“You wanna get lunch?” Harlee asks, batting her lashes. “I’m probably the most forever-alone person here, so I was thinking I might as well take myself out. Wanna join me? I’ll buy.”
I laugh, shaking my head at her. “Okay, sure.” Honestly, I have no idea how a woman as eccentric as her is a lawyer, but I have to admit, she’s been a really nice change to the vibe around here.
And I’m on a mission to make more friends.
“Yes, thank you!” Harlee jumps up from her chair and grabs her jacket. “I swear, it’s impossible to meet a man in this city. No one will even make eye contact with me. I feel like eye contact must be a sin in New York or something.”
“Honestly, it might be,” I tease her, leading the way out to the street. “I don’t think there’s anyone around here that’s bursting with the same friendliness that you find in your home state.”
“Have you ever been to the south?” Harlee tips her head up to look at me. She’s an incredibly petite woman, standing no more than five feet tall, and might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her attitude in the courtroom, though? Yeah, that’s the equivalent of a linebacker.
“I’ve never been to Georgia, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I say, thinking of just how far south I’ve actually been. “I made it to Tennessee once. That was a trip.”
“Hmm,” Harlee says from beside me, both of our heels clicking against the pavement. We make our way to the small sandwich shop a couple of blocks away from the firm, and while doing so, Harlee blabs on and on about the current case she’s working on.
It’s an ugly civil suit between a woman and her ex-husband.
“I just can’t imagine going to my ex-husband’s barbeque, slipping on spilled ice cream, and then saying, ‘I’ll sue you!’” Harlee shakes her head, her southern accent even tinging her laughter. “I could barely keep a straight face.”
“Maybe she didn’t get what she wanted out of the divorce, and this is her way of making it up.”
“Ah, right, the divorce that took place twenty-three years ago.” Harlee and I both exchange a look as she grabs the door, holding it open for me. “That would givepettya whole new meaning.”
“You’re not wrong,” I tell her, stepping through the opening. The smell of freshly baked bread meets my senses, and I enjoy it, my stomach rumbling.
I’m starving.
I follow Harlee up to the counter and wait for her to order first. There are all sorts of Valentine’s Day specials, and as much as I don’t want it to bother me…
It does.
The thought makes my appetite wane, but only slightly.
I order a BLT and then follow Harlee back to a table where she sets our order number down. I slide into a booth on the side that faces the street as she takes a seat across from me.
“So, you’re not seeing anyone?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation off me. “That really surprises me.”
“Well, it’s not for lack of trying.” Harlee sighs, her smile somewhat faltering. “Like I said, it seems impossible to meet anyone in a city where everyone wants to be left alone. It’s like you can pass three hundred people in a single day, and none of them will even notice your existence.” She rests her chin against her hand. “It sometimes makes me miss Georgia.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” I say. “I guess I’m just used to it since I was raised here. If anything, overly friendly people make me nervous.”
“Really?! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” She gives me a wary look. “I can’t even imagine what you must think about me.”
I burst into a light laugh. “No, I like you. I just mean that if some random stranger came up and tried to talk to me on the street, I’d be worried I’m about to be mugged or something.”
“Right. I can see how that could feel terrifying.” Harlee giggles, just as our sandwiches are set down in front of us. She picks upher turkey club and takes a massive bite. I follow suit and take a bite of my sandwich, too, letting out a small moan.
Ugh. This is amazing.
We eat quietly for the next few minutes, before Harlee speaks up again.
“So, do you have any romantic plans this evening?” Her tone is light, not at all prying, but somehow, it still lands like a punch to my esophagus.
I clear my throat. “No. My fiancé—well, my ex-fiancé—broke up with me about a month ago, so…” I try to say it with a kind of breeziness, like I’m already over it.
But Harlee’s face falls. She recoils, as if she’s just made a catastrophic faux pas. “Oh my gosh! Brit, I am so, so sorry. Are you okay?” She covers my hand with hers.
“I’m okay, I guess. It’s been an adjustment,” I say, and something about the way she leans in—unapologetically, all-in—makes me want to spill more than I probably should.
