airport, and he should be here in a few minutes. This isn’t procedure, but our shuttle times are a little off because of the accident. We don’t want anyone to miss their flight. Is it okay with everyone to wait just a few minutes?”
The husband grunts his approval.
“May I run to the restroom while we wait?” I ask.
When he nods, I’m out of the shuttle before he can finish his warning to mind the time. I briskly walk through the doors of the building and head to the bathroom. After taking care of business in record time, I hurry out of the ladies’ room, glancing to my right before I veer to the exit. I stop dead in my tracks and do a double take.
Sickening tingles begin in my gut and spread outward to the tips of my limbs.
This is what I imagine a gunshot to the stomach feels like.
Twenty feet away, Harlan hugs a woman. Their bodies are attached toes to hips, his hand in her hair, holding her head to his chest. She turns for me to see her face, and the reality suffocates me.
Olivia.
Only then do I notice Alex, held against the far side of Harlan’s body, included in the family embrace.
I hope no one hears the small cry of pain that accompanies the breath I release.
Tucking my head down, I hustle back to my seat on the shuttle. I angle my body to the window, close my eyes, and try to slow my breathing. I’m powerless to stop the hot tears streaming down my face.
The chandelier swung so hard, I was thrown off as if riding a bucking bull. Face-first into a puddle of mud.
Closing my eyes, I exhale. The release of anger, disbelief, and confusion feels harsh to my lungs. I swipe at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand and look at the hotel doors. It’s a special kind of torture to wonder if I want him to walk out or not. If I want him to walk out with his family. If I want him to see that I know what just happened.
