Page 100 of Fool Me

“Is Mr. Franklin back on the road?”

“It would seem so.”

She rests her head on my chest, and I answer the call. It’s a fairly simple concern, and I’m able to calm Mrs. Franklin without needing to leave the bed. Harlowe falls back asleep and I spend a few extra minutes asking about Marilyn’s Fourth of July and her plans for Founder’s Day.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

HARLOWE

The wheel on my grocery cart wobbles as I push it through the General Store. It’s annoying, but I’m on a mission—get in and out of here with enough time to make a salad for dinner with Atlas’s parents tonight.

He’s smoking a brisket and his mom is bringing her legendary potatoes. Atlas insists all I need to bring is myself, but there’s no way in hell I’m showing up to this dinner empty-handed.

It’s not a meet-the-parents dinner, per se, but I’m treating it like one. I just want this to go well. He hasn’t come out and said it, but Atlas is nervous too.

Which is something I picked up on after we had a one-sided conversation earlier this week, lying in bed together. The man is cute when he rambles, I’ll give him that. And boy did he ramble as we went through our schedules, figuring out when we could make this work. Then he went off on a tangent about what to make.

But now that the night is here, I’m running late, at no fault of my own. I ran into Marcy on the way in and we got talking about her recipe for the Founder’s Day Bake-Off.

I just need to grab the smoked gouda and then I’m out of here.

But when I pull my head out of the cooler and try to push my cart forward, intent on making up lost time, it doesn’t budge. I lift my head to find Canyon with his foot stopping my wheel.

“Arugula, pickled onions, candied pecans—that’s a fancy salad. I bet it’d taste real good with my mom’s potatoes.”

“I guess you’ll never know.” He moves his foot, and I take advantage, trying to make my escape, but his hand shoots out, grabbing my cart to stop it. He’s toying with me, trying to get me worked up.

“A.J.’s trying to make me jealous; this is payback for Fiona,” he hisses, too close for my comfort. All of it makes me want to throw up—the gin on his breath, what he’s saying, the nickname for his brother that feels so ill-fitting, the proximity, and most of all, the fact I was letting him get to me.

I straighten my spine, reminding myself he’s always been full of shit. “That’s an awfully self-important interpretation of a situation that has literally nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn’t really matter.” He shrugs. “All it’s going to take is one plea from my mom to mend our family and he’ll fold.” He runs his hand up the side of my cart, moving with it until he’s right at my side, keeping me between him and the cheese case. “He’s thegoodson, after all.”

“He won’t,” I say, fighting the seed of doubt he’s watering. For a half second I think,“What if he’s right?”before I push it away.

“You could always just forget this stupid grudge you’re holding against me. That would make things easier for everyone. He could see my parents anytime he wanted instead of only having dinners at his house. That’s why he moved home.”

I tense, steeling myself against his words. “I could, but I won’t.”

“Come on, Harlowe, you’re the only person who blames me. Not even your dad thinks it was my fault. They wouldn’t have let me interview for the job if your theory about what happened on the mountain held up.”

He’s pulling out all the stops, trying to make me doubt everything and picking at all my scabs.

“Why do you care? You’ve never tried to fix things before.”

“Would you believe me if I said I missed my brother?”

“No, that would mean you had a conscience, and I’m not even sure you have a soul.”

Another shrug, and that fucking smile I hate so much—the disarming one that won me over. God, I hate it.

“Maybe bringing our family back together is my way of making amends.” That reason almost seems genuine, but I don’t believe a fucking word. It’s all manipulation.

I push my cart hard, breaking free of his hold.

“Enjoy dinner. Tell everyone I said hello.”

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