“What?” Sam says, snapping his head around, blue eyes wide.
“Oh, calm down,” his mother says, dismissing him with a hand wave the same way she did to Mason. “I was just talking about the possibilities of the future.”
“Stop putting the cart before the horse, dear,” Mr. Harris says gently.
“Fine,” she sighs. “But I know we all agree that Sam and Chloe would make gorgeous babies.”
“Gross,” Mason says with a shudder. “That is not what you should be thinking about, Mom.”
Mrs. Harris just shakes her head at Mason, and Jacob watches, amused by his younger brother. I turn to Sam, ready to confess that I might have used one of those creepy programs that morphed our photos together back when I was hopelessly in love with him as a teen, but snap my mouth shut as soon as I see his face.
He’s back to looking stressed, just like he did the last time us having a family together was mentioned. It immediately makes a bad feeling rise inside of me, and I slip back way too easily to insecure-Chloe, working hard to hold back the tears as insults are hurled at me.
Back to the girl who was scared what everyone said about me was true. I was a freak. Too weird to be wanted. And that my dreams of Sam Harris falling in love with me would never come true.
“More coffee?” The waitress comes back to the table to refill everyone’s mugs.
“Thanks," I tell her, though I’ve only taken a few sips of coffee. I wait until she walks away and the rest of the Harris family starts talking against to turn to Sam. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly, doing my best to ignore the rising feeling inside of me that tells me this is too good to be true.
I close my eyes in a long blink, telling the voice in the back of my mind to shut the fuck up. Good things happen to good people sometimes. I’m not exactly normal, but I don’t want to be. It sounds so boring, and obviously, I’ve been able to put my weirdness to good use. A lot of other people are weird too. In fact, I think we all are and it’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to let that weirdness show.
“Yeah,” he says right back. “Why wouldn’t I be?” His hand lands on my thigh and a rush goes through me.
“I don’t know.” I quickly shake my head back and forth. “You seem stressed again, like you did last night.”
“Oh,” he says, almost seeming surprised, like I called him out. “I just uh…uh…I had a long day at work yesterday.”
“I can imagine.”
He smiles and leans in, kissing me in front of his family and everyone in the restaurant. It shouldn’t turn me on this much, should it? Because, damn, it does, and I wish we could sneak into the bathroom for a quickie right now. “Everything is fine. Let’s enjoy the weekend before we have to go back to reality.”
Smiling back, I nod. “Sounds good to me.”
“What are your plans the rest of the day?” Mason asks. “Lennon is coming over and she said she’s bringing a friend.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Mom badgered her into bringing a single friend over for this loser.” He uses his thumb to point to Jacob. “I told her unless her friend has four legs and fur, he won’t be interested.”
“Fuck you,” Jacob grumbles.
“Language,” Mr. Harris warns. “This is a family establishment.”
“It is,” Mrs. Harris goes on, but her blue eyes sparkle. All the Harris boys inherited their mother’s blue eyes. Sam’s have a dark navy rim around them, Jacob has flecks of gold in his pupils, and Mason’s eyes are more green than blue, like Rory’s. I know this because it was a big topic of conversation when we were teenagers. “But I heard Betty Rosenfield had an affair with the cook.”
“Hopefully not here.” Mason makes a face. “On the table. Or the counters in the back. Both. I only hope they wiped everything down after Betty’s bare ass was all over the tables.”
“You always take things too far,” Mr. Harris says, trying not to laugh. “And let’s not spread rumors.” His eyes dart to the side, no doubt looking at Betty, the manager of Silver Cafe. “But I did see her at the farmer’s market last weekend with a much-younger man who was definitely not her husband, Ralph.”
“I leave for a few weeks and miss all the drama,” Mason says sarcastically.
“I do kind of miss it,” I tell him and then look at Sam. “We were just talking about how we missed small-town life.”
“Are you going to move back?” Mrs. Harris rushes out. “You could, couldn’t you? You don’t have to live in LA to write.”
“Mom,” Sam presses. “You already drilled her about this the last time she was here.”