Page 18 of Hold My Heart

They were a good four weeks into their working relationship. Sure, things were getting a little better at home, and sure, Renee was sleeping through the night more often than not, but it was still hard. Dealing with Harlan and his not-so-subtle flirting made it easier to swallow. Sometimes. When she was in the mood.

Did that make her a bad person? She wasn’t sure anymore.

“I think it would be good for you and Renee to get out of the house a little. My family is crazy. I guarantee you will both be welcomed with open arms. And you might even have a good time. If you let yourself.”

“You just don’t want to cook dinner, do you?” she needled him. “You’ve done enough cooking for the week and now you’re trying to pawn me off on someone else. I assure you, I have some frozen meals. I’ll be fine popping one in the microwave.”

“It’s meatloaf night.” At once Harlan was like a little boy. He bent down in front of her with his eyes pleading, his hands creeping up her legs toward her knees. “No one makes meatloaf like my mother. She is a culinary goddess.”

“Then how is it you didn’t decide to be a chef, Mr. Anderson?” She didn’t take her hand away when his fell on hers, even when she knew she should.

“Because I realized from an early age there are certain duties of which mothers and sisters and wives excel while I am only adequate, and I decided to focus my attention on better avenues.”

Olympia didn’t remember her mother’s cooking. Not much, at least. There were vague and hazy memories of a plump woman tending a stovetop when she was younger, and the scent of baking cookies in the air. Later in life, her mother hadn’t wanted to do much cooking, preferring to eat out.

She still had a few of the old recipes. The only thing she lacked was the motivation. Maybe she should give them a try.

“You might be right,” she hedged. “Mrs. Nunez, my surrogate mom? She takes it upon herself to cook for me sometimes. Me and half the neighborhood. She’s always sending over plates of freshly made tamales.” Olympia felt her mouth water. “But this doesn’t mean I have time to get Renee ready and spend a night with your parents. That seems a little weird. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll make a deal with you, then, since I know you hate having people do something for you without giving something in return.” Harlan stood and dragged her to her feet with him. “One mother’s cooking for another. We invite Mrs. Nunez over here next week. You come with me tonight. It’s a simple deal, one you don’t have to read into.”

Olympia found herself ready to agree. Then stopped. How easy it was to get into theweroutine again.We’lldo this andwe’lldo that andwelike ice cream withourapple pie. She needed to remember the other half of herwedied years ago. No matter how exciting the fantasy of Harlan stepping into those shoes might be—when entertained in the darkest parts of the night—she wasn’t in a position to indulge it. Or him. He was too different, and she was too busy.

“Why don’t we ask Renee what she wants to do? Although I have a lot of stuff to take care of here.” She gestured to the computer on her coffee table and the twenty emails she had yet to respond to that needed answers.

Then again, what kind of mom did she want Renee to see her being? The kind who didn’t make time for engaging activities? The kind who indulged in microwaved tamales instead of trying to cook on her own? The kind who didn’t want to have an adventure or push her boundaries?

Olympia swallowed. The kind of mom who hired a male nanny to make soup for them because she was too busy to do it herself.

“Never mind,” she said, interrupting Harlan before he had a chance to turn away and call for the baby. “We’ll come.”

His face split open in a smile. “You’re serious? You’ll come?”

In answer to his enthusiasm, Olympia kept her reaction to a minimum. “Sure.” She smoothed a hand down the front of her shirt to deal with any wrinkles. “Why not? It will be a good experience for Renee and you don’t have to cook.”

“Great. I already told Mom you were coming.”

She paused as his words sank in. “You what?”

A half hour later, they were bundled in Harlan’s car and driving the twenty minutes he said it would take to reach his family home.

“Now you’re sure you didn’t want me to drive?” Olympia checked for the thousandth time. “I mean, if you’re tired—”

“I’m positive. Thank you for trusting me enough with the both of you.” He spared a smile for Renee in the rearview mirror. She sang and bobbed her head in time with the tunes on the radio.

“It’s not trust. It’s exhaustion. I’m not fighting as much as I normally would be.”

“Either way, I’m grateful. You are going to love my family. And they are going to love you.”

“How many of your old clients have you taken over for dinner?” she wanted to know.

“A few. Most of them were a bit freaked out by how loud we are, I’ll be honest. My mother is Italian and we can get a little...rambunctious sometimes. I’m giving you fair warning.”

She knotted her hands on her lap and tried not to think about the mountain of work waiting for her at home. She’d had several artists pull out of the show at the last minute, stating scheduling complications, and Ashleigh—gleefully—told her they didn’t have enough people on the waitlist to fill the empty spots. It was one of the many what-can-go-wrong-will-go-wrong mishaps she’d had to deal with that week. Including but not limited to a broken sprinkler system, Carl’s sheetrock project going over budget, workers who didn’t want to come in to work on time, and a missing painting. One no one could seem to tell her where it had been placed.

The last thing she needed to do was take a few hours to go to Harlan’s parents’ house.

Then they pulled in the driveway.

---