“Nine sounds great. I’ll see you there.”
“See you there.”
Right before Arlen disconnected the line, she heard him whoop loudly.
Smiling to herself, Harlow set her phone on the desk. “Arlen London, I can’t wait to see the look on your face tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 17
Harlow woke early the next morning after another rough night. She tossed and turned, mulling over the stupid story and faux photo of her and Caleb. To her credit, she’d wisely decided not to search for her name again, certain there were more stories, more lies, more photoshopped photos.
When she wasn’t thinking about the smear, she rehearsed what she would say to Arlen, wondering how he would react to her generous gift. Hopefully, he would accept it in the spirit it was given.
Her father was already up and seated at the bar, newspaper laid out on the counter as he perused the classified ads.
She gave him a quick hug before traipsing across the kitchen and pouring a cup of coffee. “Any word from Aunt Birdie?”
“She texted a picture of her and her friend last night, standing in their hotel room.”
“How was it?”
“It looked clean.”
“She has internet, at least for the time being.”
“Yep.” David sipped his coffee, eyeing his daughter over the rim of the cup. “Are you excited?”
“About surprising Arlen? I can hardly wait.”
“That boy will be bouncing off the walls,” he predicted.
“He seemed pretty geeked about having breakfast with me.”
“Maybe you should warn him he might end up in the news.”
“They would have to dig deep to come up with a story about me and Arlen.” Harlow eyed her father thoughtfully. “I need to add a few more cameras and motion lights on the back of Lighthouse Lane.”
“You want me to put some up?”
“If you don’t mind. I could hire one of the workers, but I hate to bother them.”
“I would love to help.” David slid off the barstool and refilled his cup. “Old Mort and I will take care of it today.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Lottie’s been hard at work getting the gardens in shape. I might be able to convince her to take a break and go with me. She can hold the ladder.”
“I ran into her yesterday singing to the flowers who were visiting from the garden shed.”
“I’m not surprised.” David rolled his eyes. “It must work. She has the greenest thumb I’ve ever seen.”
“Lottie’s the best.”
“She is.” Harlow plucked a piece of lint from her sleeve. “Are you two ever going to commit?”
David, who had taken a sip of coffee, began coughing loudly. “Commit?”
“You know.” She hummed the intro to the wedding march. “Make it official.”
