“Matt?” Harlow laughed. “Outing me on national television isn’t much worse than what Xander did. The more I think about it, I’m grateful it’s out there. No more holding in that secret.”
“I still want to know why you never told me he locked you out. Why I had to learn about it on a late-night talk show.”
“Anne, let’s go.” Dad gently steered Mom out the door with a compassionate glance at Harlow. “We’re late.”
As her parents drove off in one direction, Harlow ran in the other, through the morning sun, sweating out her thoughts. Should she—could she—return to Xander? After seeing a darker side of his character, could she trust him?
She ran two miles in record time, then grabbed a glass of water from Mom’s gourmet kitchen.
She’d planned an egg white omelet with toast for breakfast, but being as she was alone, and knowing Dad kept a stash of Hayes Cookies in his desk, she wandered toward his office. How many times had she stared at that drawer, aching to open it but never gave in?
Dad’s office of wood and leather overlooked the trees and flower gardens of the backyard and the kidney-shaped pool. Papers, letters, and notes written on scrap paper littered his antique mahogany desk. She studied a drawing of a new cookie package with the ingredients written in a lovely script. Caramel, crushed almonds, chocolate swirls.
A brilliant businessman, Dad worked with eclectic organization.
The wall above the wainscoting was dark blue and mounted with the history of the Hayes Cookie Co., founded by her great-great-grandfather, along with a recipe, a dollar, and two bits. She leaned closer to the large black-and-white print of the first batch of Hayes Cookies. 1887.
“Same year the Starlight was built.”
The phone rang, and Harlow let the machine get it. Mom was probably calling to tell her what she could have for breakfast. Or it was Xander, who she didn’t want to talk to at the moment.
However, the machine didn’t pick up and on the sixth ring, Harlow answered.
“Hayes residence.” She flopped into Dad’s big comfy chair.
“Hey, it’s me.”
She fumbled forward, nearly spilling her water. “Matt.”
“I just want to say—”
“You don’t have to apologize again. You’re forgiven. I think it’s blown over, really.”
“I feel like I can’t stop apologizing. But we’re cool?”
“Yes, Matt, we’re cool. How are the signatures coming?”
“We’re getting there. I’m going on the Rollo on the Radio show again. Simon took flyers to the houses on the northwest side of town. A lot of those folks work in Fort Walton and are on the edge of Sea Blue Beach happenings. But we’re down to the wire. Last day is Thursday.”
“Well, good luck. Tell Tuesday I’m sorry I’m not there to help.”
“You’re where you’re supposed to be. How’s it going? Granny and Spike say hi,” he said. “Nora and Simon too. Well, everyone at the rink. Audra asked about you.”
Twelve years in the world fashion scene and no one had called her in the last two years. Jinx had only reached out once since she left Manhattan. “Tell everyone hi for me. I miss them.”
“I’m heading to LA for a week,” Matt said. “I’m up for a spy-thriller, and the producers finally settled with the Conner Reid ousting from the Cindy Canon movie. Roger Woods wants to start rehearsals. Not sure I’ll be able to make it back for the signature validation.”
“Try. Tuesday counts on you.”
“She told me to tell you to keep skating.”
“Is that a metaphor? It feels like a metaphor.” Harlow reachedfor one of Dad’s mechanical pencils and added her doodles to his desk calendar.
Milk chocolate instead of semi-sweet.
Harlow Hayes.
The Starlight.
