Brunch at Millie’s? My treat.
My fingers hover over the screen. Perfect. The confessor always comes back to the confessional, hoping for absolution.
Of course. 11?
I walk into the guest room without knocking. Blake’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptop open, hair wrecked.
“She wants brunch,” I say.
His grin is slow, like a knife sliding free. “You gonna pull the trigger already?”
“Not yet. I want her fat and happy first.”
“Fattening the calf.”
“Exactly.”
Millie’s is the kind of diner that smells like syrup no matter what time it is. Harper’s already there, waving from a booth by the window. She looks tired. Perfect.
“Morning,” I say, sliding in. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t.” She laughs, but it’s brittle. “I kept thinking about… what I told you.”
“Regret?” I ask, pouring cream into my coffee.
She shakes her head. “Relief. You’re the only person I could ever say that to.”
I smile like she’s handed me flowers. “That’s what friends are for.”
We order. She picks at her omelet like it insulted her personally.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says. “About Costa Rica.”
“Oh?”
“I want you to come. To the retreat.”
I sip my coffee. What’s her angle? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? She’s stealing from my playbook, and something in me swells with misplaced pride.
“That’s sweet, Harper,” I say. “But it’s your thing. Your moment.”
“It could be our thing,” she insists. “You’d be perfect on the resilience panel. People love your story. You could keynote—or co-host with me. We’d split the profits. And honestly… it’s because of you the podcast exploded and I even have this opportunity.”
There’s the line I’ve been waiting for. I let my eyes soften, drop my voice. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. “Then I’d be honored.”
She squeezes my fingers, relief practically steaming off her skin. That’s the thing about guilt—it makes people desperate to keep their co-conspirators close.
Back at the house, I find Blake on the couch, editing footage. I drop my purse on the counter. “Get your passport. We’re going to Costa Rica.”
He doesn’t look up. “That was quick.”
“She invited me.”
He chuckles. “Of course she did.”
