Page 80 of Country Contract

As I go to dump out this pointless coffee, I hear my phone buzzing on the counter. Too tired to communicate with anyone, I ignore it. After the buzzing stops, it starts right back up again. Whoever is calling me is calling back-to-back. If it’s work, it has to be important.

I’m shocked to find that it’s not work. It’s Meg. Fear crawls up my spine because we usually text unless it’s urgent.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Oh my God. Harlow. Don’t freak out.”

Oh yeah, that’s the perfect thing to say to make sure someone doesn’t freak out.

“What. Happened.”

“I went to The Olive Branch yesterday. There was this really great wine and art show going on, and I was meeting a Compatible date there. Well, this girl seemed great. Funny, artsy, sweet, charming. You name it. I think she really was a 98 percent match instead of 90 flat. The only thing is?—”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me not to freak out about your perfect match?” I interrupt.

“Oh yeah. Ummm, well the thing is, I guess your mom was an investor for the artist.” My face pales at her words, and I nod, closing my eyes.

“So, I might have seen your mother and sister, Hayleigh, there.” Oh, God. Why, of all my sisters, Hayleigh?

“And you know your sister. She was all like, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Harlow? Where’s Harlow? Is she here?” She mocks my sister’s tone, for some reason even making her sound a little British. Part of me wants to laugh, but the other part of me wants to jump into a black hole.

“What did you say?” I put the phone on speakerphone and go to the coffee pot to pour a fresh cup. The plan for a nap today is likely gone.

“Umm, I said, oh, she’s still on the island. I came back for a little bit for a work thing.” Meg is a terrible liar. I know they didn’t believe her.

“And then?”

“And then your sister looked at me with her evil eyes and said, ‘Oh . . . well, give her our best when you see her,’” Meg says in her bitchy British tone again.

“I’m fucked,” I say on a whine, pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Why is my family so fucking weird? I have to lie about vacation?! I’m in my thirties! This is so stupid.”

“Well, I’ll lay low until you get back. I promise. But if they reach out, that’s the story. Got it? I’ll be back on . . . how about Sunday?” Meg’s tone is so apologetic. It’s not her fault. It’s my own family drama.

“Girl. Thank you for telling me. How could you have known they would be the investors in an art show you were going to, especially on a Tuesday? Don’t sweat it. When they reach out, I’ll figure it out.” I hear Meg let out a heavy sigh, feeling bad when she doesn’t need to.

“Want me to give you the deets on Harrison and Heath?”

She lets out an excited noise. “You have news on both?! Dish. Tell me everything. I can sense it, you’re about to get your happily ever after! You’re going to be a real-life Julia Roberts, Meg Ryan, a real-life . . . oh em gee. What if you’re the next Morticia!”

Now we’re both laughing. I fill her in on both of the men in my life right now. One is my present and the other is my possible future. She asks for every detail of my interactionwith Harrison, and I have no secrets from this girl, so I tell her. She makes panting sounds on her end of the line, and I laugh.

“You lucky bitch. You are having the best sex of your life over there, and you have a guy basically offering you the world over here. If I could kill you and slide into your skin, I would.”

I try to think of a joke, but I can’t. Harrison seems like the perfect guy for her, and even though nothing will come of it, I get a little jealous, which is completely unreasonable.

During our conversation, I migrate back to bed, my coffee untouched. Meg has soothed the previous anxiety she brought on. She hears me yawn multiple times before telling me to get some rest before my next rendezvous with Harrison. I don’t argue. I end the call and toss my phone aside.

Strange, throughout our entire conversation, and this whole morning, no one from my family has reached out.

Even stranger, neither has Heath.

Chapter 33

Harrison

Blake and I are playing with dough. Real fucking dough. Not Play-Doh like I played with when I was a kid. Nope. Hunter made edible dough for his daughter to play with and added natural food coloring. We’re not encouraging her to eat it, and it doesn’t taste good. It’s just safe.

We smash it around in our fingers, and I give her some spoons, measuring cups, a spatula, and a silicone whisk. We push around the dough with the tools, and she experiments happily with ear-splitting squeals of joy.

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