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At the top of the stairs, I turn to face my brother. “It’s not a date. If anything, it’s a pity acceptance on her part. You’ve met your niece. You’ve seen her be convincing. Harlow never stood a chance.”
Cole considers this for a moment and gives a nod. “Okay, maybe you’re right about that part.” Then he lights up. “But this is your chance, bro.”
I roll my eyes, turning toward my bedroom at the end of the hall. “My chance for what?”
“To woo her,” Cole says, making me laugh at his old-fashioned statement.
“Woo?” I ask. “Who the fuck says woo?”
He shrugs, still following me. “I do. And this is your chance to woo.”
“You’re an idiot,” I say, ignoring the sliver of optimism his words make me feel. “And you need a shower,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “You stink.”
Cole glances down at his bare chest and tips his head in acknowledgment. “You’re right,” he says. “But so am I.” He points a finger in my face. “Think about it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, closing the door in his face.
Once I’m closed inside the safety of my bedroom, I let out a sigh. I try not to take anything Cole said seriously. I regret ever telling him about my crush on Harlow. Former crush, I mentally correct. Past tense. That was high school, for fuck’s sake. Whatever silly, childhood infatuation I’d had with her is long dead. She’s a friend. Nothing more. And tonight isn’t a date, no matter what Cole wants to believe. Ella blindsided both of us with her spontaneous invitation. In the truck on the way home, I’d scolded her for it, making sure she understood that she can’t just randomly invite people over to our house without talking to me first. She’d been suitably chastised, but I know she’s still excited about Harlow coming over.
Much as I want to be upset with her, I can’t be. She craves female interaction, I think. I’d always assumed having her grandmother in her life would be enough to soothe that need, but maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe Cole was right, and I need to start thinking about dating. That thought brings me back full circle to Cole’s words.You finally have a date with Harlow.Except this isn’t a date. She only accepted Ella’s invitation so she wouldn’t hurt a little girl’s feelings. This isn’t about me at all. Why does that bother me so much?
Just for a second, I let my mind wander to the possibility of a real date with Harlow. What would that look like? I’d pick her up in my truck and take her to a nice restaurant. Maybe in Savannah, near the riverfront. We could walk along the cobblestone street afterward and admire the view of the river. I’d reach out and hold her hand. Maybe end the night with a kiss. The mere idea of it sets my heart racing and my dick jumps to attention. Shit. What the hell was that?
Why am I thinking about Harlow that way? She’s my friend. That’s all. She’s a client, too. I can’t start down the road of picturing myself with her that way. It will only make things awkward. Besides, I don’t want her that way. Do I? I picture Harlow in my mind, remembering the curve of her smile and the way she laughs with her whole body. The lack of filter she seems to have when she talks and the way she talks with her hands. If she’s happy, it’s obvious for the world to see. Same with if she’s upset. I love that about her. My mouth quirks up in a smile as the truth hits me like a sledgehammer blow. Cole is right. My crush on Harlow St. James never really went away. I still want her. And I have no fucking clue what to do about that.
I try to push the thought out of my mind while I shower and get ready. Harlow will be here in less than an hour, and I need to get started on dinner. I don’t have time to delve into whatever I may or may not feel for her. I make my way down to the kitchen and find Cole already there, his hands covered in chicken as he debones the roasted chicken.
“Pot pie, right?” he asks.
I nod as I pull out a pan and start melting butter on the stove. “How’d you know?”
He laughs. “You’re predictable. It was either this or chicken noodle soup and I know you don’t like soup when it’s hot out.”
I shake my head at his observation. “Maybe I need to get some new recipes.”
“Nah,” he says, sliding the bowl of chicken toward me. “Don’t mess with the classics. Besides, your chicken pot pie is delicious. Good enough to woo Harlow.”
I feel the tips of my ears turning red. I keep my focus on the butter melting in the pan before me and don’t risk turning to look at my brother. When Cole finishes washing his hands, he moves to start dicing an onion.
“She doesn’t have any allergies, does she?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“I hope not,” Cole says. “Can’t fall in love after an anaphylactic episode.”
I clench my jaw against the need to reply. I know it will only encourage him. That’s what little brothers do. They love to press buttons. If Cole finds out that this is a button that he can press, he’ll keep doing it. It’s best to ignore him and he’ll eventually get bored and drop it. I hope.
“What, no snappy comeback?” he says, still chopping. “No argument? You’re no fun.”
I keep my mouth shut, stirring the melted butter.
“Oh, shit,” Cole says, wonder in his tone.
I risk a glance over and see him staring at me, eyes wide and a grin on his face. "What?"
"Youdostill like her." He says, pointing a finger at me.
My face gets hot, and I reach over to take the chopped onions from him. "Shut up."
