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Harlow hesitates. “Maxon and Griff don’t want to see them any more than I do. And what about Evan? What an awkward way to meet the birth father who never wanted him. And his wife, who despises the guy for nothing more than being born.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s the sort of occasion that supports family unity and they’ll come together when they meet.”
She snorts, then covers her mouth apologetically. “Sorry. It’s just… Really, you don’t know them.”
“I want to.”
Her face closes up. “Why? If we’re only going to get divorced—”
“What if we don’t? What if we stay married, have children, and live happily ever after?”
She backs away from me. “I’m not the girl for that shtick. If you’re peddling fairy tales, you should find Cinderella.”
But I want Harlow.
I also want to understand what the hell made her need to protect herself. I’m more convinced than ever that her parents are the answer, and her brothers may be right when they say something happened during her first year in college. I’m going to dig until I get information, because her spirit is too bright and her heart too big to live behind barricades for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, I have to do it slowly, subtly, or she’ll force more distance between us.
Why couldn’t I have fallen for a simple girl?
Because a woman like that doesn’t do it for me. Maybe that makes me an idiot or a glutton for punishment, but I love Harlow as she is—complexities and all.
“We’ll talk about this later. Where are we taking this therapy next?” I slant my gaze out the window, pretty sure she’ll pounce on the subject change. “The great outdoors look pretty gorgeous today.”
“Maybe later. Finish up. Emil will be here soon.”
“Who?”
“Your yoga instructor. Keeley swears by him, says she’s taken a few of his classes. He doesn’t usually work on a Sunday, but I told him that you required privacy and would pay well.” She smiles. “Just an FYI, he’s gay.”
I shrug. “I don’t care.”
“Keeley seems to think you’ll be his type.”
“I’m taken,” I point out.
Harlow breaks into a laugh as there’s a knock on the door. “That must be him.”
I wolf down the rest of my breakfast and turn to find a man in gauzy white capri pants, a black tank that shows off his ripped arms and shoulders, and a flashy smile. “Well, hello there…”
It’s a long freaking hour after that. We clear off some space on the shady back patio and get down to posing. The only thing yoga reminds me is that I’m not a human pretzel. Holding my body in unnatural positions while trying to breathe isn’t calming. Half the time, I’m not sure whether I should fend off Emil’s flirting or beg him for mercy.
To his credit, I’m sweating at the end of the hour. He leaves me a paper with some stretches he wants me to work on until he sees me again on Tuesday—oh, joy—then with a wink and a flirtatious grin, he’s gone.
“I don’t like yoga,” I say as soon as the door shuts behind him.
Harlow, who was way better at imitating Gumby than me, tsks. “You have to give it a try.”
“I did.”
“A real try. A couple of weeks at least.”
She’s attempting to help me. I keep that in mind. “Fine.”
“Good. Now let’s try some other hacks for relaxation I found. I was looking for strategies you can employ when you’re in the booth and feel yourself getting wound up.” She dashes across the room and opens the drawer, yanking out a box. “These are yours.”
After a little wrestling, I open the package with a frown. “Squeeze balls.”
“With helpful sayings.” She pulls them from their slats, where they were nestled in cardboard. “See?”
