“My mom is great. She’s my hero. She’s a baker, and that’s where I learned to cook and bake.”
“Awww, so sweet. Is she still in Georgia?”
“She is indeed. Atlanta. She runs her pie shop still with my oldest sister, Eva. It’s called I’m Just Here for the Pie. Even though she doesn’t need to run it to live.”
“Because . . .?”
He smiles softly, his eyes glinting with a touch of pride. “I did the whole bought Mom a new home thing when I got my first contract. I wanted to take care of her. Make sure she didn’t ever want for a single thing. Our parents are sort of the reverse, yours and mine, Katie. My mom’s the one I’m close with. My dad cheated on her when I was thirteen. And he took off. He left, plain and simple. Didn’t pay child support or anything. The man just abandoned his family.”
I shudder from the awfulness of that. From the anger and hurt I can hear in Harlan’s voice. It’s one of the few times he’s ever sounded less than fine. Less than fun, flirty, or easygoing.
“That must have been so hard. I’m sorry you went through that. Was he around at all after he left?”
Harlan shakes his head. His jaw is set hard. It ticks as he takes a deep breath. “Nope. Not one bit. The fucker moved to Arizona with his new woman and didn’t do shit for his three daughters, his son, or the mother of his children.”
“Wow. I had no idea.” I wince inside at my tactlessness. “I feel like a jerk for not knowing that. For kind of dumping all my stuff on you every time.”
He sits up, instantly softening. “Don’t feel bad. How would you have known? I didn’t expect you to read my mind, and these are details that I don’t share in the press. But yes, that’s the story.”
“Sounds like it’s real important to you to be the opposite.”
He nods, his expression solemn. “The most important thing to me.”
“Sounds like you are too,” I say with a smile.
He smiles back. “I try.”
“Did you ever miss him when you were younger?”
“For a little while at first, but I didn’t like the way he treated my mom. He talked shit behind her back when they were together. I never thought he deserved her.”
His relationship with his father sounds about as bad as mine with my mom. “Is he still in Arizona?”
He points to the floor. “He’s six feet under.” It comes so evenly and surprises me.
“Oh. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, but he died fifteen years ago. I’m all good now.”
“Was it hard at the time?”
“I was in college, and he had a heart attack.” He exhales, then shakes his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s about to say. “Have I mentioned he was with his mistress when he had the heart attack? He was having an affair with the next-door neighbor and died at her place.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh God. For real?”
“Indeed,” he says with an ironic laugh.
“And I thought my life . . .”
But I don’t have to finish. “I’ve got some soap opera in my background.”
“Seems we both do.”
“And that’s just one of many reasons why I’m determined to be the best father I can for my kid. I want to show her what it’s like when a man sticks around,” he says.
My heart expands, doubles in size. Then it lodges in my throat. “You are pretty dang cool,” I choke out.
“So are you,” he says, then dials up the flirt in his voice. “And I can’t wait to see you. And tie that apron around your wrists. Third time’s a charm.”
I murmur, my mind shifting quickly to dirty land again, and liking the return trip there. “Can’t wait either. But I think tonight was the third time. This feels like a date. A damn good one.”
“Then I will see you soon for our fourth date.”
And even though this time four months ago, four weeks ago, heck, four nights ago, I wasn’t ready, I am now.
I won’t make the same mistakes.
I’ll take my time.
Get to know him truly.
Take baby steps rather than run full-speed ahead.
As long as I do that, I won’t be played for a fool again. I’ll stay one step ahead of my emotions.
I’ve got this.
12
Harlan
On Tuesday morning, Abby crunches into her peanut butter toast, kicking her purple Converse sneaker-ed foot back and forth. “What are you doing today, Daddy?” she singsongs around the food in her mouth.
After I take the last gulp of coffee, I set down the mug. Give her a stern stare. “Making sure my little bear doesn’t talk with her mouth full.”
She casts her gaze down, covers her mouth, chews.
Chews some more.
A little more still.
Finally, she swallows. She gulps loudly. Smiles weakly. “Sorry.”