18. Harlan

18

HARLAN

My fingers gripped the wheel tightly as I drove down the backroad that led home.

Dating in the Country.

Who watched reality dating shows? Someone must, because new ones kept popping up. Why would anyone want to sit there and watch someone on a date? Why wouldn't they just want to go on a date themselves?

Three weeks.

Daphne was going to be in Firefly for twenty-one days. As good as that news was, the reason for her stay was equally bad. She was going to be dating other men. Five other men.

And she was clearly embarrassed that we'd spent the night together. The look of horror that had crossed her face when she'd asked if I'd said anything to Nadia or Zoe about our hookup was a kick in the balls. But then, when I'd bent down and told her I didn't fuck and tell, I'd felt the shiver run through her. I'd seen the flush on her cheeks. I knew that she was as affected by me as I was by her. Not to mention, when I told her I was leaving, it looked like she was a kid at Christmas, and I'd just told her Santa Claus wasn't coming.

Daphne was giving me more mixed signals than a dyslexic Morse code operator.

I wasn't exactly sure how to wrap my head around the information I'd just been given. On one hand, I couldn't be happier that Daphne was still in town. On the other hand, she was only here to film a television show where she was going to be dating men. And it was going to be filmed for posterity, so I'd always have the reminder of her not only in this town, but more than likely, going on dates with my friends. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the lineup was the same men who had been at the auction. And then there was her wanting to keep our night together classified information. Clearly, she didn't want there to be a repeat performance. But why? Was it because she was going to be dating five other men? Was it because, like the book and movie said, she just wasn't that into me? Was it for some other random reason I would have no way of knowing?

It was a lot to process.

My headlights shone on the front of the farmhouse, and my chest tightened. As much as I loved my homestead, it had become a burden because I was afraid I was failing. Ever since Meemaw Mitchell passed, it wasn't just the farm I was worried about finding the finances to maintain. Grandad hadn't been happy here. He kept talking about going to stay at Sunset Shores. That place was not cheap.

If I didn't turn things around, there was a very good chance I was going to have to sell. The thought of losing this place made me feel like the walls were closing in on me. Last night, for those few hours I spent with Daphne, was the first time since I was injured that I felt like myself again. That I felt like I was living my life and not just surviving. That I wasn't worried about the future.

I wished I could bottle that feeling. If I could, I wouldn't have to worry about losing this place because I'd be a millionaire.

The front porch steps creaked as I walked up them, and I made a mental note to follow up with the foundation guy. I needed to find out what I was looking at. Also, Grandad had mentioned the water heater might need replacing. The bills just kept piling up; it was suffocating.

When I opened the door, I saw light from the television in the front room flickering off the walls of the entryway. Grandad was still awake. Typically, he went to bed an hour before I did, at eight. I walked into the family room and found him in his recliner, with Dini curled up on his lap.

"Hey, what are you doing still up?" I asked, but he didn't respond.

His eyes were glued to the TV screen. I glanced over to see what was so riveting. Four young women in bikinis were seated on outdoor patio furniture. There were men in the background playing ping pong.

"What are you watching?"

"It's Fantasy Island , but I haven't seen hide nor hair of Mr. Roarke or Tattoo. These young folks are just walkin' around in their britches, and the gals keep cryin'."

I watched for a second and recognized the program. I'd never seen it myself, but there were enough clips on social media that I knew what it was. "Grandad, this is Love Island ."

"That's what I said, Fantasy Island ."

" Love Island ," I stated a little louder than the first time. "It's a reality dating show, not a scripted show."

His bushy gray brows furrowed. "Is that what this is?"

"Yeah. Here, I'll find you a different program."

I started to pick up the remote from the TV tray beside the recliner, but Grandad shooed my hand away.

"Well, now, not so fast, I need to see if this tall fella is gonna apologize for not telling his lady friend that he kissed this other gal when they were out on the beach havin' a picnic."

Well, that answered my question about who was watching these shows. I doubted that Grandad was the target demographic, but they'd still managed to capture his full attention.

I walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and started up the back stairs. I'd only made it to the second one when my grandpa shouted out. "Gus called earlier. I gave him the number to your cell phone."

"Gus?" I repeated as I tried to place where I knew a Gus from.

"The foundation guy."

Right. The foundation. Apparently, my mental note hadn't stuck since I'd already forgotten. I pulled my phone out and saw I had a missed call and voicemail from a number I didn't have in my contacts. I was scared to listen to it because I doubted he was going to have good news. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to afford his estimate, unless it was under five hundred dollars, which I seriously doubted.

Which meant I was going to have to put the repairs on credit. My debt was piling up, and the classes were keeping us afloat, but just barely. Walls. Closing. In.

Dini caught up with me halfway up the stairs. I bent down and scooped her up. She yawned, and her sleepy kitty breath fanned my face. I wondered how long she'd been asleep curled up on Grandad's lap. Laps and chests were her favorite places to sleep.

Growing up, we'd had over a dozen cats. Most of them had been outdoor cats. A few had been allowed inside, the ones who broke Meemaw down. Even the indoor cats had been independent. They were self-sufficient and only gave affection on their terms.

Not Dini. She was more dog than cat. She came when you called her. She would follow commands such as sit, stay, and rollover. She meowed on command when you told her to speak. Now that I thought about it, she was probably the reason I hadn't missed having a dog in my life. Dini filled the dog-sized hole in my heart. I kissed the top of her head, and she snuggled under my chin.

Who is gonna fill the Daphne-sized hole in your heart? A voice sounded in the back of my head, but I ignored it.

After brushing my teeth, I opened my bedroom window to let the night breeze in, and my eyes automatically shot to the attic across the field to the Moore farmhouse. Tonight, of course, it was dark. There was no light in the attic. Daphne was out at Southern Comfort, which Billy Comfort owned. Her first kiss.

Thankfully, Billy was off the market. He was happily married. But I was sure there were other guys lining up to talk to her. Not to mention the guys she'd be going out with over the next few weeks.

" It's not real. The show is not real."

Why had she made that distinction to me? I ran my hands through my hair before plopping down on my bed. My back had barely hit the mattress before Dini curled up in the nook of my shoulder and purred against my neck. The mini-kitty was blissfully unaware of my torment.

I stared up at the ceiling and listed all the reasons why I needed to steer clear of the honey-blonde city girl with mesmerizing eyes, curves that made me sweat, and a kiss that was softer than the clouds in the sky.

She lived three thousand miles away.

She wasn't interested in a relationship, long-distance or otherwise.

She had made it very clear that she didn't want anyone to know that anything had happened between us.

If my feelings were logic-based, those facts would make a difference. Unfortunately, they weren't. I liked Daphne. A lot. Too much. And I wasn't sure there was anything I could do about that.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to fall asleep, but my mind was racing with all of the developments that had come to light. One thing that I kept coming back to was Daphne mentioning that the show she was shooting was a segment she had done for Pulse . I wondered if there were clips of it online.

Even as I reached over to the nightstand to grab my phone, I knew this was a bad idea, but apparently I was a glutton for punishment. I typed in Daphne's name and the title, Dating in the City . Over a dozen YouTube clips came up, and I pressed play on the first one and then the second and the third.

One after the other, I watched as she was wined, dined, and went on helicopter rides with various men. They were all objectively attractive, and they all seemed genuinely interested in her. I couldn't say the same for Daphne. Not the attractive part, obviously. Daphne was a modern-day Aphrodite, to me anyway. But my contemporary goddess did not appear to be interested in any of the men who she sat across from or beside on her dates. There was no connection. She was guarded. Her walls were clearly up.

I'd seen the softer side of Daphne Moore, the sensitive side, if you will. None of these men even came close to bringing that out. There was no flush of her cheeks, no licking her lips nervously, no tucking her hair behind her ear, no indications that there was even a shred of chemistry between the people on the screen.

It wasn't fun witnessing her dating different men, but it would have been worse if she'd shared with them what I felt we shared. Which, from what I saw, was not the case.

I wouldn't say it gave me hope, but it was enough—for now.