Page 42 of Smooth Talk

“He’s even better looking in person. And when did you start dating the mayor, Little-Miss-Secret-Pants?” Emma stage whispers accusatorily.

“Um, yeah,” Ruby adds. “Why have we not heard one word about sexy times with that man? I mean he’s like the perfect guy.” She ticks off points with her fingers, “He’s a Maxwell, a lawyer, the mayor and sexy AF. What the heck, Poppy? How could you keep him from us?”

“Guys, he’s not the mayor… yet.” It’s the second time I’ve led with that. I need to work on my denial strategy, cause right now, it’s super lame. “And we’re not dating. I did some work for his mom. He asked me to do some work for him. He met Harper and fell head over heels for her,”

“As you do,” my mother cuts in. I nod. They’re expecting more. Strategy: downplay, downplay, downplay.

“Right. We’ve talked on the phone a few times and he took us fishing. We’re friends. Nothing more.” I can feel my face flaming. That felt like a fib, but I can’t seem to get my confidence up to the place it needs to be to admit my true feelings. Especially if there’s a chance, his aren’t the same.

“Poppy Anne Monroe!” This should be fun. My mother is breaking out the full-name-chastisement. And why is she the only one here incapable of a stinking whisper? “I did not raise you to lie to your mama.” Here we go. “If I’d known you’d already nabbed a man of that caliber, I would’ve stopped setting you up. As it is, I’ve already lined up three dates for you next week. Now you’ll have to call and cancel all of them. And one of them had potential,” she ends wistfully. I’m afraid of what her definition of potential is.

“Mom. I haven’t ‘nabbed’ anyone. And you can stop setting me up on dates regardless. None of them have ever gone anywhere, in spite of their ‘potential.’” I use finger quotes. “I can find a man on my own. And next week is Fourth of July, I’ll be busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking competition. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Well, finding a man on your own can be challenging. I’m not blaming you dear. We all need help from time to time. However, I do have eyes, and I see that you are indeed capable. But, sweetie, you are blind if you think that man wants to be ‘friends’ with you.” Her use of air quotes and nasal tone is overkill. “He looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive.” She’s smiling now. No, that’s not the right word. There’s a wicked glint in her eye that makes me nervous. “And you should let him.”

“Mother!” I choke out. My throat is bone-dry. She shoves a juice box in my hands.

“I’m with your mom on this one,” Em says quietly. “He’s a catch. Loves dogs, adores Harper and wants to do bad, bad things to you. Why not let him?” I’d throw my hands up, but they’re both busy squeezing liquid to my mouth.

I turn away from these crazies and take in the scene before me. Harper’s opening the card Grayson gave her. He’s kneeling, waiting patiently as she takes her time, reading quietly. I can see him helping her with some of the words. Then she’s squealing with joy while she throws her arms around his neck. He laughs, stands, and swings her in a couple circles before putting her back on the ground. My heart lurches. He kisses the top of her head and waves goodbye before swaggering down the hill to his car. Yes, he swaggers.

I thought he was clearly giving off friend signals, maybe my radar’s broken. Maybe I’m in denial. If he feels the same way I do, why do I still fell like I need to protect myself? I force words I’m not feeling from my mouth. “Y’all, we’re just friends. That’s all he wants from me. Now if you wouldn’t mind lowering your voices, Harper’s coming over. I don’t want her getting the wrong impression.”

“Like the impression you want to leave of your body wrapped around his?” Ruby asks snorting out a laugh and rotating her pelvis. I swear, the stink eye I give her, slides right off her back as my mom high fives her. So mature. Side note: I need to work on my stink eye.

I can’t even with these people.

Harper is jumping up and down in my face now. “Mama! Mama! I gets to ride ponies!” What? Did he steal my birthday gift thunder? I. Will. Kill… Deep breath.

Smile. Must not overreact. I pull the card from her hand and read it. ‘Harper, I know you love ponies as much as I do (possibly more). There is no better gift for a horse-lover, like yourself, than to teach you how to care for one. Pay close attention and, one day, you might have a pony of your very own. Happy birthday! I hope this is your best year yet. XOXO, Mr. Max.’

That’s when I see a receipt for Peewee Horse Camp at The Freeman Ranch (it’s the same place I’m taking her for riding lessons). A week-long immersive training camp for 5-to-7-year-olds. From 8:30 am to 2:30pm. Lunch included. The same hours I use Mandy. I look at the dates. It starts in two weeks, the exact time frame that she’d requested off.

I didn’t know what I was going to do with Harp. My parents would be out of town and it’s virtually impossible to get a sitter on short notice. I couldn’t ask Ruby or Em, they already have day jobs, and Harp’s not their responsibility. She doesn’t love being stuck in the office with me all day; it makes it harder to get work done when my attention is divided. And I can’t take the time off; I’m already behind. It’s not like I can call Reed and have him take her for the week (like a normal co-parent would). I’d vented my single-parent frustrations one night on the phone to Grayson. He’d listened. He didn’t steal my idea; he built on it. He’d solved my problem.

I feel the sharp sting of tears, and I try to blink them away. Grayson’s helping; he cares. About me. About Harp. We haven’t had that in a long time. Maybe ever. Reed rarely listened. He never did sweet things to surprise us. In the end we were strangers. And he didn’t care enough to make the effort. Grayson does. My stomach does a little flip. Maybe I don’t need to protect my heart as much as I thought I did. It’s a little early to tell, but maybe I’ve found someone I can trust with it.

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