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I wrenched the steering wheel in the opposite direction of my own driveway, heading out toward the jobsite. “She said she’s not the get in your face sister. I think we both know who’s got that job locked down. You do it obnoxiously well.”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment, Greer.”
See? The growling and the snapping was back because it felt like a volcano was about to erupt out of my fucking skull. I wasn’t sure how much I could handle before all the heat and anger and frustration—most of it aimed at myself—needed an outlet.
“What was Poppy not getting in your face about?” she asked.
“I have to go.”
Greer ignored me because of course she ignored me. “The hill of denial that you’ve chosen to chain yourself to when it comes to your feelings about Harlow? Am I getting warmer?”
A vein in my forehead felt perilously close to bursting. “I hope our family was more supportive with you when you married a complete stranger to pull off some haywire plan.”
She made a considering noise. “It isn’t apples to apples, grumpy pants. Cameron did his very best annoying big brother sermon when he suspected what I was up to, but the difference between you and me is I knew I wanted my husband from the start, and he knew it, too. I gotta say, his self-control is legendary, and I was ready to crawl out of my skin before he admitted it.”
“Fucking hell, do I not want to know this.”
“Maybe Harlow and I have that in common,” she said thoughtfully. “I should text her.”
“Greer,” I snapped. “Don’t even think about it.”
Miraculously, Greer’s voice softened. “I won’t. Poorly timed joke, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said roughly.
She exhaled quietly. “Ian, Poppy and I want the best for you, you know that, right? We want you to be happy. That’s all. I won’t say anything else, I promise.”
I rolled my neck and felt something pop. “It’s fine. I just … need to figure this out on my own, all right?”
“I love you, brother,” she said in a singsong voice.
I violently punched the disconnect button and tossed my phone into the passenger seat with a disgusted scoff. The hour-long drive and last-minute meeting ended as a blessing in disguise because the closer the clock got toward the dinner hour, the more I hoped the house would be empty when I got home.
The meeting at the house went well, and I managed to keep on my friendliest face while we walked through every inch of the kitchen and talked about under-cabinet lighting and dozens of other details.
Back in the truck after they’d left, I typed up our notes on the iPad in my work truck and emailed them to Greer and Cameron. I sank my head back on the seat behind me and fought the helpless churning in my gut. I couldn’t sit there forever, as much as I may have wanted to, so I put the truck in reverse and backed out of my parking spot.
When I pulled up to the house about an hour later, the spill of warm light coming from the windows seemed even more pronounced than usual, as did the sight of Harlow’s car.
She hadn’t left yet. A thick knot of apprehension crawled under my skin.
It was quiet when I opened the door and sat on the bench to take off my work boots and hang my coat on the hooks on the wall. A sound came from the hallway toward my bedroom, and unable to stop myself, I walked toward it.
“Sage, can you help me with something?” she called. “I can’t reach this clasp, and it’s stuck.”
There wasn’t an easy label for why I stayed quiet and walked down the hallway into my bedroom. It could have been any number of things, but even I had to admit that I simply wanted to see her there in my space. The timing of all this felt sinister, like I couldn’t claw us out of the purgatory we’d found ourselves in.
Harlow was in my bathroom, carefully wrapping the cord of the blow dryer around the handle. She hadn’t seen me yet, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to study her. She wasn’t very dressed up—wearing dark jeans and some low-heeled black boots—but to me, she was absolutely stunning.
A deep green sweater that fell off one shoulder made her skin look even creamier than normal, and her hair was down along her back in a sleek curtain. Her lashes looked fuller and darker, even if her makeup was fairly light.
Her fingers fidgeted with a gold necklace, which looked to be caught in her hair, and when she leaned forward to study it in the mirror, she finally noticed me leaning against the doorframe.
Our eyes met and held in the reflection, and my pulse skyrocketed from that glance.
Tension slid into the room, threatening to crush my bones and lacerate my heart—simply because we looked at each other. It was so thick I could hardly breathe through it, reminding me immediately of the moment I walked out on that front porch on her birthday and knew that things were about to irrevocably change.
