Page 65 of Red Hot Harmony

Harper was right behind us.

There was a slam of the bathroom door, the sound of running water, and a rattling of the toilet seat and the cabinets.

“Talk about being somewhere at the right time.” He let out a long whistle and leaned against the armoire.

I paced. My heart was a mess, and tears stung the backs of my eyes.

“Please, don’t do this to yourself,” he said after a while.

I halted. “I’m already a fucking outcast.” Gosh, I was cursing too now.

“You’re telling that to a gay guy who was bullied for being gay all through his high school years? Sweets, don’t forget, the early 2000s weren’t very forgiving.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s just...”

“Damn right, you don’t. You’re on edge. Just like any parent whose teenage kid gets into a fight would be.”

I took a deep breath. Squeezed my eyes shut. Opened them. Tried to look at the world differently. Sadly, my rose-colored glasses didn’t seem to work anymore. I was still a shit mother and my daughter was a troublemaker and Harper was still...well, Harper. The sweetest and kindest and most rational best friend ever.

My mind righted itself and I was finally in a condition to look at him. He wore a beige suit with an impossibly colorful tie and I loved the mess of his hair. Some of it was probably the result of getting between two feral teenagers, but it looked good on him.

My brain cells were suddenly switching to work mode. Either Renn, myself, or Harper usually handled closing the store, and since all three of us were here tonight, that meant Amun was on duty.

“Were there any fitting appointments for today?” I asked.

“Oh-em-gee, Camille Rockwell! You need to stop worrying about the boutique. Can you do that? For me? Just for one evening?”

Ignoring the fact that I was wearing a generous layer of makeup, I palmed my cheeks. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Harper pushed himself off the armoire and took a step closer.

In the bathroom, all sounds stopped and the silence was nasty and deafening.

“Speaking of Mr. Rockstar. Where is he? Didn’t you invite him to be your date?”

That pulled me out of my ass and back to reality. I checked my phone. There were no messages and no missed calls.

And Dante was forty-five minutes late.

Disappointment filled my chest. “He should have been here a while ago.”

“Call him.”

“I already did. The reception is crap.”

“I think it’s because of the fires,” Harper suggested, gloomy. “I heard there was a problem with one of the towers.” He cleared his throat. “By the way, I’m not going to need that Thursday off.”

“Why? Are you not meeting up with the guy about your lamp?”

“He had to push out the date. I think it’s kinda bad there, where he is.”

“The fires?”

“Yep.”

“He’s not trying to get out of it, is he?”

“No, he’s not.”

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