“I… actually don’t know.” I gave her an honest answer.
“Well, you better find out, because if other customers hear that I’m giving out samples to people, they’re going to freak out.” Darlene frowned.
I turned toward Harrison. “Are you cool? Or are you a narc?”
“What?”
“It’s a yes or no question, Harrison,” I kept my voice down. “Are you cool or not?”
“You know I’m just here for nail polish, right?” Harrison quirked an eyebrow. “This is a nail polish place, isn’t it? Not a drug front?”
“If it was a drug front, would you call the cops?”
“No?”
I turned back to Darlene, satisfied with Harrison’s response. “He’s cool, Darlene. He’s cool.”
“Okay. Come with me to the back of the store.” Darlene motioned for us to follow behind her before she called out, “Georgia! I’m going on break! Take over the register!”
And we heard an unseen woman let out a dissatisfied groan, her displeased noise echoing throughout the store.
“Electric Red,” Darlene said as she slid a few bottles of nail polish over to me. “Make sure it’s the right shade. I think there have been a few different companies using that name lately. It must be popular on Instagram or something.”
I inspected a bottle before I handed it over to Harrison. I watched as he inspected the bottle, rolling it around in his hand as if he was expecting it to pop open or something.
I was slightly amused by the action but suppressed the urge to laugh. With the way Darlene was acting about the polish, I figured it was better to stay as quiet as possible. “How much do you want for it, Darlene?”
“I can give it to you for $50 a bottle.”
“$50?” I was surprised by the price. “That’s a little high, isn’t it?”
“These are samples, sweetie. I’m not supposed to be selling these to anybody,” Darlene explained. “If I’m risking my job, I at least need to turn a profit.”
“$50? That’s not so bad,” Harrison said. “We’ll take two.”
“Two?” I asked.
“One for me. One for you.” Harrison smiled. “It’s only fair, since you were able to get me a bottle in the first place.”
“This is a good friend. Keep this friend,” Darlene commented, holding out her hand. “Are you paying in cash or card, Mr. Wonderful Friend?”
“Card,” Harrison answered, reaching for his wallet. He handed it over to Darlene, who took it to a secluded cash register in the back of the store.
“Thanks for that, Harrison.” I looked over at him. “You didn’t have to do that, though. I don’t usually paint my nails this color.”
“You should. It looks good on you.”
What the hell?
Was Harrison flirting with me?
No.
He wasn’t.
He was just a nice, charming guy. I was sure he was like this with everyone, and I was willing to bet he’d confused quite a few people who couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not.
I tore my eyes away from him, not wanting to fall down the rabbit hole any further. I should’ve known better, anyway. Even if Harrison wasn’t straight, I had no time for anything that even resembled romance. I was too busy with my catering business, and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my time dedicated to my work for anyone, especially a guy who was leaving in a few weeks.
When Darlene came back with the polish, she’d placed the bottles in a small, black bag. She handed the bag to Harrison as she whispered, “Remember. Snitches get stitches.”
“I won’t snitch. I promise,” Harrison whispered back as he brought the bag down to his side.
Once again, I felt the urge to laugh, the moment between Darlene and Harrison seeming way too serious to be about Harrison buying nail polish. But I managed to keep the laugh in my throat, even as Harrison and I made our way out of the store and back to the sidewalk.
“Thanks for entertaining Darlene,” I said once Harrison and I were out of the store. “She’s really sweet. But maybe also a little crazy? But in a fun way.”
“Yeah, that’s the vibe I got, too.” Harrison chuckled. “But crazy in a fun way is the best kind of crazy, right?”
“Definitely.” I nodded. “I’ve dealt with plenty of people who are the non-fun kind of crazy, especially in my line of work.”
“You must have like a million stories about Bridezillas,” Harrison suggested. “Care to share any of your worst experiences?”
“Worst experiences?” I hummed as I thought back over my years of clients. “Oh, God. Yes. There was this one bride who’d assumed that I was going to make her a wedding cake, even though she’d never asked me for a cake, and it wasn’t on any of her menus.”
“Oh no,” Harrison murmured.
“So, she shows up to her wedding, looks over at the catering table, and just loses her mind when she doesn’t see a cake. She ended up slamming her fists into the food, throwing over pans of green beans, pretty much destroying the whole spread.”
“Oh no,” Harrison repeated, this time with a laugh.
“And the worst part? She tried to get a refund from me, for the whole thing!” I was laughing now, too. “She accused me of ruining her wedding when she was literally the person who ruined her wedding by throwing all her food on the floor like a toddler.”
“I have no idea how you work with people like that.”
“I don’t.” I shrugged. “I’ve gotten pretty good about screening out the Bridezillas early in the process. Now, if a Bridezilla manages to slip past my system, I just charge them more on the backend.”
“Sounds like a good system.” Harrison grinned.
And then I heard his stomach growl, clear as day. He brought a hand down over his stomach, squinting into the distance. “Crap. I didn’t realize how hungry I was getting. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and all I had was a cup of yogurt.”
“There are a lot of good lunch places around here,” I replied. “If you wanted to grab lunch, we could—”
I stopped myself as I immediately realized the error of my ways.
We.
I’d assumed that Harrison wanted to have lunch with me, when the guy probably just wanted to eat alone. I mean, we’d already spent a good chunk of time together tracking down the nail polish and walking to the supply store. “Sorry. I meant, if you wanted to grab lunch, by yourself, there are a lot of good places around here—”
“I’ll get lunch with you,” Harrison said. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” I smiled. “Besides, this way I can pay you back for the nail polish.”
“And you’re a chef, so you probably know all the best spots to eat,” Harrison joked. “So, which way should we go? Left or right?”
“Right.” My answer came out confidently as I started to head in that direction. “The only thing on the left is fast food and a sandwich shop that hates me.”
“A sandwich shop that hates you?” Harrison asked as he followed behind me.