She’d be too stubborn to ask for help.
She pulls me back and looks me up and down. “You’re going out again?” she asks with not one ounce of judgment.
If it were up to Mom, she’d have me on dating apps, going out every night.
“Yes.” I pause, knowing I need to tell her I’m not coming home but cringing on the inside, thinking about it. “And I’ll be sleeping out, too. I’ll go right to the bakery in the morning.”
“Oh?” She beams. “Would you be sleeping over at a very handsomeolder man’shouse?”
“Mom!”
She shrugs. “I’m just stating the facts. And he’s a dad.”
“It’s not serious. We’re just having fun.”
“Mmm,” she says, staring at me like she knows I wish it were more than that.
“Jules,” Becks screams from my room. “Hottie Harrison texted he’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” I mumble. “Don’t even say anything.”
Mom pretends to zip her mouth and throw away the key.
I walk back to my room to grab my purse, overnight bag, and a light sweater in case the air conditioning is on too high at the restaurant, to find Becks lying on her stomach, back to work.
“How’s Matteo? You seem to be getting along well.”
“It’s not like that.”
Pausing mid-step at her tone. “What do you mean?”
“He’s not always around, or in New York. It’s not serious.”
Huh. “Where does he go? Does he work from another office?”
“I’m not sure,” she says dismissively, typing furiously on her laptop. My phone dings and I know it’s Harrison telling me he’s downstairs.
Becks hands me my phone without looking, so I take her face and squeeze it while kissing her cheek hard.
“Ugh. You’re like the grandmother I never had. All you’re missing is the red lipstick that never comes off.”
I laugh and slap her bubble butt. “Bye. Love you.”
“Love you more. Have fun.”
I say bye to Mom and hear her yell down the hall as I open the front door. “Rebecca. Are you staying for dinner?”
“Yes. I’ll be out in twenty minutes when I’m done with this spreadsheet,” she calls back. A pang of jealousy hits quickly, followed by guilt that I want to be with Harrison over staying here.
I take the elevator down to the lobby and walk out the front door. My breath catches, and the strange tingling sensation I get whenever I see Harrison grips my body like a vise.
He’s on the phone and doesn’t see me at first, but when he turns and our eyes lock, every inch of me has to hold back from running into his arms.
Harrison Davenport is perfection in his crisp navy suit.
The tie is gone, and the top two bottoms of his shirt are undone with a white neatly squared-off pocket square tucked in.
He holds his arm out for me when I get closer, wrapping it tightly around my middle.
