Why must she answer what I was hoping for?
I ease a notch. “Me too,” I admit. “But you’re the one in the lead here, and I’m going to walk away right now because it’s nearly impossible to be around you without forgetting my gentleman card right now.”
A weak half-smile forms on her mouth. “Then one of us should go now. I… really, I’m happy for you on the professional front.”
“Sure.” In defeat, I walk away, wishing in a way that she wasn’t here.
In one hand right now, I have her near, and in the other she’s slipping away.
* * *
The swooshingof the revolving door is my sign that I can loosen my tie and leave this miserable attempt at socializing. But my eyes flick up when I notice Harlow waiting for a taxi. Her hands are in her pockets as she’s looking up at the sky, which are the lights of skyscrapers in place of stars.
Most of all, I notice her nerves, and it has nothing to do with me.
It’s night.
Without me, I think she might still hate them.
I can’t walk away now. My feet won’t even attempt to step away, I’m permanently protective of her.
I curse to myself that it may be my fate. I’ll never shake that feeling away, no matter the distance or how we end up.
“Harlow.” My voice is low.
She side-eyes me then does a double take. “Oh, hey.”
That may be a disappointing greeting to most guys, but it has nothing to do with me. “Heading back to the hotel?” She sounds almost nervous for my answer.
“Yeah… I guess we’re all at the same place.” Our publisher arranged everything.
I hail down a taxi that’s approaching. “Come on, I’ll ride with you.”
Harlow looks at me, unsure yet appreciative, which is why I hold the door open to let her slide onto the backseat first. After I inform the driver where we’re going, I sit back, only to notice the space between Harlow and me.
Awkward cab ride here we come, it seems.
“Uhm… so how’s your niece?”
Ah, break the silence by sticking to chitchat. Classic.
“She’s good.” I pull out my phone to show her a photo of Nora using a Labrador as support to stand. The dog appears to be patient with her clawing of hair. The scene is completed with a giant, drooly grin on Nora’s face. “Standing up and giggling like crazy.” When Harlow leans in to steal a glance, her fingers feather my wrist, and my entire body wants to jolt from the urge to yank her closer to me on the backseat.
“Adorable,” she nearly mumbles. Harlow must feel the heavy air wrapping around us as she slowly leans back.
“How’re photos of green-colored olive flowers next to a book going?”
Now she chortles and gives me a humorous glare as we both realize our ability for neutral talk is an epic failure.
Which is why I don’t care and bring my finger to draw lazy circles on Harlow’s hand, resting flat on the middle seat. I stare down, acknowledging that this touch isn’t enough; I need more.
Her breath catches from the connection as her eyes rush to look out the window. “Stone, I’m not sure what to?—”
“Shh, I don’t need to hear you say it again. I got the picture. Your thoughts are all muddled.”
A short laugh escapes her. “A mind reader, are you?”
“Yeah, something like that. Or my intuition is heightened around you.”
