“Nah, I’ll help.”
She peers up at me. “When was the last time you did anything crafty?”
“Art class in high school.”
My mother’s hand moves to her hip, her eyes going narrow. “You got a C.”
Harlow coughs, her eyes going wide like she’s just uncovered my greatest shame and doesn’t quite know how to face me.
Jesus.
“C-plus.”
“Only because Sandy White did half your projects.”
How the hell does Mom know that?
I straighten, digging in because I can’t fucking help it. “The bad half.”
And then I’m pulling out my chair and sitting down. End of discussion.
Two hours later, I’m going blind beneath the glare of my mother’s makeup mirror, my two favorite women in my face, both fussing at once.
“I told you not to touch your eyes.”
“Jesus, it’s in his ear.”
“Have you seen his hair?”
“We may have to cut that out.”
I try to push them away—gently—but my mother says my name in that way that has me slumping back.
“It was an accident,” I groan.
“We have more glue, honey.”
“I can drive back out for more of those card things.”
Harlow pauses from working the coconut oil into my face. “This one’s like a glittery beauty mark. I kind of want to leave it.”
They both fall into another bout of teary-eyed laughter, and suddenly, I don’t really mind at all.
When they can breathe again, my mom pats my chest and then sighs at the fresh coating of glitter on her hand. “Honey, don’t worry about the place cards. I only gave you the ones for the guests that canceled after we placed the order.”
“What?”
My mom points at my left eye. “Get his lashes.”
I’m sentenced to a shower, but first I’m forced to endure the indignity of standing in the backyard while my mom empties a can of Aqua Net, spraying down my clothes. I don’t even get to use my own shower, instead being banished to the first-floor shoebox off the utility room where I strip and hand my glitter-coated, hairspray-soaked clothing to Harlow through the door.
After washing my hair with olive oil and then a crusty bottle of baby shampoo I suspect has been squatting under our sink for the last twenty-five years, I dry off with a torn towel from the rag pile. When I’m done, there’s a neat stack of folded clothes waiting outside the door, probably left behind from my college days.
I pull them on and mutter a curse.
Mom and Harlow are in the dining room, their backs to me, the glitter miraculously contained to the tiny bowls of its origin.
Standing in the doorway, I wait for them to notice me. And when they do, it’s everything I’d hoped for.
Harlow catches me in the corner of her eye and turns with a smile that goes slack as her eyes drop south to the sweatpants so snug they’ve got to be two sizes too small and… make everything under them look two sizes too big.
“Umm, Wade…”
“Yeah, babe?”
My mom turns. Her eyes bug and then squint shut as she throws her hand out to block her view. “Jesus, Wade!”
Uh-huh. “I’m going back to the hotel to grab some clothes.”
Hand still blocking her view, my mom fumbles out of her seat. “You aren’t leaving this house, mister. If Kelsey comes home from the courthouse early, lock yourself in your room.” Then to Harlow, “Grab his keys, we’ll get his clothes.”
Harlow
I make it all the way to the truck before I crack. Grace slides into the passenger seat beside me, the horror still lingering in her eyes. She takes my hand in hers and we both fold forward, laughing so hard I’m not sure it will ever stop.
“I’ve never seen anything so—”
“He should have warned us—”
“Were those even his?”
Grace wipes her eyes and sits back. “I thought so, but maybe they were Walt’s?”
I shake my head. “From middle school?”
She scrunches her face in thought. “I don’t think so?”
And I die laughing some more.
I get a text from Wade telling me the circulation is being cut off to my favorite “fun park” and to put the truck in gear and go. After adjusting every setting six hundred times, it’s about as good as it’s going to get.
“I don’t normally drive Wade’s truck. Are you sure you want to come along?”
Grace buckles up. “Absolutely. You see what I have to deal with raising these boys? I’ll take every minute with their girls I can get.”
I don’t wreck the truck and Grace waits in the lot while I grab the clothes. She peppers me with stories about Wade as a boy, and I’m grinning so hard I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to ice my cheeks from the workout they’re getting.
When we get back, Walt’s car is in the drive and I can only imagine his reaction to his brother’s nothing-left-to-the-imagination ensemble.
But when we walk in, it’s not Walt I see.
“David?” I choke out.
Chapter 19
Harlow
“Harlow Richards, what the heck?” David chuckles, rushing over to shake my hand with both of his. “This is unexpected. How do you know Walt?”
I blink, holding my smile in place as my worlds collide.
A warm hand smooths over my back, circling around to my hip in a possessive hold. And my breath stalls in my lungs, any hope—irrational as it might have been—of keeping David Carlson from human resources at PHR from finding out who I’m here with goes out the window.
His brows bump to his hairline. “You’re Wade’s—” He turns to Wade, who’s still wearing the obscene sweats, not that anyone’s paying attention now. “Wow, man. I had no idea. When did this happen?”
My heart starts to pound and my mind spins.
When did this start? What did we agree to say? Are we both about to be caught?
“It’s pretty new,” Wade offers casually, rubbing his hand over my side. “We’ve been trying to keep it quiet, off social, you know.”
“Right, that makes sense.” He leans in and gives me a conspiratorial wink that has Wade’s hand stilling where it is. “Harlow, I assure you, no one’s going to hear it from me. Just gotta make sure we don’t end up in any of the same pictures. Plausible deniability, right?”
Wade frowns.
But then Grace is edging past me. “Davey, come here.”
His face splits into a wide grin as he steps into her hug.
Everyone starts talking at once, about the drive down, wedding prep, Wade’s sweatpants, and the “trouser snake” Walt can’t unsee.
Grace shoos her oldest off to change and ushers everyone into the kitchen, where she pulls a pitcher of tea from the fridge. I get the glasses down and hand them out as she pours.
When Wade reemerges, he’s wearing the cargo shorts and T-shirt I picked for him. I hand him a glass and tuck myself into his side. The smile he gives me as he pulls me closer isn’t that far off from the ones he’s given me while we were deep in the fake, but somehow it feels completely different.