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“I’ll bribe you with a trip there so we can talk, but if I bring you, I insist you tell me what’s really on your mind.”
“That’s not exactly how bribery works.”
Scooping Harley under my arm like a football, I race toward my SUV, parked behind Beans & Books. To my surprise, she doesn’t once beg me to put her down.
Once inside the vehicle, I gasp when she puts on her seatbelt.
“What are you doing and where is Harley Jean Owens?” Her not wearing a seatbelt when in my car back in high school, if we rode in together, was a point of contention.
“I used to do that to annoy you.”
“Does that mean you trusted my driving abilities?”
“More like I wanted to get under your skin.”
“And there I thought you liked to live on the edge. I was worried about your safety.”
“It worked.” She winks.
We’re both quiet for a beat because that wink does something strange to my pulse that has nothing to do with the revving engine.
I clear the cobwebs from my throat and say, “About that thing with the fans back there. Can we call a truce?”
“Why would we need to do that?”
“It’s not good to hold grudges. It’s better to forgive. Hanging onto things can give you hemorrhoids.”
“Pull over,” Harley demands.
“Why? Are you sick?”
“I never want to hear you use that word again. Ew. Yuck. No.”
I chuckle and remain on the road, I say, “What about through sickness and health?”
“We’re not married, Ryan.”
“What about the Romance Game?”
“Through sickness and health are nowhere in the rulebook.”
“Fine. But an official truce. No more teasing. Tell me how you feel. Let’s be honest with each other.”
She sighs as if not yet willing to give in.
So, I do. I give in to more of the truth.
“After I asked you out at Quiet Cannon Beach, and you rejected me, Brando got word that I was interested in you. He wasn’t pleased.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“More or less. I didn’t want to mess with our friendship. I told myself I had to treat you like a bro. One of the guys. Not a total babe. Which was hard. You were a cheerleader. Took over as kicker for John Wallis when he injured his ankle junior year.”
“That was pretty epic.”
“It was so hot.”
“I know. Talk about a long summer,” she says, dismissing my comment.
