Page 58 of Choosing Us

“It was pretty balanced. Quentin thought intent mattered, but only if there was awareness behind it. Then Graham said something about how people don’t always know why they change behavior—they’re just aware that something feels better than it did before.”

"Yeah, that’s on-brand for Graham. I'm surprised Quentin and James let him have the final word."

"Well, the dessert cart came by at that point."

"And we’ve identified the true winner of the debate—the cheesecake.”

“It was actually tiramisu, and it was delightful, thank you very much.”

I giggle at that comment just as Ryan opens his front door and lifts his hand in greeting. “Hey, Aisha, I’m going to have to call you back. I just got to Ryan’s.”

“Uh-huh, sure, girl. I know what that tone means, and all I have to say…”

I close my eyes as I brace myself for whatever comment is about to be delivered.

“You go, girl.”

Aisha’s dry reply makes me burst out laughing, which has Ryan tilting his head from the porch. I wave to him as I say goodbye to my friend.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence.”

“No, seriously, Harlow. It’s time. You need to get it, girl. In fact, you should consider getting it multiple times. Turn off your phone, turn on your man.”

“Okay, I think I’m losing you. I’ll have to call you later,” I say a little too loudly, which has Ryan laughing at my obvious attempt to stop this conversation.

But when a doctor gives you advice, you’d be foolish not to listen.

And I am anything but a fool.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Seeing Harlow’s Jeep pull up the drive to my house brings the biggest smile of the day to my face. I’m selfishly hoping we can spend the entire weekend as just the two of us, and I made sure to stock up on anything and everything we could possibly need, so there’s no reason we have to leave this house unless we want to.

Brunch supplies? In the fridge.

Dinner ingredients? Prepped and ready to go.

Random sweet treat craving? I have three kinds of ice cream, two bags of her favorite M&Ms—plain, never with peanuts—and a box of cookies from Sprinkles on my counter.

A few nights ago, during one of our now-nightly phone calls, we had an honest conversation about our expectations of this weekend, as well as our personal histories, so I was optimistic in buying the fresh box of condoms that are also upstairs in my ensuite. Harlow doesn’t react well to hormonal birth control, so she asked that we use condoms. At that point, I would have agreed to anything if it meant getting—and keeping—her in my bed.

She gets out of her vehicle while on the phone with someone, and I quickly surmise it must be Aisha. I raise my hand in greeting as I lean against one of the pillars on my deck, just watching her laugh with her friend. Something Aisha says makes Harlow blush and nearly squeaks something about losing her, which makes me laugh. I can tell she’s saying goodbye, though, so I take the few steps down to meet her by her Jeep.

“Hey, gorgeous girl. How are you?” I ask and open my arms for her, feeling my blood pressure lower as she wraps her arms around me.

“Hi! I’m good now, great, even.” She looks up at me, and her chocolate brown eyes are so pretty, especially framed by her long dark eyelashes. Harlow smiles before standing on her tiptoes, but I don’t make her close the entire distance as I lower my face to properly greet my girl with a kiss.

This week has been filled with bullshit budget meetings that wasted even more of my team’s time as other board members cave to the chairman’s strongly worded suggestions. More than once, it felt like Calvin was seeing if he could get me to jump just to prove that he was in control.

We aren’t debating about patient experience, or recruiting the best talent for the hospital, no, it’s all show-boating moves to look big and fancy, and to what end? To be squished by a major healthcare system out of Nashville?

What a waste.

Mentally slamming that filing cabinet shut, I bring all my focus and energy to this woman and this moment.

Her embrace and kiss are more soothing than even the stiffest drink, and I would know, because I’ve had a few this week.

Harlow tells me about her day as I grab her bag from the backseat, extending my hand to her as we walk into my house. I put her bag in my room—no guest rooms this weekend—and meet her in the kitchen where she’s grinning at the bag of supplies on the counter.