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The girls have good intentions, I trust that. But there’s no way I’m sitting here and dismembering my pathetic love life with the four of them this afternoon.
Alana takes a second to read my face. She must notice how I’m squirming under their attention. “Guys, he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it,” she pipes up. “We should respect that.”
Grateful to have someone in my corner, I give her a smile. “Thanks, Alana.”
She was like a big sister to me when she and Davis were married. To be honest, I still consider her family, despite the divorce. She was always the calm in the middle of the storm, the voice of reason. I don’t know what my oldest brother did to lose her, but he lost a treasure.
“Sorry, Harry,” Emma offers a sheepish grin. “I guess we just got carried away.”
“Yeah,” Meghan pipes up. “We just got sort of excited at the idea of helping you with whatever’s going on.”
I slide my sunglasses over Sparkle’s eyes and they’re twice as big as her tiny face. She breaks out into giggles. “I appreciate it. But I have to figure this out on my own.” My eyes shift to all their colorful bridal magazines spread out around them. “What are you guys up to? Still looking for a wedding dress, Megs?” The wedding isn’t until late in the spring but don’t brides like to get those things out of the way as early as possible?
“I already found my dress,” Meghan says, her eyes gleaming. “It’s vintage. I found it atRenewed Gowns, my friend Lexi’s bridal shop.” Then a little frown slides across her forehead. “But we have to settle on bridesmaids dresses. This week.” Her eyes shoot threateningly around at her friends.
“Then, let’s get to work!” Alana grabs a magazine and flips it open in her lap. Her eyes flick up giving me a subtle look that tells me she’s trying to get me off the hook here.
I give her a nod of appreciation.
“I’ll leave you ladies to it,” I say, planting a kiss in Sparkle’s wispy hair then settling her on Emma’s knee. She’s currently chewing on the handle of my sunglasses and slobbering all over it. So I don’t bother taking it back. Wouldn’t be worth the battle anyway.
We say our goodbyes and I turn, dragging my heavy body toward the door.
Right before I step outside, I hear Alana call after me. “Harry?”
“Yeah?” I toss over my shoulder, meeting her eyes.
She smiles sadly at me. “You’re a Westbrook. Which by default means you’re a great guy. Any woman would be lucky to have you. I hope your girl realizes that before it’s too late.”
I hadn’t noticed how much I needed to hear that.
I feel one corner of my mouth lift into a smile and I’m grateful for the reminder that I’m not an absolute turd. “Thanks for saying that, Alana.”
With a flicker of renewed faith in myself, I straighten my shoulders and lift my head. And then I’m gone.
8
HARRY
“Man—I really missed these school lunches. Nobody makes these square pizzas like your school, Mom.” I grin at my mother as we drop into seats in the bustling elementary school cafeteria with our food trays.
Across the table, Mom sends a look at the food piled high on my lunch tray. “You’re a strange boy, you know that?”
I shrug and tear into my pizza. “Well, you taught me to appreciate the simple things in life.”
With a chuckle, she peels back the parchment paper wrapping up the Wildberry smoked turkey on rye sandwich I picked up for her on my way over here. “I, for one, appreciate a break from the school cafeteria menu once in a while.” She takes a hearty bite. “Don’t let my kitchen staff know I said that, though.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, Mom.” I laugh.
“I can’t believe you sweet-talked the cooks into giving youfourpizzas.” She subtly shakes her head. “You’re gonna have to open up your own lunch account here.”
“Are you calling me a freeloader?” I challenge playfully.
She quirks her shoulders. “If the shoe fits.”
I huff out a laugh. Little does she know that when I was waiting in the main office for her to finish up a meeting before lunch time, I paid off the accounts of all the first graders in school. I may be a glutton for school pizzas, but I look to help out where it really matters. I know that some of the young families around Honey Hill could use the extra hand.
Mom’s job as the elementary school principal keeps her busy. So, I like to come down here every now and then just to check in on her. My hectic football schedule and her long work days make it difficult for us to connect. So school lunch, it is.
