Page 125 of Shortcake
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“Harper, come on! Open up!”
That doesnotsound like I’m sorry.
I cringed as I crept quietly up the stairs, two mugs of coffee in hand.
“You can’t stay in there forever!” The sound of Conrad’s clenched fist pounding on her heavy wood door made me flinch and a drop of dark, ebony coffee spilled over the lip of the mug, splashing onto my fluffy slippers.
Dammit. Still, better than staining the white carpet, I guess.
“Still nothing, huh?” I whispered, stating the obvious as I handed him the almost full mug of coffee.
Harper locked herself in her bedroom Sunday night after we got home from the precinct. Almost thirty-six hours later, there was still no sign of her coming out.
She even missed book club.
Granted, while Conrad was at work yesterday, I heard her out of her room. I heard her footsteps in the kitchen. And I heard the pipes groaning with the sound of the shower turning on.
But she needed space. I wanted to give it to her. Besides, it should be up to Conrad to have this conversation with her… not me.
“Come on,” I whispered, linking my arm in his and trying to direct him downstairs. “Give her some space. She’ll come around.”
“No she won’t!” Harper’s voice carried through the door.
Foot still mid-air over the top step, I winced at the cutting sound of her voice.
Damn. This kid knew how to go for the jugular. Something told me I owed my mother about ten-thousand apologies.
But mostly in her voice? I heard pain.
She was hurt.
And I didn’t blame her.
After a sigh, Conrad swiped his palm down his face. “You’re right,” he said back to me, then led the way back downstairs.
I hugged my cotton robe tighter around my body, cinching the sash nervously. Once we were downstairs, Conrad grabbed a few pieces of bread, popping them into the toaster.
A paw scratched at my shin and I looked down to find Gus there, looking up at me with big, brown eyes.
“What’s wrong, little man?” Conrad asked, bending to scratch Gus’s chin.
“I think he misses Harper.”
Conrad sighed. “I know the feeling.”
After the golden toast popped out of the toaster, I grabbed the jelly and butter from the fridge as Conrad swept around me, butterknife in hand.
“I’m going to go into the precinct for a couple hours, but I’ll be home before her Mom gets here,” he handed me the knife.
Anxiety flipped in my stomach. I was going to meet Harper’s mom. Conrad’s ex. And the woman that would always be in their lives.
Yep, no pressure there.
“What time does her flight get in?” I asked, dipping the knife into the butter.
“She said eight,” he answered with a glance at his watch. “Which means, she should be landing any minute. She’ll still have to get her checked bags and the rental car. And it’s right in rush hour in Boston, so I’d say we have at least two hours until she pulls up. Possibly more if she checks into her hotel first.”
