Chapter 4
“This place looks like Chuck E. Cheese created a love child with Janis Joplin,” I say.
Somehow I’ve made it through the drive, getting seated, and ordering dinner without making a complete fool of myself. I can’t say the same about the server who delivered our food. Total teenage fangirl. However, now I take time to observe the ambiance of the restaurant.
“Right?” I ask the table. “This place has multiple personalities.”
Harlan’s deep laughter causes squishy sensations in my belly. I shift in my seat to shove the warmth away, simultaneously conjuring up things I can say to make him laugh again. The interior design isn’t the only thing in the room that can’t decide what it wants.
Our red faux-leather booth holds six people.
When I scooted in first, I thought Toby would sit next to me and be the kid buffer to help my celebrity personality problem.
Though untested, I am confident I can function like a normal human being around famous people’s children.
However, Harlan zipped in first, which placed his body two inches from mine, with little Toby betraying me and sitting on the other side of him.
This could be a long night.
Sally leans over to attach a bib around Layla’s neck while Layla squirms in protest on her high chair. “The reviews claim food the parents will love, with a germ-infested arcade the kids won’t want to leave.”
“Everything on the menu is organic, free range, food of the hippies, topped off with captivating psychedelic decor.” Harlan shovels a bite of bread covered with bruschetta into his mouth. “Quintessential Colorado.”
The tie-dye napkins are an amusing touch.
I couldn’t care less if the cheese came from a free-range cow that only eats dandelions at dusk.
The food choice is genius in calming my frayed nerves because pizza is the great equalizer.
All levels of income, class, and celebrity love the coma-inducing Italian pie.
“I want Wocky.” Toby spits bread onto the table while he points and talks.
Following the direction of his pudgy finger, I see a person wearing a disturbing animal costume. “What. Is. That?” I ask.
Layla lifts her little arms and tries to echo her big brother. “Was!”
The menus sit between the condiments and the wall, and Harlan stretches across me to grab one. This causes me to lean way back, squeeze my eyes closed, and say a prayer he doesn’t touch me. Does. Doesn’t.
Doesn’t.
Setting the laminated page in front of me, he points. A picture of a proud Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep greets me alongside a written explanation.
“Okay. I recognize Rocky is the Colorado state animal, he’s endangered, and he’s a magnificent creature.
But that thing”—I hitch my thumb toward the disastrous mascot—“is like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man went through a car wash, drip-dried, and got some horns stuck on him.” Glancing down at the real picture, I note the atrocious costume at least got the massive curling horns correct.
A small roar comes from across the room, and we shift again to gawk.
Rocky has a wife.
Dressed like a sheep in Little Bo-Peep’s clothing, she sports the same giant horns tacked to her head.
With my mouth gaping, I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene. “This could be something out of a horror movie. Don’t they scare the kids?”
Sally smiles and shrugs as she shifts her attention to Layla, who is trying to launch herself at the dynamic sheep duo.
“Layla and Toby, Rocky and Rockina will come over to our table when they make it to our side of the room. Let’s eat some dinner, please, while we wait.
” She offers a carrot to a distracted Toby.
I turn back to Harlan. “Maybe your costume department could help these poor souls. Or maybe I should excuse myself when they get here so I don’t have nightmares.”
A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Harlan, and he steals a glance at me while he returns the menu to its spot against the wall. This time, I lean back and ignore how good he smells.
“How did your day go with Prissy?” he asks me while Spencer and Sally deal with the kids.
“She gave me something to think about.”
“She does that.”
“Meredith,” Spencer asks, “what do you think of our boy here’s latest celebrity stunt?”
Harlan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Spence, let it rest.”
“What? Last I heard, you’re supposed to be the next Bachelor,” Spencer says.
My stomach clenches, and I chance a glance at Harlan. But instead of irrationally worrying about twenty-five women vying for his attention, I’m intrigued by the flash of pain that crosses his face.
What is that about?
He picks up a piece of toasted crostini and points it at Spencer. “You need to stay off social media, man.”
Sally mashes a banana with her fork. “Harlan, what you did was a big deal. Seriously, we’re all very proud of our Hercules.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Some of the shoveled bruschetta overflows from his toast and falls back to the plate. “And if we stop talking about it, it will disappear into the graveyard of runaway social media spotlight stories.”
Spencer grabs a fork and a knife. “Meredith, have you seen the video?”
“Oh.” Cheese from the piece of pizza I grab off the pan stretches long, and I wrestle it from the neighboring slice. “Uh, no, I haven’t watched it. I don’t watch that kind of . . . thing. I’m a little bit sensitive. Sorry.” I throw a half-hearted smile to Harlan.
He turns to me, studying my face. “You haven’t seen it?”
I shake my head.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” he says softly.
“Well, um, full disclosure. I’ve seen pictures.
” I forget I’m holding a slice, and my hand gestures flop the pizza around until I set it on the plate.
“My niece and I are close, and she might be your biggest fan. Hannah’s personally responsible for at least a thousand of your millions of YouTube likes.
She would have a coronary if she knew I was sitting here with you. ”
“It probably wouldn’t have been that big of a deal”—Spencer leans over to cut Toby’s pizza—“if you didn’t take off your shirt at the end of the video.”
Staring at Harlan, I concentrate on his shoulder so I don’t picture the shirtless photograph showcased on several tabloid magazines this week. Stupid airport bookstore.
“I didn’t know the kid was filming. I was just trying to—” Harlan grabs his napkin, swipes his mouth, and balls a fist around it. He sighs, closing his eyes. “Never mind.”
My hand twitches, wanting to offer him some touch of encouragement. “I don’t know, Harlan. Maybe this kind of attention will open doors for you. You could be the next Rocky the Bighorn Sheep.” I smile. “You could have a real future in mascot wear.”
While the others laugh, his gaze meets mine, and something passes between us. Something electric that causes my belly to flip.
Exhaling, I shift my focus to the Deans. “Do you all get to the Springs often?”
“Every now and then,” Sally says. “I’m from Nebraska. Spence is the one who grew up here, but his family has scattered over the years.”
“What about you, Harlan?” I ask, proud of myself that my voice only shakes a little when I pose my question to Super Famous Man.
“I make it back more than Spence.” Shaking his head, Harlan grabs another piece of pizza, sets it on Toby’s plate, and says in an unmistakably bitter tone, “The hills of Hollywood have nothing on Colorado mountains.”
The table freezes.
Harlan glances around, wipes his hand on a napkin. “Sorry.” He offers a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe I should look into that mascot thing after all, Meredith.”
“Your future looks bright in mascot wear.” I let out a puff of laughter, knowing full well I’m about to make a terrible joke. “You do look a little sheepish right now.”
After a beat, Harlan throws his head back and laughs.
My face flushes as my shoulders shake, and I peek up at him from under my lashes.
He aims a dazzling smile my way. “Did you just make the world’s worst joke?”
I grin proudly, then glimpse over to Sally.
Her head is cocked, her gaze equal parts amused and observant.
What does she think she sees?
Spencer reaches across the booth, picking off rejected pepperonis from Toby’s plate. “Meredith, I didn’t ask you where you met Harlan. Have you guys known each other long?”
“Oh yeah,” Sally says. “You didn’t mention it this morning.”
“Why would I have mentioned it this morning?” I ask.
“I assumed you saw the movie crew and knew I was with them.” She takes a baby spoon and scoops up a bite for Layla.
“No, if I had known you were connected to anything Hollywood, I would have panicked, run away, and never spoken to you again.”
Sally tilts her head. “So if you didn’t know, how did the two of you meet?”
I take a sip of my water and, without thinking, answer her question. “Well, I ate dinner at the Penrose Room last night.”
“I thought the room was cast and crew only,” Spencer says out of the side of his mouth while chewing. “Wait, a woman showed who lost her—” He clears his throat.
Awareness burns through me like fire catching a newspaper.
Molly’s memo is going to be the death of me.
The banana-filled spoon in Sally’s hand stops midway to Layla’s mouth. Her pained eyes find mine. “That was you? But you said . . . you said—”
Her whispered words of shock cause a fracture straight from the top of my heart to the bottom.
She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. That was you?”
Layla’s little hands bounce in protest of the paused dinner.
Sally’s emotion spills from her eyes, and she touches a hand to her cheek. She breathes her declaration, “That was you.”
Holding my breath, all I can do is nod.
“I just—I just need a moment. Excuse me.” She sets the spoon down and pushes on Spencer’s shoulder, prompting him to move out of her way.
“Sally . . .” I’m frozen as I watch her scurry from the table.