She flashes a yup grin. “But I’d also take a hedgie, a cat, or a dog.”
“Named Dolly,” I say, repeating her plans as I drop a kiss onto her forehead.
“Or Katie. I like Katie.” She yawns, so big it’s the size of a pie.
“I’ll let her know you plan to name a pet after her.”
A line creases her forehead. “Is she your new girlfriend? She seems like it.”
Well, kids know everything, don’t they? “Why do you ask?”
Another yawn takes over. “I could tell you liked her and she liked you.”
I ruffle her hair, glad to tell her the truth about this. “I think she will be soon,” I whisper, then I press my finger to my lips. “Secret.”
“I’ll keep it a secret. Do you think she liked me?”
“I’m sure she loved you.”
“Okay,” she says as her eyes flutter closed.
I leave her room, shut the door, and head downstairs to finish cleaning up. But before I tackle the kitchen, I grab my phone and sink onto the couch, clicking open my text app.
Harlan: The verdict is in. She loves you.
* * *
Katie: The feeling is mutual. She’s fabulous.
* * *
Harlan: Well, that was easy.
* * *
Katie: Some things are. You’re raising a good kid.
I return to Katie’s words from the picnic lunch about whether she’d want kids. With the right man. The right relationship. I’d love to talk to her more about that, but via text message hardly seems appropriate. End of season feels like a better time. But I can at least say this . . .
Harlan: You were great with her.
* * *
Katie: Yeah?
* * *
Harlan: Hell, yeah.
* * *
Katie: It makes me happy to hear you say that. I want to be good to her.
Damn. This woman is doing all the things to my heart.
Harlan: She asked if you were my girlfriend.
* * *
Katie: And what did you tell her?
* * *
Harlan: That I hoped you would be soon. Feels close enough to the truth.
* * *
Katie: What’s the truth?
* * *
Harlan: I see you as mine already. I just do. Call me possessive.
* * *
Katie: Possessive :)
I don’t want to end the conversation just yet, so I spend a little longer texting . . . my girlfriend.
The kid called it.
23
Katie
I need to talk to someone.
I can’t keep this to myself much longer.
My friends have been my rocks, my gems, my everything.
I should tell my sister, but I’m not ready yet. Besides, I’m closest with Emerson. She also isn’t my business partner, so that helps.
That Friday afternoon, after I teach a class to a local financial firm, sub for one of Michelle’s Ouch! I Can’t Reach My Toes—Yoga for Flexibility classes, and visit another teacher’s session, I meet up with Emerson in the Sunset District to “recon” for an upcoming episode of her show. Her word, not mine.
We trek up a staircase of 163-mosaic covered steps, each one a different design of colorful tiles. It’s a hidden gem in San Francisco, but I’m not sure why we’re here.
“How exactly does this help you with a food show?” I ask, gesturing to the gleaming steps.
“Because this new burger place is so off the beaten path, it’s at the top of the steps.”
I scan the environs. Houses tower up on either side of the staircase. “Um, this is residential. Are they even zoned for a restaurant here?”
Emerson tuts, patting my shoulder. “You’re so cute. I love your municipal concerns. This is a food truck we’re scoping out. It’s parked here today. Banging Burgers. It’s got all kinds of veggie burgers. I want to eyeball it before I come here officially, and the bonus of exercise ticked another box.”
Ah, that makes more sense. Emerson loves to prep so she’s not surprised when she shoots an episode. She’s the queen of doing her homework. I bet she was a straight-A student in school.
As my foot lands on a shimmering light blue tile, I decide now’s as good a time as any to dive into my dilemma. “So, I need your take on something. Remember that night at my house when I said I was ready to date Harlan again?”
She whips her gaze to me as we walk, those curious green eyes already sparkling with questions. “The date that never happened, right? You said he became a client when you started teaching the Renegades. I’ve seen the pics on the team’s Instagram.” The Renegades social media shared photos of me teaching the guys, which looked great shared on Sassy’s Insta feed. “Did that change?”
I answer her honestly. “Yes.”
She freezes mid-step. “Whoa.” She thaws, setting her foot down. “Are you seeing him?”
That’s a good question.
“Sort of?” I say, my voice pitching up.
“How is it a sort of?” Her voice hits the stratosphere.
“We’re not really seeing each other, but we made a plan to see each other.” Finally, I just rip off the Band-Aid. “Ah, hell. I like him so much, Emerson. And everything with him is so good. It’s driving me crazy, but in a good way. But you said you regretted missing signs with my ex, and I’d feel like the worst friend if I didn’t tell you about Harlan. And I know you’d want to know.”