“Uh … because I’m moving?”
“Here’s a concept. Movers? What part of, ‘I’ll pay for the move’ didn’t you get? Also—who exactly were you figuring would be loading this U-Haul?”
She spread her arms wide, and an ice cube dropped to the floor with a musical ting. “You’re looking at her. Well, Dyma and me, and a couple of Dyma’s friends. They helped move the furniture out to the street this morning.”
“Yeah, no. That’s not happening. This is why I came. I had a bad feeling.” He looked around. “Where were you planning to sleep tonight?”
“Grandpa’s. We’re loading up in the morning.”
He looked her over. Too closely, as far as she was concerned. She said, “What?”
He stood up. “Nope. Just—no. To all of that. That’s a hard no. How much were you aiming to make on that garage sale?”
“Six hundred. I hope.”
He pulled out his wallet and started peeling off bills. “Here’s two hundred. I’ll owe you for the rest. Your garage sale’s over. Get those friends of Dyma’s to take all that stuff to Goodwill or whatever.”
She looked at the money, but she didn’t take it. “I promised the couch to somebody. Her husband’s coming to get it at four.”
“Fine. Everything but the couch. And meanwhile, you can use those assistant skills of yours and find a moving company. Tell them you’ll pay a rush charge to get you out of here fast.”
“That is so pushy of you. All of it. I can handle my life. I’m handling my life!”
He set the bills down on her box, since she still wasn’t taking them. “I know you can. I see you doing it. But I’m not that guy. Mark.”
“I know you’re not. That’s obvious. Thanks for … for standing up for me out there.”
He put an arm around her, hugged her close, and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, well, see, that’s what a man does for the mother of his child.”
It took her a second. “Oh.”
“And that’s why I need to do this. Come on.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “We’ll get Dyma and Annabelle onto that ending-the-garage-sale thing, and then you and I can head out. Got a suitcase packed?”
“Uh … Yeah.” Wait, what?
“Good. Because we’re going to Blake’s resort for the night, and as soon as we’ve got the movers organized, Dyma’s driving your car to Portland with Annabelle—who’s a pretty damn good driver, in case you’re worrying, because you have to be, when you live out in the sticks in North Dakota—and you’re flying home with me.”
“What? That’s crazy. I’m not even five months pregnant. I’m fine. I’m great.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s see. How tired are you, exactly?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Yep. That’s why.”
“Seriously, though,” she said. “All of that is overkill. All right, it would be nice to have your help loading the truck, but we’ve got a plan. It’s only a seven-hour drive to Portland. Maybe a little more, with a U-Haul. We stop for lunch, and we’re there by five. One day. Well, unpacking, too, but that’s just one more day. Which I have off and then some, because I don’t start the job with Blake until Wednesday. If you want to help more, you could come with me and trade off on the driving. See, that’s how a guy helps. That’s normal helping.”
“Except that we’re not doing it for you,” Harlan said. “We’re doing it for me. I can’t let you do it alone, but I’m allergic to U-Hauls. That’s a what-do-you-call-it A conundrum. And besides, there’s this thing I like doing that I haven’t gotten to do at all lately, and it’s taking you to a resort. Swimming pool. Hot tub. Restaurant, too, where you can eat that filet mignon on a china plate. Thanks for that, by the way. Good to know I’m not bologna. No man wants to be bologna.”
“I can’t use a hot tub. It can raise the baby’s temperature.” She thought about the swimming pool, though. That sounded good. It sounded great. Her bikini would still fit, right? She even knew what box it was in. Well, the bottom would fit, anyway, because it would stretch, and as for the top … she’d just go on and rock that. She’d be with Harlan. Nobody was going to say anything disgusting to her, or if they did— This time, she would let him handle it. Plus, she wanted to see what he wore, and how he looked in it. That description of him on his lounge chair with a hand behind his head, needing a second pair of trunks to contain him …
No question, he was filet mignon. Smoldering or not, he worked for her. He worked for anybody. She wasn’t going to let herself touch, but she was oh-hell-yeah going to look. Hey. She had hormones.
And, yes, she’d worn that bikini about five times total, all of them when she wasn’t pregnant, and had felt self-conscious every time. She’d been crazy to buy the style she had, and let’s just say guys had stared. This was her new life, though. This was the new her. She was wearing her bikini, and if anybody didn’t want to look at her pregnant belly and her thighs and her butt, they could just look away.
“Oh,” Harlan said. “Well, all right. No hot tub. You’re going to have to educate me on this stuff. This time, though, I’m playing it safe and asking for plastic glasses. I can’t afford to have a heart attack before the season even starts. Not if I’m going to be a father.”
45
Resort Wear
It took hours to arrange for all of that and haul all Jennifer’s extra stuff to a secondhand store, especially since he had to stop her from carrying too much about twenty times in there, and it was nearly five by the time they were checking into three rooms at the Wild Horse Resort. One for Annabelle and Dyma, and one each for him and Jennifer. Connecting, because, hey, a guy could hope. If he was filet mignon … a pregnant woman needed some good red meat.
He wasn’t pushing it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be open to the possibility.
Dyma said, once the clerk had handed over the keys, “Awesome. Let’s go swimming at the beach, Annabelle.”
“If your friend’s suit really fits me, sure,” Annabelle said.
“The lake is about fifty degrees,” Jennifer said. “It’s barely May.”
“So we jump in, and then we run back as fast as we can and get in the sauna,” Dyma said. “It’s sort of a fun-torture thing. You know, like all that stuff you definitely never do.” She widened her eyes at her mother. “The video’s already on Instagram,” she informed her. “It’s had over twelve thousand views already, too, because they tagged Harlan. Filet mignon? You seriously said that? You were actually uninhibited, and without any wine or pain pills, even. It was awesome.”
Harlan could see Jennifer opening her mouth to explain to Annabelle about her lack of an opioid addiction, and he was possibly also thinking that Dyma clearly didn’t know about her mother’s secret, dirty little piercing, or the way she could straddle a man and pull a gauzy nightgown right over her head like the most wanton little teasing redhead a guy could ever hope to have in his bed. Which would make him, yeah, the only person in the world who knew her secret self. It also occurred to him that he hadn’t had a chance to explore that secret self nearly enough, what exactly filet mignon might entail, and what else she’d like to see on the menu, which he’d have thought about more …