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“Ahh, so she does pull her weight at home,” I mused. “How nice.”
My mom rolled her eyes. “Never changes, Harlow. It never changes.”
Her answering smile was wide, her dimple peeking out to the side of her lips. “There’s something comforting about that, isn’t there?”
“I suppose,” Mom answered. “Sage, it was nice to meet you, honey. You’re always welcome at my home, okay?”
Sage nodded, her first glimpse of shyness popping through. “Nice to meet you too, ma’am.”
With my mom gone, I followed Harlow into the kitchen, and we got our own plates of food. As she stood in the kitchen, she stared at the dining table she’d admired the other night.
“You made that, didn’t you?” she asked. “Just admit it.”
I didn’t answer, just held her gaze.
Harlow shook her head. “Unbelievable. Do you know how unfair it is that you look like an actual lumberjack, and you make these gorgeous things out of hunks of wood?”
Around my pizza, I smiled. “That’s unfair?”
“Yes. For the rest of the male species, it is. It’s like the most primitive part of my brain lights up and goes … oooh, this one can build you important things, stick close to him.”
Her dark hair was piled on the top of her head tonight, and a few stray pieces escaped as she talked. It was bizarre that she looked the same yet somehow looked different.
Someone new. But not new.
She still spoke her mind and didn’t filter her thoughts around me, but things like that—viewing me as a provider—never would’ve crossed her mind before.
“Does your primitive brain want you to move in here?” I asked, conscious of my volume so Sage didn’t hear.
Harlow finished her first piece of pizza and set down her plate before folding her arms over the simple black shirt she wore. Her eyes were so incredibly direct. There was no escaping the intense way she stared me down.
“Are you doing that thing again where you’re trying to save me, even to your own detriment?”
The accusation stung, but fuck if there wasn’t truth behind why she asked.
I’d always done that. It’s why we stopped talking all those years ago. She and I both knew that I would’ve given up an incredible opportunity just to be here if she needed me.
Our lives would’ve turned out so differently. If Harlow had more of my impulsive side, she might have packed her bags and come home. I might have stayed right where I was, content to stay in this place that never quite felt right without her.
So I answered as honestly as possible. “I don’t know. Would it be so bad if I was?”
“If it hurts you in the process, yes.” Her gaze was unflinching. “I won’t be responsible for that. I’m the only one who can take ownership of my choices, and if I can’t write, then getting another job is what I’ll do to provide for my daughter. She didn’t ask to be born, you know? I’ll do what I need to do to take care of her.”
“How would this take me down, Harlow?” I set my plate down and matched her pose, crossing my arms and leaning a hip against the counter. “How would it hurt me to let you guys stay here?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed, then she rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t want to be in the way of you living your life.”
I stepped closer, and she inhaled sharply through her nose. Then I ducked down to make sure she didn’t look away. “I’m offering this because you’re my friend. And I have the space. If your kid wants to school me on football every day after dinner, I’m good with that. If you two want to hide upstairs and keep to yourselves while I’m home, I’m good with that too. Don’t stay somewhere that makes you feel like you’re taking up too much space just by being yourself. That’s a really quick way to feel like shit, Harlow.”
The graceful line of her throat worked on a swallow. “When did you get such a way with words, Ian Wilder?” she whispered.
My mouth hooked up in a grin. “My friend’s a writer. She taught me a thing or two.”
Harlow laughed, and a little bit of tension unlocked in my chest. Then she blew out a slow breath.
“I’ll talk to Sage on the drive home,” she said under her breath. “Make sure she’s okay with this.”
The girl in question hopped off the couch and joined us in the kitchen. “Ooh, can I have one of those cookies?”
