Warren: Let me know the next time it happens.
Harriet: How do you feel about the name Zacharias?
Warren: Do you want my honest opinion?
Harriet: Always.
Warren: I’m not feeling it.
Warren:Edward?
Harriet: Nah, too Twilighty.
Warren: Ah, yeah, the sparkly guy.
Harriet: Ugh, this is impossible.
Warren: We’ve got ages to decide. Have you thought of any girl’s names?
Harriet: I hate them all! Our child is going to be nameless.
Warren: I kinda like Button. Very unique.
Harriet: You are so unhelpful!
Warren: How’re things?
Harriet: Busy! One of the other bartenders called in sick, so I’ve picked up a couple of extra shifts.
Warren: Make sure you’re taking it easy.
Harriet: I am, but I could do with the extra cash. I think my furnace needs servicing.
Warren: That’s your landlord’s responsibility.
Harriet: He’s useless.
Harriet: I’ve actually been meaning to text you. Would you like to come see the distillery next week?
Warren: Oh, sure. Sounds fun.
Harriet: My friends will be there too…
Warren: Does that include the scary one with purple hair? Parker, right?
Harriet: The one and only.
Warren: Count me in.
TWENTY-SIX
WARREN
Three weeks have passedsince New Year’s Day, and I’ve over-obsessed about every detail ever since I woke up with a soft body pressed into me and long, blonde hair tickling my nose.
A tsunami of emotions came rushing toward me. Wave after wave of shame attacked me from all angles, forcing me to get away from her, and my parent’s house.
A five-mile run burned away some of the humiliation, leaving me to question one thing.
