22
Harlow
“Simon,” Harlow said as he rounded the kitchen doorway. “We need to—”
A messy blonde bun and a curious set of eyes stopped Harlow mid-sentence. Across the kitchen, seated on the counter near the stove, was Evie. A burned strip of bacon dangled between her lips. Simon, who Harlow had been expecting to see, still occupied the space in front of the oven, tending to a new batch of bacon.
“Morning, Dad.” Evie lowered the bacon and crossed her ankles, her baggy pink pajama pants pleating at the leg as she did. “Look, Simon is cooking breakfast! He even burned some of the bacon. I left you a piece, if you want some, although Simon’s making some more just to be sure you have enough.”
Simon glanced over his shoulder, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. It struck like lightning through Harlow’s heart like it was an old oak, first splitting it in half on impact, then setting fire to the remains. The pan had gone dry—the scent of carbon perfumed the air.
Simon was making burned bacon for him, not because he was distracted, but because he wanted to make Harlow feel welcome. Could he really have lied? Have hidden the truth from Harlow for motives unknown?
It didn’t feel like it. To Harlow, it felt like Simon could do no wrong at all.
“Morning, kiddo.” Harlow’s shoulders slumped. The talk he’d wanted to have with Simon would have to wait until later, when they had privacy again. “You sleep okay?”
Evie swung her legs out, her toes curled downward, then lowered them to hang parallel to the counter doors again. “Yeah. Simon’s bed’s actually kind of comfy. I told him that if he wanted, I’d buy him another couch so he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor, but he insisted that he was going to buy an air mattress, and that he was going to buy it himself… can you force him to take my money?”
“I’m a man of many talents, but I’m not sure that’s one of them.” Harlow lifted one corner of his lips in what he hoped was a convincing grin. “We’ll find out a way to get him back before we go—don’t worry.”
“If you say so.” Evie folded the rest of her bacon into her mouth. The crisp sound as she chewed was reminiscent of breakfasts almost a decade ago, and Harlow’s split heart stung. After swallowing, she said, “I told Simon that he should let you make scrambled eggs, because you makethe bestscrambled eggs.”
Simon shrugged. “I just… you know, I don’t want you to feel like you have to contribute. It’s my job to do the cooking, so… that’s what I do.”
“But it’s just scrambled eggs,” Evie argued. “I can even do the dishes, if you want. Cynthia wouldkillme if she found out I was soaking my hands in dishwater, though, so you’ve got to make sure not to tell her.”
“I don’t even know who Cynthia is,” Simon replied.
“Then don’t go finding it out and we won’t have a problem.” Evie stuck out her tongue. “So, is it a deal? I do dishes, Dad cooks scrambled eggs, and I buy you a couch?”
“Uh!” Simon, who’d learned from his previous mistakes, moved the overcooked bacon to a cool burner before turning to face Evie. His face was pinched with low-grade alarm. “How is that a deal? That’s you guys doing everything for me and me doing nothing for you.”
“You’re making bacon,” Evie pointed out.
Harlow glanced at her and saw the smile he’d been sure he’d never see again. No matter what was going on behind the scenes, he would always be on her side. “And you’re letting us stay in your home,” Harlow continued, backing her up.
Evie winked at him, grinning wide.
Simon’s attention switched from Evie to Harlow. He waved the kitchen tongs at him, exasperated. “You’re helping her?”
“I thought we established that yesterday.” Harlow settled against the counter beside Evie. She elbowed his side like he was one of the guys. There were still problems that Harlow had to talk to her about, but for now, it was nice to feel like they were back to normal—that Evie was back on his team. “Where Evie goes, I go. Package deal.”
“And that means that when I tell people to take my money, he’ll tell people to take my money, too.” Evie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward, smirking. “So, are you going to take it, or…?”
“No!” Simon went back to the bacon, lifting one strip from the pan. After he’d assessed it for—crispiness? Severity of carbonization? Total and complete burn coverage?—he set it on the plate with the normal strips. Evie stole it almost immediately.
Three rapid knocks sounded from the front door.
Knock knock knock.
“Oh.” Evie put on an overly pronounced pout and cocked her head to the side. Had it not been for her unconcerned reaction to the unexpected visitor, Harlow would have snapped to high alert. “I guess you’re not going to want to answer the door, then. That’s really too bad.”
Simon, befuddled, set the tongs down. “What? What do you mean, I’m not going to want to answer the door? Who’s there?”
“No one.” Evie looked from the corner of her eye at Harlow—he saw it, and he saw her devious grin. “Anddefinitelynot an Amazon Prime 2-Hour delivery guy with an air mattress.”
“H-How?” Simon stuttered. He stared at Evie like she was an illusionist who’d just released a bevy of doves from her top hat.
