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Or Molly drove him.
My subconscious doesn’t know when to shut up. Once I determine that he isn’t here, I park and grab the groceries. The snow is coming down harder and covers the cars around me in a thin layer. At least I’ll be in the warm apartment soon. When I reach the door, I take one last breath before unlocking the door and stepping inside. I really love this place—it’s so perfect for us . . . for him . . . or me, separately.
When I open the cabinets and fridge, I’m surprised to find them stocked full of food. Hardin must have gone shopping in the last few days. I shove the food that I bought wherever it will fit and head back down to get my belongings.
I can’t stop thinking about what Landon said. I’m floored by the fact that Hardin would go to anyone for advice, and that Landon professed to think Hardin loves me—a fact that I’ve known but buried and locked away for fear it would give me hope. If I allow myself to admit that he loves me, it will only make all of this worse.
As soon as I get back into the apartment, I lock the door and put my bags in the room. I take out most of my clothes and hang them up so they won’t be too wrinkled, but using the closet that was intended for Hardin and me only makes the knife inside of me twist once again. He only has a few pairs of black jeans hung up on the left side. I have to force myself not to hang up his T-shirts, they are always slightly wrinkled, although somehow he still manages to look perfect. My eyes travel to the black dress shirt hanging sloppily in the corner, the shirt he wore to the wedding. I hastily finish my task and walk away from the closet.
I make myself some macaroni on the stove and turn on the television. I turn the volume up so that I can hear an old episode of Friends that I have seen at least twenty times, and go into the kitchen. I speak along with the characters as I load the dishwasher; I hope Hardin hasn’t noticed, but I can’t stand to have dishes in the sink. I light a candle and wipe off the counters. Before I know it, I’m sweeping the floor, vacuuming the couch, and making the bed. Once the entire apartment is clean, I do a load of my laundry and fold the clothes Hardin had left in the dryer. Today is actually the most peaceful and calm day that I’ve had in the last week. That is, until I hear a set of voices and watch in slow motion as the lock turns.
Shit. He’s here, again. Why does he always show up at the apartment when I’m there! Hopefully it’s just that he gave an extra key to one of his friends to check on the place . . . Maybe it’s Zed with a girl? Anyone but Hardin—please, let it be anyone but Hardin.
A woman I’ve never seen before steps through the doorway, but I somehow instantly know who she is. The similarities are undeniable, and she is beautiful.
“Wow, Hardin, this flat is beautiful,” she says, her accent just as thick as her son’s.
This. Is. Not. Happening. I’m going to look like a complete psychopath in front of Hardin’s mom—with my food in the cabinets, my clothes in the washer, and the entire apartment cleaned from top to bottom. I stand completely frozen and panicked as she looks up at me.
“Oh, my goodness! You must be Tessa!” She smiles and rushes over to me.
As Hardin steps through the doorway, he cocks his head to the side and drops her floral-print luggage from his hands. The surprise on his face is beyond evident. I tear my eyes from him and focus on the woman coming toward me with open arms.
“I was so disappointed when Hardin said you’d be out of town this week!” she gushes and wraps her arms around me. “What a cheeky boy, fibbing just to try and surprise me!”
What?
She puts her hands on my shoulders and pulls me to look at her. “Oh, you are so lovely, look at you!” She squeals and hugs me again.
I stay silent and hug her once more. Hardin looks terrified and extremely caught off guard.
Join the club.
Chapter twenty-three
TESSA
As his mother hugs me for the fourth time, Hardin finally mumbles, “Mum, let’s give her a little space. She’s a bit shy.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry, Tessa. I’m just so happy to finally meet you. Hardin has told me so much about you,” she says warmly. I feel my cheeks flame as she steps back and nods in acknowledgment. I’m surprised she even knows that I exist—I would have figured he would have kept me a secret, as usual.
“It’s okay,” I manage to say through my horror.
Mrs. Daniels smiles brightly and looks over at her son, who says, “Mum, why don’t you grab a drink of water in the kitchen for a minute?” When she leaves, Hardin comes over to me with gentle movements. “Can . . . I, um . . . talk to you in the bedroom for a mo-moment?” he stammers.
I nod and glance toward the kitchen before following him into the bedroom that we once shared.
“What the hell?” I say quietly as I close the door.
Hardin winces and sits on the bed. “I know . . . I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell her what happened. I couldn’t tell her what I did.
“Are you here . . . you know, to stay?” His voice holds more hope than I can bear.
“No . . .”
“Oh.”
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, a habit I picked up from Hardin, I suspect. “Well, what am I supposed to do?” I ask him.
“I don’t know . . .” he says with a long sigh. “I don’t expect you to go along with it or anything . . . I just need a little time to tell her.”
“I didn’t know you would be here either, I thought you were going to London.”
“I changed my mind, I didn’t want to go without . . .” He trails off, and pain is evident in his eyes.
