“Oh, my god.” I squeeze her hand. “That was so sweet of you!”
Harlow shrugs modestly. “How was lunch with your mom?”
“Really nice,” I say, letting her change the subject since I know she doesn’t like when people gush over her—even if I still do, often, anyway. “We don’t always get a chance to spend one-on-one time together, so I enjoyed it.” I bump my shoulder into hers. “Don’t be jealous. I’m pretty sureyou’reher favorite daughter still.”
Harlow laughs. “I thankfully don’t have any strong competition.”
“Hey!” I squeeze her side, and she ducks back from reach. Daisy abandons the leaf she was sniffing to turn back toward us, tail wagging.
“But in all seriousness, I am really thankful for her,”Harlow says. I take her hand again, knowing this is a sensitive subject and wanting to be close to her in a way I can’t when we talk on the phone.
“I know, baby.”
Harlow shared more with me about the relationship—and the lack thereof—she’s had with her parents. A mother who saw the divorce as an opportunity to live her best independent single life. Ladies’ nights out several times a week. Multiple dates booked every weekend. She did the bare minimum to acknowledge she even had children, but it was still better than her father, who, within three months of shared custody, stopped bothering making excuses for why he couldn’t take the girls on his scheduled weekend and abandoned them altogether.
It’s why her relationship with her uncle Tim meant so much to her and why his loss cut so deeply. My mom’s really been there for Harlow, between mentoring her so her uncle’s business thrived and allowing her the space to fall in love with the work and come to see The Sweet Spot as her own to making sure that asshole George never messages Harlow again and stops running his mouth on social media.
“Yeah, so …” Harlow tugs on her earlobe, something she only does when she’s nervous. Seeing it now makes my heart race as panic floods my bloodstream. “I … was wondering if we could tell her about us?”
I blow out a subtle, steadying breath. She’s not ending things. Okay, but …wait.
“You want to tell her?”
“Yeah.” She gives a tiny, almost unsure shrug. Daisy stops to sniff a trash can that was left on the curb, and we wait for her. “I don’t know. She can tell there’s something going on with me, and I feel like I’m lying every time I blow it off. Plus, I feel like she’ll be reallyhappy for us.”
“She’ll be ecstatic,” I grumble. Harlow frowns at my less-than-pleasant tone. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “It’s not … Just … everyone has been worse than usual with all the hints and outright suggesting I move back. And if we tell her, she won’t understand why I’ll never live in Michigan again.”
Harlow’s face falls.
“Harlow?” I let go of her hand and turn to face her fully. “You know I’ll never live here again, right?”
We had this conversation months ago. She understood, at least I thought she did.
“Yeah, yes, of course,” she says, but she won’t meet my eye. She’s staring down at the gravel beneath our feet.
“Look, they won’t get why unless I tell them about Mikayla and Gabby, and I can’t do that.”
“I know that.” Harlow meets my gaze now. “I do. And I’d never ask you to move for me, we only technically just started dating three months ago—and this is the first time we’re seeing each other in person since then, but … I don’t know.” She tugs on her earlobe. “It feels like we’ve been together longer. I can’t stop thinking about you or imagining what our future could look like.”
“Ourfuture?”
Harlow flashes me a shy smile. “I’ve been trying to hold off on saying this in case it’s too soon, but yeah, our future, Lily. Because I’m in love with you, and I want a futurewithyou.”
My mind reels.
The words should fill me with warmth. They should have me bouncing on my toes and throwing my arms around her so I can pepper her face with kisses and tell her I feel the same. Because I do, don’t I?
Only that’s not what’s happening inside me.
No. My lungs tighten, and I’m having trouble breathing.It’s like the hoodie I’m wearing is suddenly covered with gaping holes, and the chilly night air has snaked into my bones, leaving me cold and confused.
Harlow frowns. “Lily?”
My mind spins, trying to think of something—anything—to say when Daisy lunges forward, losing her shit. The leash is almost ripped from Harlow’s hand, but she secures her grip at the last second as Daisy barks and growls at a small black blur that darts through a clump of dried leaves. It takes me a moment to process the blur, and it’s only when it reaches another, much larger, black blur do I recognize them for what they are: raccoons.
“Shit,” Harlow grumbles and tugs backward on Daisy’s leash. The momma raccoon makes herself big, standing on two feet, arms spread wide, as she hisses. “Daisy, come on.Daisy!”
Daisy listens, allowing Harlow to pull her back, although she never takes her eyes off the raccoons until we’re well down the street and turning a corner.
