Page 71 of Country Contract

Harrison’s eyes roam all over me. From my face to his niece in my arms, down my legs, then to my feet. His eyes linger on them, covered in black socks, and I remember his possible foot fetish. After only a moment, he looks back up to my eyes and offers me a small smile before nodding and turning to head down the stairs.

Rocking Blake is so simple; I’m not as stiff as I thought I would be holding a small child. It gives me a little faith that when I do have kids, if I do have kids, I won’t totally fuck it all up. She falls into a heavy sleep, deep even breaths falling from her parted lips.

After laying her down, I creep out of her room as quietly as I can. As I make my way down the stairs, I catch the pictures on the wall. Harrison and his brother. What I assume are their parents. Cassidy and Hunter, and then Blake. I hear Meg and Harrison talking as I hit the last step.

“Oh yeah, you should have seen her before she got comfortable in her style. I think for a while, she would try to tone down her darkness. Like, she would try to wear more modest things. Now, she actually dresses like herself. It’s cool how much variety there really is in her wardrobe. It doesn’t look like it to others, but there are differences in the ways she dresses.” Meg’s tone is full of adoration.

“Definitely. Like when she wears something for comfort, practicality, and flare. The differences would be hard to miss.” My brows raise in shock at Harrison’s response.

I hear Meg hum for a moment. “Right. I’m surprised you’ve noticed in this short period. Some men who she’s been with for months or even years missed that.”

He scoffs. “Like, would I catch Harlow wearing herriding pants, long sleeve, and vest to a bar? Or her black dresses around the house? Nah. She loves to unwrap herself and sling on her comfy clothes. We do that constantly, living this life. Strip out of our shell and toss on something for comfort. You wouldn’t catch me dead chilling on the couch in my jeans or a button-down. I have a high school hoodie I wear like how she wears that knit cardigan she drags around with her.”

I hear Meg laugh. “Yeah, that nappy thing is one of her staples. Or her hooded jacket. She loves that thing.”

“It suits her. She was wearing that when I first met her; I can’t imagine her in anything else.”

Damn these two for being so sweet. I see a lot of similarities between the two of them. It’s their constant sunny disposition. I could be in a horrid mood, but just being around them parts those gloomy clouds and brings in the sunshine I need to get better.

“Hold on, let me see if I have some older pics on my phone of her before she figured herself out,” Meg states, and with that, I make a show of hopping off the last step and loudly walking over to them.

Meg freezes, knowing I will kill her if she shows any of those pictures. So many ill-fitting tops, pants that didn’t flatter my long, lean legs, and the sweaters were abysmal.

“She’s out like a light. Meg and I have to go back to the bunkhouse before she heads out.” Meg blinks a few times but relaxes her face quickly. It doesn’t matter anyway because Harrison’s eyes are locked on mine. I give him a gentle smile and make my way to the chair to grab our jackets.

“Thanks for letting me visit, Harrison. This town is seriously so sweet. I can see why you all love it here so much.”

“Of course. Harlow is welcome to have anyone shewants here during her stay.” He smiles, offering her a hand to shake, but she walks right past his hand and gives him a tight hug. It only takes a split second for Harrison to wrap his arms around her and return it.

It’s weird. I know that’s my best friend. I know that Harrison and I have a literally written arrangement to make sure things stay as clinical as possible. I know both of these things, but I’m still somehow bothered. They look so good together, like puzzle pieces—her soft, curvy frame against his tall, muscular one.

Have I ever looked like that with anyone?

Will I look like that when I’m with Heath?

What will it feel like when we hug?

When they release each other, there is no lingering. Meg doesn’t even look back as she slips her shoes on and we head out the door.

We spend the rest of the day in town, walking around, and looking at the details of the little shops before I make the hour-and-a-half trip to bring her to the airport.

On the drive back, I make a stupid, impulsive decision. I take out my phone and dial Heath’s number. He picks up after the first ring. Not surprising, since he always has his phone in hand.

“Harlow, to what do I owe this pleasure?” His voice is kind but still businesslike. “And at this hour?”

I realize that I’m calling him at what would be midnight if I was staying on the islands like I had told him.

“I was just talking to Meg and thinking about a few things.”

Heath hums on the line as if to tell me to continue.

“Like you said you would want kids if I wanted kids, but how involved with those kids would you be? Are you openly affectionate? Will you be affectionate to your futurekids? When you hug me, will my arms go over your shoulders or under? Do you sleep on the right or left side of the bed? What?—”

“Am I going to get to answer any of these? Or do you need to get all your questions out first?” I hear a snicker in his tone.

“Sorry, it’s just Meg is such a romantic. I haven’t been. I’ve had relationships, but not like hers. I’m wondering if that’s why they haven’t worked out for me.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Meg is single. So, that means that it didn’t work out for her, as well. And you aren’t her, so how can you expect your relationships to be anything like hers? So, tell me, what kind of relationship do you want, Harlow?”

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