Page 81 of Even After This
I purse my lips as I watch him saunter toward us. Molly slips past him on her way out the door.
“Hey.” He squeezes my hand as he passes me.
“Hey.” I never want to wash my hand again. “How was your run?”
Harlan opens the cabinet and reaches for a glass. “Good.” Hefills the cup with tap water, turns, and gives a chin lift to the baking concoction. “What’s going on here?”
“Homemade cinnamon rolls. The Pioneer Woman swears people will love me more after they eat these.” I point to the batter-splattered picture of Ree Drummond in my cookbook.
Harlan’s eyes flash with a hunger that makes my stomach jump. Oh my. The sweat causes his clothes to stick to his well-defined body. Oh my again. Not breaking eye contact with me, he gulps down his drink.
Fidgeting with the hem of my T-shirt, I find a loose thread to wrap around my finger. Unable to withstand the scrutiny, I break down laughing. “What? What are you thinking?”
“I kind of want to kiss you.”
What I would like to say is something to the effect of “Don’t ever walk into my kitchen looking like this again or you won’t have any choice but to kiss me.”
He places his cup by the sink. “Only I think I’ll wait until I don’t smell like this. I need a shower.”
Oh,please. Pleasekiss me when you smell like this.
A smile breaks over his face as if he heard me.
Was that out loud?
My face is on fire, and I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a laugh.
“Harlan, Meredith’s out of orange juice.” Molly’s entrance causes me to almost jump out of my skin. “Do you want to come with me to the grocery store?”
Wait. What’s she doing?
For all the progress I thought we made with our earlier talk, the stench of her old antics is strong. Over the years, she’s scared away more than one male prospect with her grilling. I’ve seen this movie, and it doesn’t end well.
I elbow my sister. “I’m not out of orange juice. What are you doing, Molly?”
She ignores me, eyebrows raised to Harlan.
“Sure.” He strolls across the room and stops in front of me to lean in. “I’ll shower when I get back.” Then he winks and lowers his voice. “I got this.”
Without looking at me, Molly follows him, and I’m left alone with so many swirling thoughts, I don’t know which one to process first.
Someone upset the mobile, and who knows where the pieces might land.
20
“But I don’t needorange juice.” I mutter the words to no one as I stare out my kitchen window.
Harlan opens the car door for Molly, and she folds her body into the driver’s seat.
Grasping the edge of the counter, I bow my head. “I don’t need orange juice.” I repeat my declaration to the sink with more force than before.
Varied thoughts claw through my mind, vying to crest the mountain peak of my anxiety. Which version of my past will Molly throw at Harlan? How much weight will he give her words? Should I pack his things so he can make a quick getaway upon their return?
Muffled sounds from the living room break into my climbing questions. I turn and amble to the door. “Did someone say something?”
“Orange juice?” Half asleep, my nephew poses the question, face down on the sofa, head in the crook of his elbow.
I plant my hands on my hips. “I don’t need orange juice, thank you very much. Why does everyone think they need to get me orange juice? I can handle it on my own.”
