“Church?” I’m slightly embarrassed saying it, not because I think it’s a lame option, but because I’m used to people laughing. Harlin just pulls his eyebrows together.
“Church,” he repeats, as if he’s never heard of it before. “What time?”
Surprised, I straighten. “Oh, uh . . . eleven?”
He pauses. “You really want to go to church?”
“My dad’s the pastor.”
For a second I don’t think Harlin will answer. But then he motions to himself. “I have to get a haircut first.”
I smile broadly, elated that he’ll go—which will definitely impress my father. “I don’t think there’s a decent barber in town,” I say. “But you can maybe go to Ward—the next town over?”
Harlin rests his thumb on his bottom lip. The butterflies in my stomach are back, especially with the way he’s sliding his gaze over me. “Can you cut hair?” he asks.
“No. But I’m a quick study.”
“You’ll be careful with me, right?”
“So careful.”
He pauses, seeming to think about it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll go to church if you cut my hair tomorrow. But then you have to let me paint your portrait sometime.”
“You paint?” I’m honestly surprised.
“I haven’t in a long time,” he says. “But I find you inspiring.”
“I’d be interested to see your work,” I say. “Wait, you don’t mean nude or anything, right?”
He laughs. “No. You’ll be fully clothed.”
Harlin stands and then offers his arm to help me up. When I’m in front of him, I will him to flirt back. Or at least be more obvious about it.
“You sure you’re a fast learner?” he asks, starting to look a little fearful of my lack of salon experience.
I put my hand on his cheek and nod, reassuring him. Harlin closes his eyes as if comforted by my touch, and turns his face into my palm to brush his lips over my skin.
Another wave of desire crashes over me, and I move to kiss him. But Harlin steps away without another word and walks to where he’s parked. With a slight sting of rejection, I follow quietly behind him.
I ask Harlin if he wants to come inside, but he says he can’t. He takes my number and agrees to meet me at Santo’s at two tomorrow since I have to pick up my check.
The house is empty, the lingering smell of spaghetti sauce still in the air. I click on the lamp next to the couch before crossing the room.
“Dad?” I call. When there’s no answer, I check the kitchen and see the crockpot going, then notice a note stuck to the fridge with a Grand Canyon magnet.
Elise,
Lucy’s car died again. Picking her up. Stir the sauce for me.
—Dad
Lucy’s right. The car is a piece of trash. I tend to the sauce, still slightly wound up from riding around on a motorcycle. “Harlin,” I murmur aloud to the empty room. Even his name is hot.
I walk over to the couch, collapsing on the cushion as I click on the television. I get lost in old reruns of America’s Next Top Model and before I know it, it’s gotten dark outside. Where are my father and sister? But I’ve barely gotten my phone out of my pocket when it begins vibrating. A quick glance at the screen sends my pulse racing with anxiety. Abe.
“Hi,” I say into the receiver as I put it to my ear. I hate the way Abe and I left things, but I also don’t want him treating me like I’m his property.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Guilt rushes over me, and I take an objective step back. Yes, Abe was out of line, and I will definitely tell him that. But I at least owe him an explanation for last night.
“Abe—”
“No,” he interrupts, sounding miserable. “I was an ass, I know that. I’ll make it up to you. In fact, I brought you something.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” I say.
“I have donuts.”
I smile. “Well, in that case.”
“Can I come in?”
I look over my shoulder toward the closed blinds of the picture window. “Are you—”
“I’m out front. Will you hang out with me for a little while?”
I cross the room and peek through the wooden slats of the blinds. Sure enough, Abe is standing in my driveway with a white bag and a phone pressed to his ear. He sees me and walks to the door. When I swing it open, Abe leans against the frame.
“For you, querida,” he says, holding out the bag.
“You’re being nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“You’re nice when you want something.”
“Maybe what I want is to be nice.”
I hold his gaze, his dark eyes innocent. “Come inside,” I say, and push the door open wider.
Abe strolls in like he never had a doubt I’d let him. He’s changed clothes from what he was wearing earlier. Now he has on a yellow polo shirt, which is amazing against his tanned skin. His short hair is combed perfectly and he smells lightly of cologne.
“So,” he says, turning to me. “Tell me about your new boyfriend.”
I exhale and walk past him, plucking the bag of donuts out of his hand. I take them over to the coffee table, pushing aside the remote and magazines. I should have known that Abe would be up-front. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, looking back at him. “I’ve seen him around town, and he asked me out to lunch.”
Abe nods, although his jaw is clenched as he crosses to sit next to me. “Romantic?”
“Abe.” I wince. How did my relatively inexperienced dating life suddenly become so complicated? “I’m not trying to lead you on,” I tell him, my voice twinging in what sounds like pity. But it’s the truth. I don’t want to hurt him. “You said we wouldn’t end up hating each other.”
He stares into his lap. “I lied. So what is it about him?”
Now I’m uncomfortable. “I really don’t know him, Abe. And I don’t think—”
“Shh . . .” he murmurs, lifting his head. His eyes are dark and deep, and when he starts talking, his voice is silky. “You’re too tired to argue with me tonight,” he says.
The minute the words are out of his mouth, I feel a sudden heaviness, like all my exhaustion hits at once. “Oh, whoa.” I sway, leaning into the couch cushion. Each time I blink, my eyelids stay closed a little longer.