Regardless, Harlow refused to deal with whatever the hell it was again. Dreams, nightmares, or whatever, were not for him. Having them made him feel off, and not himself. So, to prevent his body from ever feeling off again, he’d make sure Foxx didn’t get hurt again. It was the only logical solution, right?
He had the cameras installed to protect the apartment, and soon enough, he’d have a tracker to place on Foxx… The problem was mostly solved.
As for Foxx’s nightmares…he had a solution for those too. He was just stalling on contacting Gavin. In part, it was due to Foxx wanting to testify. The vampire deserved to be able to get a chance to confront the fuckers who tried to kill him.
Though, he was mostly just waiting because multiple people in the same group getting offed before their trials would have raised major red flags. Which, sadly, made this plan of his less an immediate solution and more a long-term goal.
As much as he’d hate for Gavin to bring his ass here in the immediate future—which would one hundred percent happen once he called—he probably should just go and get the hits set up. Then it would only be a matter of time before?—
“What are you thinking about that has you smiling like that?” Wes asked slowly.
Harlow blinked, and blanking his expression once again, he proceeded to lie, “Taxes.”
“Taxes… Yes, as don’t we all smile with murderous glee when thinking of…taxes,” Wes deadpanned.
Paperwork in hand, Harlow walked out of the BMW dealership. The BMW R 1250 GS motorcycle he wanted had been ordered…now he just had to wait.
He was not going to question why he decided to switch from a one-seater Ducati to a two-up BMW. No point in questioning when he already fucking knew why.
Regardless of it fitting two people, he was never, ever going to take Foxx out on it during the day. The last thing he needed was to be seen riding around with a bear clinging to his back. He snorted at the thought.
Harlow was almost back to his Jeep when the hairs on the back of his neck rose up. Not stopping, he covertly glanced around, his expression remaining neutral.
Someone’s...eyes were on him, he was sure of it. But…when nothing happened, he glanced around one last time before getting in and starting the drive home.
Way to be paranoid, Harlow, he thought with a sigh. Then again, some bastard had blown up his house, no doubt hoping he was in it, while another had ultimately tried to blow him up as well. He had plenty of reasons to be paranoid.
The drive back to the gated Inner Village that The Silver Hollow was located in was uneventful. But as he rode up the elevator to his floor, anticipation began to build. He wasn’t sure what was waiting for him in the apartment, but he had no doubt it was a mess of some kind—chaotic or otherwise.
Pressing his thumb to the scanner, he opened the door when it flashed green, and was immediately greeted with the most delicious, mouthwatering smells imaginable. Yet, at the same time, they were conflicting.
There was the smell of fruits and chocolate, along with some very meaty savory scents. While they all smelled amazing on their own, it was a bit overwhelming with them mixing together.
Grinning, Harlow walked in, letting the door swing closed behind him. As he stepped out of the hallway, his first sight of the apartment had him barking out in laughter.
It wasn't the boxes he was expecting, but pies of all sizes, as far as the eye could see, were laid out in heart groupings across wherever there was a flat surface.
Hovering above the display of delicious savory and sweet pies were pink and red heart balloons and streamers.
But the true masterpiece, which was smack in the middle between the two living rooms, was a giant banner, saying in a swooping font,Happy Birthday, Our Valentine’s Baby Boy, surrounded by hundreds of red and pink roses, and more balloons.
Right by that banner, looking like a Valentine's day gnome, in his big knitted pink gnome hat with hearts and horizontal stripes, pink corduroy pants with pink and white heart suspenders, pink boots, and a fuzzy white sweater with hearts on it, was Foxx. The man’s lopsided dimpled smile was so wide he could see both of his fangs. Next to him, in complete contrast mood-wise was a grumpy looking Alastair, dressed as cupid—bow and arrow, wings, toga and all.
“Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.” Foxx snickered, before elbowing Alastair.
The vampire let out a long-suffering sigh and shot a plastic arrow at him. Harlow started laughing harder as it bounced off his chest and hit the floor. “Well played, Foxx. Well played.” He clapped.
Foxx’s friend huffed. “He doesn’t seem annoyed at all. He’s enjoying this!”
His partner chuckled, and said threateningly, “For now.”
Wiping legit tears from his eyes, he gasped breathlessly. “I see you didn’t forget your promise to make me pie for my birthday, brat.”
He’d known what day it was…yet he had forgotten all about the slightly threatening promise Foxx had made him almost three months ago—until now, that is.
Foxx sniffed. “Of course not, old man! Unlike you, I remember all the shit I say.”
“Not sure I, or anyone, could remember all the shit you say, Foxx. You talk nonstop.”
