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Chapter34
HARPER
Harper shrieked and nearly dropped her bag. She took an unsteady step backward as Penny, Charlotte, and Libby busted into the bakery. Dressed in head to toe black and laser-focused, they looked like the Charlie’s Angels’ version of a SWAT team.
But they weren’t alone.
Libby’s fiancé, Erasmus Cress, was a step behind, and while he wasn’t dressed like a high-end cat burglar, he didn’t look well. The man held his stomach and hobbled through the doorway.
“Get her, beefcake,” Libby called as the women circled her.
When had her friends started acting like a chicly-dressed pack of wild dogs?
“What the hell is going on?” she cried. “And why does Raz look like he’s about to puke?”
“I’m here as the muscle,” the British boxer eked out. “But you scare the hell out of me, Harper.”
“Raz, you used to fight people for a living,” Libby chided.
“Yeah, I’ve gone up against some rough blokes, but Harper is—”
“I’m the scary bitch in this friendship foursome. And if you’re about to come between me and a bonbon, you should be scared, beefcake,” she exclaimed as her friends closed in, tightening the circle. She scanned the femme fatales. “Have you guys lost your minds?”
“One might ask the same of a woman running around town in a brown tutu,” Penny shot back.
“You guys,” Charlotte crooned, “H is wearing Landon’s shirt.”
“Wouldn’t you classify it as her wedding dress?” Libby mused. “Or would it be a wedding shirt or nuptial tunic because it’s pretty big on her? Whatever it is,” Libbs continued, “I can feel the vibes.”
“No, plum,” Raz whispered to his fiancée, then grimaced. “I don’t think you’re getting a vibe. It’s the shirt’s ripe scent.”
“For real, Harper,” Tanner agreed. “The stench is almost as bad as the day you came into the convenience store and almost attacked that old lady over a plant. Wait, that’s the same shirt, isn’t it? You must really have a thing for that shirt.”
Enough of this.
“Rule number one: no more talk about the shirt. Rule number two: anyone with a ball sac needs to shut the hell up.” She eyed her friends. “Why are you three bursting into bakeries dressed like hot Prada ninjas?”
Penny’s pounce-demeanor diminished, and she lovingly touched a black fanny pack at her waist. “Do you like this belt bag, H? You’re right. It’s Prada.” The blonde swished her hips to show off the accessory. “This personal shopper Rowen set me up with found it.”
Harper narrowed her gaze and couldn’t help but admire the compact design and the shimmery shine of the clasp. “It’s hella cute, Penn Fenn. But again,” she said, cranking up her bitch-factor, “what on God’s green earth are you people doing here?”
“Um…Harper?” Tanner interrupted, raising his hand like a schoolboy. “I know I have a ball sac, but I have an emergency.”
“What is it, Tanner?” she barked.
He held up his phone. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a Mary Jane situation to address.”
That wasn’t too surprising for a guy with a High AF beanie.
She gestured to the door. “Do what you’ve got to do, Tanner.”
“I hope you get this figured out,” he replied and dashed out the entrance like the place was on fire.
She exhaled a weary breath and eyed her besties. “I am in no mood for shenanigans.”
“Ignore the bonbon addict,” Charlotte announced. “Ladies, maintain focus. We stick to the plan.”
More of this nanny ninja nonsense?
