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She swiped her hand over her forehead. “Phew. That’s a relief. I’d hate to beat you up if you were mean to her.”
I snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
Harlow eyed my chest. “If you’re still ticklish, then I stand a chance.”
“That was one time, and you pinched me so fucking hard that I was bruised for a week, Harlow.” Her smile did strange things to my chest, likely because I hadn’t seen it in so damn long. “I need one thing before you get out of this truck.”
As she unhooked her seat belt, she raised a brow in question.
I leaned in slightly. “Your number.”
Harlow’s eyes held mine for a long moment, and then her smile spread until I saw her straight white teeth. “You know, if someone told me that a handsome lumberjack with questionable people skills would want my phone number, I might have moved back here sooner. I’ve been in a hell of a dry spell.”
I rolled my eyes. “Phone, please.”
She handed it over, and I typed in my number. As I watched, she saved it with a tiny smile on her face.
A text came through on my phone, with a GIF of a man with a flowing beard down to his navel.
“Cute,” I muttered. “I don’t even know how to send those stupid things.”
Harlow patted my arm. “I’ll show you.”
“Please don’t.”
Her mom appeared at the front door, the same slicked-back hair and pinched expression on her face. She’d never liked me, and from the looks of it, that hadn’t changed either.
“Nothing like getting a stare down that makes me feel like a teenager again,” I said. “Tell your parents I said hi.”
With a laugh, she hooked her laptop bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
I’d see her tomorrow if she’d let me.
Maybe she saw that answer in my eyes because her smile deepened. Then she leaned over and hugged me again. It was quick, and I hardly had time to set my arm around her lower back before she pulled away.
Before I could say another word, Harlow hopped out of the truck. Instead of backing up right away, I watched her walk up to the house and then sighed as she gave me a tiny wave over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
My head sank back on the seat rest. “Holy shit,” I muttered. “Did not see that coming.”
All of a sudden, being back in town didn’t seem quite so daunting.
Chapter 3
Harlow
Ian: Do you still have an obsession with true crime?
Me: Wow. Not even eighteen hours since you dropped me off, and I have a text. I’m impressed that you know how to work a cell phone. Also, good morning to you too. I forgot how talented you are at small talk.
Ian: We both think small talk is bullshit.
Me: True. And yes, I am. Just like any sane, single woman who doesn’t want to get murdered.
Ian: And peppermint tea?
Me: What else am I going to drink while I watch hours of footage about unsolved crimes?
Ian: You are so strange.
