None of them looked like they were paying us any mind. Almost like they didn’t even know he was here.
“It was one of the guys, wasn’t it?” I asked, seeing a few too many smiles in the crowd. “Of course it was,” I mumbled to myself. “Whoever it was, I’m going to find out. And then I’m going to hand your ass to you,” I called to the bar. “Why did you come?”
“It seemed rude not to when I was invited,” Harrison said.
Was it just me, or was there a bit of, I don’t know, hope in his voice? Like he thought I might be happy to see him?
I wasn’t about to admit to him that there was a sudden urge to move to his side.
“He has good manners,” my mother said, enjoying my discomfort. “One of the many things you didn’t tell us about him.”
“Because he’s not really my husband!”
“I think there is paperwork that says otherwise, honey,” my father said. He shot me a smirk when something akin to a growl escaped me.
“Not for long. If someone would stop stonewalling my lawyer.”
“Harrison was actually just telling us about his busy schedule for the next few weeks,” my mother said. “Including a charity gala this weekend.”
“Yes. I’m sure he doesn’t have a single hour to come with me to court. Or, you know, ten seconds to scribble his name on the paperwork he already has at his office.”
My mother released me at that. “How about your father and I go get you a drink?”
“I’m not drinking anymore.”
“Why not?” my father asked, shooting me a smirk. “It’s not like you could get married again.”
The two shared a laugh as they walked away.
“I like your parents.”
“Normally, I would agree that they are very likable. Tonight, I’m finding it hard to find evidence to support that.”
“You didn’t tell me that you wanted to be an ice dancer when you were a kid.”
I glared at my parents across the bar, but they were enjoying my reactions way too much.
“I was like ten.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Become an ice dancer? Because the first time I got on the ice, I broke my leg in two places and gave myself a concussion.” Harrison was valiantly trying not to chuckle at that. “It’s fine. You can laugh about it.”
“So, while you were laid up with a broken leg, was that when you decided to become a poet? What are you doing?” he asked when I looked for my phone.
“Seeing what the ground temperature is.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to kill my parents. And I’d prefer not to go to prison for it, so I need to know how hard the grave-digging thing is going to be.”
“They only shared one poem with me.”
Oh,God.
“Fine, two.”
“You have five seconds to tell me something embarrassing about yourself.”
