“Donate it all,” I say. “Or sell it. Or burn it. I don’t care.”
“Liliana.” Mom’s tone is exasperated. “Don’t be so dramatic. We can go together sometime this week and box some things up.”
I roll my eyes. “No. I’m serious. I don’t care what’s done with all my old stuff. I haven’t needed it in ten years, I don’t need it now.” I shrug and stand. “I’m going to shower.”
Mom tsks but doesn’t fight me on it. Then, almostas an afterthought, she reminds me, “Don’t forget Christmas cookies start in one hour.”
I flash a thumbs up over my shoulder, grateful she’s letting me go without more of a fight. But she’s lost her damn mind if she thinks I’m going back to Winston. I truly don’t care what happens to all my old stuff as long as I don’t have to go deal with it in person.
It’s a Lewis lady tradition to spend Christmas Eve baking enough cookies we can put Crumbl out of business. Mom and Lucy spend the first half hour arguing over their differing baking plans. We do this annually, you’d think they’d finally get on the same page, but here we are.
Taylor and I snack on mini chocolate chips as she attempts to convince me to watch some thriller TV show about a soccer team in the wilderness or something. I don’t know. I don’t watch much TV, so I’ve never heard of it before, even though it’s apparently “super popular.” I can’t concentrate on her selling me on the show because my thoughts keep drifting back to last night.
It’s a damn shame I’m going to be so busy with my family while I’m in town, otherwise I’d reach out to her for a repeat. Sex with Harlow was a mind-blowing experience. I’m a sex positive person. I don’t yuck anyone’s yum. And, while I’ve had many hookups and a couple casual relationships, I’ve never had someone put me in my place like she did. It was so hot.
I enjoy being a little bratty in bed. Being a woman in a male-dominated field who is gunning for captain, I never step a toe out of line. I’m a team player, the first to volunteer, and an all-around model employee. So, whenI get the chance to talk back and challenge authority, I embrace it. But the women I’ve been with always cave. They let me get away with pushing back, and I usually take over control. But not with Harlow.
“Okay.” Mom sighs. “We can start with the peanut butter blossoms, but I still think we should work on the gingerbread cookies. The dough has been chilling for three hours now.”
Lucy groans. “We will get to them, Mom. Just trust me.Please.”
Taylor and I exchange knowing looks.
The doorbell rings, and Mom brightens. “Oh, she’s here!”
I frown. “Who?” But Mom has already taken off down the hall to answer it.
We don’t have any extended family in the area. Uncle Steven and Dad don’t get along, so we rarely see them. Grandpa is local, but he only comes over on Christmas Day. It makes him too sad to see us baking without Grandma Shirley—the original Lewis woman to start the tradition—who passed away four years ago.
“Whoever they are, as long as they can follow simple instructions, I welcome them,” Lucy says while grabbing the flour.
“You’re going to love everyone,” Mom’s distant voice echoes from the hallway.
I grab a carton of eggs from the fridge while Mom introduces Lucy and Taylor to our mystery guest.
“And, of course, here’s Liliana,” Mom says, and I roll my eyes. Why she insists on using my full name, I’ll never understand.
“It’s Lily,” I say as I whirl around to introduce myself and freeze. The carton slips from my fingersand hits the tile with a string of cracks. Sticky, raw egg yolk explodes in every direction, including onto my bare feet.
“Lily!” my sister shrieks.
“Damn, there goes fifty dollars down the drain,” Taylor jokes.
But I barely hear either of them. I’m staring, open-mouthed at my mother’s guest in the entryway to the kitchen.
Harlow.
Chapter Three
“Everyone, this is Harlow Brooks,” Mom introduces, while Taylor helps me clean up the mess of egg guts off the floor. “She’s the owner of The Sweet Spot. You know the ice cream shop over on Maple Ave?”
I giggle under my breath at the name The Sweet Spot. Lucy frowns and gives me a disapproving look. Heat rises in my cheeks.Get it together, dammit.
“Oh, yeah!” Taylor smiles. “I’ve heard so many good things about that place.”
Mom grins while Harlow stands frozen, her face pale. She’s wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans. Her silky black hair is up in a perfect bun. Heat spreads through me at the breathtaking sight of her.
Yet she’s pointedly not looking at me as I wash my feet with a damp washcloth. What in the hell is she doing here? And how does she know my mother?
