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“Don’t give her excuses.”
“I can’t pretend to understand her circumstances.” Her slumped shoulders reflect familiar defeat.
It’s Morgan’s priorities that confuse me. “I’ll tell you one thing that’s certain. If she wanted to be involved with her daughter, she would be. It’s a choice.”
“That makes sense,” Harper sighs. “It’s just tough to imagine.”
“Not everyone wants to be a parent, or is fit to raise their child.” Which is a crucial factor for Harper when it comes to my daughter. I tug my hand from her pocket to slide my arm around her waist. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. You’re not obligated to fill any role for Sydney other than teaching her how to dance.”
She sags into me. “That’s comforting to hear, but I don’t mind if she wants to see me more often. I’m getting pretty attached to her, if I’m being honest. She’s an amazing kid.”
“Then just be there for her. That’s all Sydney wants.”
“I can do that,” she confirms with an easy smile.
“Good,” I chuckle. “That saves me some heartache and effort.”
Harper stares at me—genuine, open, and unguarded. “Why’s that?”
I bend until my forehead rests on hers. My restraint can only stretch so far. “I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with both of us either way.”
My seemingly uneventful drive is interrupted when dark vapor spills out from under the car’s hood. Internal alarm bells replace aimless musings. Almost immediately after the sudden appearance, several system alerts flash on the display panel. Those red and yellow symbols are a taunt, as if I couldn’t already tell there’s a major malfunction.
I gawk through the windshield as the smoke grows thicker. An unmistakable jolt lurches me forward, narrowly bumping me into the steering wheel. Then my faithful Camry sputters in what resembles a coughing fit during a winter cold. Just as I’m pulling over onto the shoulder, the darn thing stalls altogether. The silence that follows almost sounds like the vehicle’s sigh of relief.
“Just great,” I mutter.
After shifting into park and stabbing the useless ignition button, I take a moment to contemplate my options. I hate to admit my sorely lacking skills in this area. My mom has many strengths, but handling repairs on her own isn’t high on the list. She hired out even the most basic tasks. That damsel in distress trait unfortunately got passed down to me. I’m well aware I only have myself to blame.
Not that it matters if I had the knowledge to run general diagnostics. Between the stench of burning oil and inky clouds rising from the sealed hood, I can conclude that this mechanical failure will require a professional. I clutch my phone while mentally scrolling through people to call. This is my punishment for canceling roadside assistance.
It dawns on me that I might be in danger while waiting for divine intervention. I shove the door open and curse my delay in self-preservation. Fresh air envelops me, but there’s still a putrid fog that hangs heavy. Maybe someone will smell my car imploding and come running. A judgmental scoff berates me.
At least it isn’t below freezing or snowing. There are far worse conditions to be stranded in. I could use this as an opportunity to enjoy nature in spring.
Instead, I pace in a small circle while considering the next course of action. My mom probably has several capable folks on speed dial. Or I could put on my big girl panties and message—
A truck comes into view from around the bend on the opposite side. The beastly Ford demands recognition. Apparently, almost thinking his name conjures him.
Jake slows to a stop in the middle of the road. The right lane separates us, but I can feel his disapproval as if he’s looming over me. I wince while his silence descends like a bone-deep chill. Then he flips his hat backward so I can appreciate the full view of his frustration.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I greet him. My fingers wiggle in an attempt to smooth the deep creases between his brows.
His scowl isn’t impressed with my nonchalant efforts. “Problem with your chariot, princess?”
I flutter a hand to my chest. “Are you calling me royalty? That’s very sweet.”
“Harper.” Jake’s voice rumbles like furious thunder. “What’s wrong?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
“Why’d you get out?”
“I was worried it might explode.” Which sounds silly, even to my own ears.
His tortured groan mirrors the sentiment. “What am I gonna do with you?”
Before I can answer, the back window rolls down. Sydney’s adorable face pops out. A chipper bark tells me Glitzy is buckled in beside her. My heart warms into sappy goo over the fact that this grumpy man is out for a Sunday drive with his two girls.
