I’m keenly aware of the ticking clock.
But I take what I can get for the moment—a little more of this woman I’m falling for. I deepen the kiss, savoring every secret second. It’ll have to sustain me for the next two months, so I let myself get lost in the kiss, and in her, and in my hopes for what’s next.
Soon, though, it must end.
I break the kiss.
Her eyes glimmer. Her lips are swollen. “Wow,” she whispers.
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
We let go, and I can’t wait for the calendar to jump to next year. But for now, I check the time. My kiddo will be here soon.
I’m nervous and excited for the future . . . but mostly, elated.
Once she enters the living room, Abby views Katie with studious eyes. “So, you’re the yoga lady?”
“I sure am,” Katie says. “It is a pleasure to meet the little lady of the house.”
Abby giggles. “Lady of the house. I like that,” she says, setting her backpack by the couch and running to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. “Hey, yoga lady,” she says as we follow her, “do you know what yoga pose pirates like to do?”
Katie taps her chin like she’s deep in thought. “Could it be . . . the plank?”
Abby tosses her head back and laughs. “How did you know?”
Katie beckons Abby with a crook of her finger. “I know all the good yoga jokes.”
“Ooh, tell me another,” Abby demands, and I park my butt on the stool at the counter and happily watch them.
Katie bends to six-year-old eye level. “How does a T-Rex feel after practicing yoga?”
“I don’t know,” Abby says, nearly bouncing with excitement. “Tell me.”
Katie rubs her knuckles against her lower back. “A little dino . . . sore.”
“Ohhh. I like that.” Abby wheels around to the counter. “Monkey bread. Can you do a monkey impression like my dad?”
Katie turns her gaze to me. “I’ve only heard your lion, Harlan. I’d love to hear the monkey. Don’t hold back.”
I roll my eyes. “You ladies act like you’ve got me cornered. Like you’ve tricked me. Course I can do a monkey. Ooh-ooh, ahh-ahh,” I say, imitating a chimp.
They clap and cheer.
“You know what I can do?” Abby asks.
“What’s that?”
“I can be a baker. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
Abby grabs a wooden spoon and gets to work.
The three of us make monkey bread in the kitchen, listening to Dolly Parton and Adele while Abby tells us about gymnastics and her friend, and Gabriella’s dad’s funny jokes, and how awesome the balance beam is.
When the bread goes in the oven, Abby stares at the clock. “I don’t know how to wait. It’s going to be so long.” Then she spins around and points at Katie. “Can I paint your nails?”
“Do you have fuchsia? That’s my favorite color.”
“I do,” Abby declares, then runs to her room.
For the next fifteen minutes, Abby gives Katie a manicure, and I count down the weeks till the end of the season.
That night, I read Abby four stories, including one about a girl who gets a pony.
“That girl is so smart. She convinced her daddy to give her a pony,” Abby says, snuggling under the covers.
“Gee, Abby. Are you trying to tell me something?”
She flashes a yup grin. “But I’d also take a hedgie, a cat, or a dog.”
“Named Dolly,” I say, repeating her plans as I drop a kiss onto her forehead.
“Or Katie. I like Katie.” She yawns, so big it’s the size of a pie.
“I’ll let her know you plan to name a pet after her.”
A line creases her forehead. “Is she your new girlfriend? She seems like it.”
Well, kids know everything, don’t they? “Why do you ask?”
Another yawn takes over. “I could tell you liked her and she liked you.”
I ruffle her hair, glad to tell her the truth about this. “I think she will be soon,” I whisper, then I press my finger to my lips. “Secret.”
“I’ll keep it a secret. Do you think she liked me?”
“I’m sure she loved you.”
“Okay,” she says as her eyes flutter closed.
I leave her room, shut the door, and head downstairs to finish cleaning up. But before I tackle the kitchen, I grab my phone and sink onto the couch, clicking open my text app.
Harlan: The verdict is in. She loves you.
* * *
Katie: The feeling is mutual. She’s fabulous.
* * *
Harlan: Well, that was easy.
* * *
Katie: Some things are. You’re raising a good kid.
I return to Katie’s words from the picnic lunch about whether she’d want kids. With the right man. The right relationship. I’d love to talk to her more about that, but via text message hardly seems appropriate. End of season feels like a better time. But I can at least say this . . .
Harlan: You were great with her.
* * *
Katie: Yeah?
* * *
Harlan: Hell, yeah.
* * *
Katie: It makes me happy to hear you say that. I want to be good to her.
Damn. This woman is doing all the things to my heart.
Harlan: She asked if you were my girlfriend.
* * *
Katie: And what did you tell her?
* * *
Harlan: That I hoped you would be soon. Feels close enough to the truth.
* * *
Katie: What’s the truth?
* * *
Harlan: I see you as mine already. I just do. Call me possessive.
* * *
Katie: Possessive :)
I don’t want to end the conversation just yet, so I spend a little longer texting . . . my girlfriend.
The kid called it.
23
Katie
I need to talk to someone.
I can’t keep this to myself much longer.
My friends have been my rocks, my gems, my everything.
I should tell my sister, but I’m not ready yet. Besides, I’m closest with Emerson. She also isn’t my business partner, so that helps.
That Friday afternoon, after I teach a class to a local financial firm, sub for one of Michelle’s Ouch! I Can’t Reach My Toes—Yoga for Flexibility classes, and visit another teacher’s session, I meet up with Emerson in the Sunset District to “recon” for an upcoming episode of her show. Her word, not mine.
We trek up a staircase of 163-mosaic covered steps, each one a different design of colorful tiles. It’s a hidden gem in San Francisco, but I’m not sure why we’re here.