Waiting for Prince Harry (16 page)

“Um, okay, that’s really nice of you,” Gretchen says, raking a hand through her short blonde hair. “Spot 22, Black Honda Pilot. Trunk is still up.”

“Got it,” Harrison says, moving around her and dashing out the door.

Gretchen then turns to me, her hazel eyes wide. “Holy shit, Kylie. He’s fucking hot!”

I suddenly have all the maturity of a 16-year-old girl with her first boyfriend.

“I know!” I squeal.

“And you’ve slept with him.”

Now my face feels like it is an inferno.

“Shhhhhhhh!” I say quickly.

“Why? If I slept with any guy that freaking hot I’d be screaming it on my Connectivity page every day for a year,” Gretchen declares. “He is so . . . so . . .”

“Athletic?” I supply helpfully.

“Yes. His arms are like
huge
,” Gretchen declares. “And his chest . . . Holy shit, I have never seen an athlete up close like that but he is a
god
.” Gretchen pauses for a moment. “I never thought I would say this to you, because I know you were like obsessed with him, but Harrison is so much hotter than Prince Harry.”

“Harrison is my Prince Harry,” I say honestly.

“And he’s so . . .
nice
,” Gretchen says, shifting gears to his personality. “Like he didn’t even wait a second before getting those bags from me.”

I beam in response. “Harrison’s like that. He’s so thoughtful and gentlemanly . . . I’m so lucky.”

The door opens and we both shut up. Harrison has his muscular arms full of heavy bags, but it looks like it is nothing for him to carry them.

“That’s everything,” Harrison says, sweeping past us and setting everything down on the breakfast bar.

“Thank you so much,” Gretchen says, smiling at him.

“Of course,” Harrison says easily.

Gretchen moves behind the counter and begins putting things away. “Have y’all eaten yet?”

“We’re going to order Thai,” I say.

“Nonsense. I’ll make something for us,” Gretchen says.

“No, Gretch, you don’t have to—” I start, but Gretchen cuts me off.

“I can do Thai. Or a lovely sautéed chicken over some angel hair pasta.”

“You still like to cook on your days off?” Harrison asks, leaning against the countertop.

“Yes, but I cook really simple at home. Let the flavors shine through is my theory,” Gretchen explains, putting some milk in the fridge.

“I need to Connect with you on Connectivity,” Harrison says, moving over to the coffee table and picking up his cell. “You can give me some cooking tips. I’m sending you a Connection request. I’m under Wesley Harrison by the way. My alter ego.”

Gretchen chats easily back with him about cooking and my heart is so full it could just burst. Harrison is engaging my best friend, asking her about herself and her interests, and listening to what she has to say. He’s getting to know her because she’s important to me. Which once again speaks volumes about the amazing person Harrison Flynn is.

You’re such a good man
, I think, watching him.
And I’m so blessed to have you in my life.

So wine and beer are poured, and the three of us talk easily as Gretchen cooks. We share an amazing meal of chicken and salad and pasta, an evening filled with conversation and laughs and one that is just perfect.

I clean up—with Harrison at my side helping—after dinner and then Gretchen goes back to her room to watch TV. As I’m putting dishes away, Harrison picks up the floral accordion file on the countertop.

“What’s this?” Harrison asks.

I put the last plate in the cabinet and shut the door. “That’s my future file. My decorating ideas, baking recipes, travel destinations—all stuff I want to do someday.”

“Can I see it?” Harrison asks.

I nod. “Sure, but when you look at decorating, you won’t see any ideas for the home renovation project. We need to do that neutral, so the seller can see themselves in the home.”

Harrison removes the sheath of plastic-covered pages under my ‘Kitchen Décor’ tab.

I watch as he sits down on a barstool and begins flipping through them. “Is this really a blue stove?”

I move to the barstool next to him and take a seat. “It is. I love that robin’s egg blue against white cabinets. It’s retro and different and the color is just so cheerful. That’s what I want in my dream kitchen—a place of comfort and vibrancy. Where I can hang out with my family and smell the scent of brownies baking in the oven. It makes me happy to dream of it, actually.”

I’m going on about this stove and my dream and suddenly I feel Harrison staring at me.

I feel like an idiot and clear my throat. “Sorry. I know that was a rambling answer to the stove color question.”

“I like your passion about it,” Harrison says. Then he taps his finger over the picture. “Let’s do it.”

I furrow my brow. “Do what?”

“Let’s make your kitchen come to life,” Harrison says, running his fingertips along his jaw line as he studies my kitchen pages. “We’ll use your vision for the renovation, Kylie.”

“Harrison, no. It’s too quirky,” I say. “I don’t want you to lose money on your investment that way.”

“We’ll say it’s a home personally imprinted by me,” Harrison says firmly. “And that will be the big selling feature.”

“But it’s not you,” I say honestly.

“I want to see you complete your vision,” Harrison says, taking a lock of my hair and brushing it behind my ear. “You have all these dreams and ideas in your head and in plastic covering. I want to bring them alive for you. Not in the future, but now.”

My heart is thumping inside my chest. I see his eyes burning with belief in me. Belief in my dreams, even the ones I carefully cut out of magazines and held in a file for safekeeping.

“You’re serious,” I say, swallowing hard.

“I want to build this dream with you,” Harrison says. “Down to the vintage drawer pulls.”

I don’t trust myself to answer without crying so I nod.

“Yes?” Harrison asks.

“Yes.” I whisper back.

“Wicked good. All right, what else do you have in here?” Harrison goes flicking over the rest of the tabs and stops. “Pop Quizzes? What’s this?”

Okay. Now I’m embarrassed. “Um, I like taking quizzes to get a sense of my true self.”

Harrison lifts an eyebrow at me. “You need a quiz from some women’s magazine to tell you who you are?”

“They’re insightful,” I protest.

“Riiiiiiight. Okay, let’s see.”

“No!” I laugh, trying to rip the folder away.

“No, no, let’s just see what we have,” Harrison declares, grabbing the quizzes and standing up so I can’t get them. “Oh, here we go. ‘What your cheese says about you.’ Ah, yes, I’m going to see who you
really are
from this one.”

Gah! I jump up, trying to snatch them from his hand, and Harrison laughs harder.

“Give them back,” I say, laughing.

“Jackpot! ‘What you want in a future husband,’” Harrison says gleefully.

“Oh God, don’t read that,” I cry, burying my face in my hands.

“Oh I absolutely will read it,” Harrison declares. “Need to see how I measure up here, Ms. Reed.” He clears his throat. “‘Number One: Is a sense of humor important to you?’” Harrison glances at me and then back at the quiz. “Ah, good choice, Kylie. You circled ‘yes’.”

I smile proudly at him, and he winks at me.

“Number Two,” Harrison says, continuing. “You meet a man you like but he doesn’t have a college degree . . .” Harrison’s voice trails off as he reads the question aloud.

Oh no. Oh God. I feel nothing but panic sweep over me.

“Harrison, I—”

“‘. . . He doesn’t have a college degree,” Harrison repeats over me. “How do you feel about this? A. Doesn’t matter; it is the person who counts. B. Depends on the circumstances as to why he didn’t pursue an education. Or C. This is an automatic deal breaker. I could never be with someone who didn’t have the intelligence or desire to pursue their formal education.’”

I begin to shake. Harrison is staring down at the quiz, and then looks at me with nothing but hurt in his eyes.

“So C is the answer you circled, Kylie,” Harrison says quietly. “And if this quiz reveals your true inner self, then you really don’t want to be with a loser like me, do you?”

Chapter 19

The Pop Quiz Question:
Uh Oh! You have done something that has hurt your new boyfriend. How do you deal?

A) Be straightforward and calmly apologize. If you are sincere, it will blow over.

B) Profusely apologize over and over, then get him a card or little gift to show him how much you care.

C) Panic.

Oh no. I see the pained look on Harrison’s face. Fear grips me. I have to undo this. I have to make him understand that he has changed everything about what I thought I wanted—

“I told you I wasn’t playing a game with you, Kylie,” Harrison says, his voice full of hurt. “But are you playing one with me? Is this a fucking game to you?”

“
A game
?” I choke out, stunned by that accusation. “What do you mean, a game?”

“Do you just want to see what it’s like to date a dumb jock? Because according to the quiz that reveals what your
inner self
really wants, I don’t measure up in your eyes.”

“Harrison, that’s not true,” I cry, putting my hand on his arm. The second I touch him he angrily jerks it away and takes a step back from me. Tears fill my eyes. I put my hand down and swallow hard. “You know I believe in your intelligence. You
know
I do.”

“But that doesn’t matter to you if I don’t have a fucking college degree to prove it,” Harrison snaps.

“No,” I protest, feeling that I’m on the verge of losing everything now. “I’m embarrassed to admit I used to think that way. It’s how I grew up. It was expected of me, of Brandon, of everyone we knew in our neighborhood and went to school with. That doesn’t excuse my thoughts on a college degree, and I’m the first to admit I was wrong. Very wrong.” I take a deep breath and continue. “Don’t you see? Harrison, you are changing the person I am. You’re the one who is making me see things in a different light.”

Harrison stares hard at me. “And why am I different? Because I have 150 fucking million dollars in my bank account? Because I’m famous? Yeah, that probably makes the lack of education a little easier to swallow. If I were just a contractor we wouldn’t even be in the same room right now because you wouldn’t give me the time of day. Unless I was working for you, that is.”

His accusation slaps me hard across the face, and for some unexplained reason, I find myself wanting to fight back.

Harrison is worth fighting for
, I realize. I can find the courage to speak up. I’m willing to fight for this man. Because in the short time I have known him, he has become my everything. And I won’t lose him over this. I won’t.

“How can you even say that about me, Harrison? Do you really believe I could be that superficial? I don’t care about your money. You
know
I don’t care about you being a superstar. And after that night at the Rattlesnake Bar, if you would have told me you were a contractor, it wouldn’t have mattered to me at all.”

“Bullshit!” Harrison yells, angrily swiping his phone off the kitchen counter. “You would have walked away and never looked back if I didn’t have that fucking degree and a white-collar-approved job. Because obviously I’m not
ambitious
or
intelligent
enough for someone like you.”

I feel him pulling back from me, emotionally and physically. Harrison is pissed off and shaken and I don’t know how to reach him. I don’t know how to make him believe me.

“So what happens when my novelty wears off?” Harrison continues. “Or when my hockey career ends and I’m a nobody with no professional future? Is that when you’ll regret overlooking the qualifications I’m lacking? Is it? Will you be just as disappointed in me as my parents are?”

I stop breathing as I absorb his words. I realize this is about more than me right now.

“This isn’t just about what I think, is it?” I say softly.

Harrison blinks. “What?”

“This is more than me,” I say, continuing. “This is about your parents, too. And maybe it’s about choices you regret as well.”

“Don’t fucking go there,” Harrison snaps, his voice shaking with anger.

“You aren’t the only one who can analyze people, Harrison,” I say calmly, praying with all my heart I can reach him. “I know this is more than me. I know this is.”

“No!” Harrison yells. “Do not make this about my family, Kylie.
Do not
. This is about me not being what you really want. In fact, I’m not sure what I want now, as far as we’re concerned.”

I gasp out loud. “What?”

“I’m saying we both need to think about this,” Harrison says, staring hard at me. “And if we should go any further.”

Tears spill down my face. “You aren’t serious,” I whisper.

Harrison’s eyes lock on mine. “I am,” he says firmly. “Because you need to be honest with yourself, Kylie. I don’t know if I can be the man that you need me to be. And I don’t know if I can continue being with you knowing this is how you really feel inside.”

Then Harrison storms out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

I stare at the door, stunned. This quiz—this irrelevant, stupid quiz—has hurt him badly. It struck a nerve in him, and Harrison is so defensive and furious he can’t see straight. My honest answer—of how I
used
to feel—could be the thing that ends us right when we were back at a future of endless possibilities.

Suddenly all kinds of feelings are whipping around inside of me with fury. I’m hurt Harrison didn’t believe what I was telling him. I’m anguished that Harrison has unresolved feelings from his family that have just blown up in both our faces. I’m ashamed that I was a superficial idiot when I took that quiz and put value on something that has no meaning to me now, no meaning at all.

And with all of this swirling inside, I burst into tears.

I’m an emotional mess.

I pick up a large quilted leather tote bag and drape it over the mannequin’s arm. I’m in the front window of Boutique Dallas, putting together the pre-fall launch display celebrating our black and white collection.

Normally I’m in my zone doing this. It’s my big window, launching a collection, draping mannequins with gorgeous designer clothing in luxury fabrics to reflect a vision that will lure shoppers into the store.

But all I can do is blink back tears and try my best to swallow down the permanent sob that is lodged in my throat.

I haven’t heard from Harrison since our fight last night. Nor have I tried to contact him. I have no idea what he is thinking, or if he even wants to be with me.

And while I am dealing with my own emotional crisis, a lone paparazzo has been stalking me with a high-powered lens, taking pictures of me working in the window for the past half-hour. I feel utterly trapped. Violated. I keep my back to him the best I can, but I just want to be left alone with my misery.

I glance over my shoulder again. The paparazzo has given up on me. Thank God.

I move to the middle mannequin and pop the collar up on a retro inspired, white wool coat, and my thoughts immediately go back to Harrison. I feel my heart ache inside my chest at the mere idea of Harrison wanting to end things over this—

Suddenly I hear a rap against the glass window.

I jump, startled by the unexpected sound.

If it is that damn photographer I will kill him
, I think. I whirl around, furious, but it isn’t a paparazzo looking at me.

It’s Harrison.

My heart stops. Harrison is standing still on the sidewalk, his aviators clipped on to his shirt collar. I draw a sharp breath of air as I see fear reflected in his deep green eyes. And the second I look into them, I know he is here to make things right. Harrison’s gaze has not left mine, and I know he is desperately trying to read me like I’m trying to read him right now.

I’m able to breathe again the second I realize this. Harrison motions that he’s coming inside, and I nod okay in return.

I climb down from the window, my heart hammering against my ribcage. I step on to the sales floor, and Harrison is walking straight toward me, a worried look on his handsome face.

I glance around. It is two-thirty in the afternoon, and the store is absolutely dead. Laurel is off today; Mona is helping a customer on the other side of the store; Bradley and Alyssa are up front and engrossed in conversation, as seeing Harrison drop in is not unusual at this point.

I look back at Harrison, who is now in front of me, and do my best not to burst into tears.

Harrison tugs on the brim of his University of Texas baseball hat and clears his throat.

“Kylie,” he says softly, his eyes searching mine, “I’m so sorry about last night. I promise you that our relationship will not consist of me storming out and coming over here to ask your forgiveness on a regular basis. I’m not like this. I’ve
never
been like this. But the idea of . . .”

His voice trails off for a moment and he looks away. I watch as he swallows and turns back to me. “But the idea of losing you scares me to death. And that quiz—”

“Was done by a stupid girl with not a lot of life experience outside her own narrow world,” I say honestly, my voice shaking as I interrupt him.

“No,” Harrison says firmly. “That was about me being afraid I wasn’t enough for you, like I wasn’t enough for my parents. You were right about that, Kylie.”

I take a deep breath. “You aren’t just enough for me, Harrison,” I say quietly. “You’re
everything
for me. And there’s nothing that will change that.”

I watch as Harrison absorbs my words. Suddenly his face goes from anxious and worried to relieved.

“I’ll explain everything when we are alone,” Harrison promises. “But I have to tell you this now. I don’t deserve you, Kylie. I really don’t.”

“Good. Because I don’t deserve you either,” I say, smiling at him.

That does it. Harrison’s face lights up and he flashes me the smile that is mine, and only mine, to see.

“I think I deserve a trip to the penalty box,” Harrison says. “As punishment for my idiotic behavior last night. So there’s really only one solution at hand.”

“What’s that?” I ask, creasing my brow.

Harrison steps closer to me and puts his hands on my face. I breathe him in, his familiar scent washing over me; and I relish the feel of his skin against mine.

“I’ll pick you up after work,” he whispers sexily, tracing his fingers over my cheekbones, “and I will personally allow you to put me in the penalty box. For as long as you see fit as my punishment, that is. Because I have been very,
very
, bad, haven’t I, Kylie?”

Okay making up with my ginger Hockey God is going to be spectacular tonight.

“Yes, bad,” I manage.

“Atrocious.”

“Horrible.”

“Mistakes that should be rectified,” Harrison says, cocking an eyebrow at me. “However you see fit.”

Did Mona just shut off the air conditioning? Because right now it’s very
hot
in here.

“Sounds like endless possibilities are in play this evening,” I say smartly.

Harrison flashes me a sexy grin. “You have no idea.” Then he gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll be back in a few hours to pick you up. Now go finish your window.”

Then he turns and casually strolls out the door.

And I’m left with the utterly hopeless task of trying to focus on a display window when all I can think about is the endless possibilities that await me tonight.