“Thanks,” Bishop echoes.
“You’re badass,” Killian adds.
I smile despite myself. “You boys gonna behave now?”
Shepherd shrugs. “No guarantees.”
Killian lifts an eyebrow. “Can we have one—one—personal question?”
“No.”
“It’s small.”
“No.”
Bishop raises his hand politely. “Is he an athlete?”
“I’m muting you,” I say, reaching for my keyboard.
Shepherd laughs. “Just take the compliment. You’re glowing.”
“I’m hanging up,” I warn.
Killian gasps. “OH MY GOD, youareglowing! We must be right!”
That’s it.
I hitEnd Meetingbefore they can say another word.
The screen goes black.
Silence fills my office.
Then, slowly, inevitably, I look down at my phone.
Several texts from Harrison.
One unsent draft of mine.
Me
Lunch sounds nice.
And now all that’s left is the warm, fluttery, absolutely ridiculous feeling in my chest that hasn’t stopped since the moment Harrison Meers walked back into my life.
Harrison spotsme before I spot him.
I’m sitting in the booth at Harold’s Hot Dog Diner pretending to read the specials menu for the fourth time when I feel rather than see someone approach, a bigger, warmer presence, the scent of clean soap and an ice rink lingering around him.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Just that. One word. But it hits low in my stomach because he’s smiling, not his usual locker room grin, but something smaller. Almost shy. I’ve never known Harrison to be shy but here we are, ten years later, and I guess we’ve both changed.
I look up. “Hey.”
He slides into the booth across from me like he’s afraid he’ll take the wrong seat, or bump something, or mess this up. He looks a bit like a bull in a China shop. It’s cute, which is not at all helpful for my composure.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Parking was, well, parking.”
