“Hi. I’d like to order a pizza, please. A large, all meat, extra cheese.”
When the order was on its way, she sent a quick text to Austin.
Jase had to leave, so the coast is clear whenever you want to come home. There’ll be leftover pizza in the refrigerator, in case you’re hungry.
His reply came in seconds.
When did you order it?
Two minutes ago.
On my way home.
Robyn laughed. I’ll set the table.
* * *
Harlow pushed her small grocery cart through the market. Even though it was barely four, the store was crowded with shoppers intent on finding something for dinner. Some of them moved purposefully, as if sure of their selections. Others circled aimlessly, searching for inspiration. Harlow found herself in the latter group.
She’d been excited to move in with Kip. He’d given her more than half the closet space, and his apartment had parking for her car. He listened when she’d explained that leaving wet towels on the floor made her crazy, and now even put down the toilet seat. But they were still working out the kinks of living together.
Like dinner. Sadly, Kip neither cooked nor showed any interest in cooking. He didn’t even like to barbecue, which meant they went out all the time, they got takeout, or she cooked. She’d discovered that the meal prep was really the least of it. First she had to figure out what they were having. Then she had to go buy the ingredients, then cook it. Kip helped with cleanup, but that was less than 25 percent of the work.
Her mom had offered some easy suggestions for planning two or three dinners. Like a rotisserie chicken. Eat half night one with a salad and some kind of potato. Use the second half in tacos the next night, then boil the bones in chicken broth to make soup.
Harlow had become an expert at using the second half of a rotisserie chicken—she could barely look at one without gagging. She’d never gone so far as to make soup with the bones, but she’d gotten plenty creative. But five weeks into living with Kip, they’d already had five chickens. She needed another plan.
She cruised the meat aisle, but wasn’t inspired. Pasta sounded too heavy, and going out to eat got expensive. She thought about asking her mom for a suggestion, but that felt too much like running home. Finally she bought shrimp, stir-fry vegetables, a Thai-inspired sauce and a bag of rice.
An hour later she’d showered and started a load of laundry. The rice was in the Instant Pot, and she’d chopped up the vegetables. As she worked, her diamond engagement ring caught the light. She paused to admire the shine.
Kip texted to say he was on his way. She poured them each a glass of pinot grigio, then took a seat on the oversized balcony.
Clouds dropped the temperature into the low eighties, but also increased the humidity. Overhead, palm trees swayed in the breeze. She stretched out in her lounge chair and closed her eyes, anticipation building in her stomach. A few minutes later, she felt a soft brush of lips on her cheek.
“You’re home,” she said, sliding over to make room. “I missed you.”
Kip, just over six feet, with dark hair and eyes, slid in next to her and pulled her close.
“I missed you more.”
He kissed her, his mouth lingering on hers. She moved her lips against his, then parted them so he could deepen the kiss before shifting so she straddled him. He was already hard.
“How was your day?” His gaze was bright with wicked intent as he cupped her breasts under her tank top.
“Good. I had two families out for a day of fun.”
“Anyone throw up?”
She laughed. “Not today. Non-puke days are my favorite.”
He moved his thumbs against her nipples, making her breath catch. She tossed her tank top onto the ground. Kip glanced around, obviously thinking of their neighbors.
“Harlow!”
She stood up and walked into the living room, shedding her shorts and panties as she went.
“Yes?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Did you want to say something?”
He stepped into the apartment and closed the sliding door before sending his own clothes flying. He grabbed her wrist and spun her back to him. Their mouths locked, their bodies collided.
They made love with an intensity that, as always, took her breath away. When their breathing returned to normal, he lightly kissed her.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
She laughed. “Is that really what you want to ask me?”
He grinned. “Sure. I’m hungry. For food this time.”
She laughed. While Kip changed out of his work clothes, she pulled on her shorts and tank top, then went into the kitchen and checked on the rice.
“Ten minutes,” she called.
Kip came down the hall, pulling on a T-shirt. “I’ll set the table.”
She liked this, she thought happily. They were a good team.
They sat across from each other at the table.
“So,” she said, picking up her wine. “How was your day?”
“I sell appliances, Harlow. It’s not exciting.”
“But you’re good at it.”
He smiled. “I am, much to the annoyance of the other salespeople.”
“So today you sold?”
He thought for a second. “Three washers and dryers and two microwaves. I also had clients come in who are doing a full kitchen remodel.”
“Ka-ching.”
“It’ll be a good commission.”
They talked all through dinner, then he helped her load the dishwasher. At eight, he started his biweekly online game with friends, while she loaded up her wedding planning app and tried to make a few decisions. When she got overwhelmed, she checked her email and found a newsletter from the Children’s Cancer Hospital, where she’d been treated.
There were the usual notes on new treatments, updates on former patients, and donation requests.
Harlow gave a little each month. Everyone there had been so good to her. She’d been sick and scared, and they’d made her feel better.
Once she’d been deemed “cured,” she’d returned for follow-ups. Monthly at first, then every six months, then yearly. She could never assume she would live her life cancer-free, but the fear was less prevalent than it had been even five years ago.
She looked at Kip, intent on his game. He understood that she lived with the shadow of the disease somewhere in a corner of her life. That having been diagnosed so young, she was more likely to be diagnosed again at some point. A truth that should have sent him running, but hadn’t.