Marry Screw Kill(71)

But our first stop here will be her grandmother’s house. We are sitting in the car in the airport’s parking lot with the engine idling. Harlow pulls her mother’s letter from her bag and unfolds the sheets of paper to locate her grandmother’s home address.

We searched the Internet to confirm her grandmother still lived at the address. It matched one we found on the web’s local white pages in Park Ridge. It’s a city close to the airport, which works out great, since we don’t have a flipping clue about Chicago’s suburbs.

“Crazy to think your mother was raised in the same hometown as Hilary Clinton,” I say. We dug up some basic information on the web about Park Ridge. It’s an affluent city. One site called it a bedroom community where people live, play, and commute for work.

“Harrison Ford, too. My mother always had a thing for Indiana Jones. Maybe that’s why, hometown boy and all.” Harlow giggles in a higher pitch than normal. She’s anxious about meeting her grandmother and trying to put on a strong face for me.

“Nervous?” I ask.

“Just a little,” she sighs. “No, more like terrified.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’d feel the same way.” I reach across the console and take her hand. “Remember, once the shock wears off, I bet your grandmother will be so thankful you found her. Just like you are feeling about her.”

“I hope you’re right.” Harlow gives me a weak smile.

“You can do this. You’re stronger than you realize.” I want to encourage her and build up her confidence, try to repair the damage done by James.

“You think?” she asks.

“I know,” I say with a nod, my voice firm.

“A week ago, I was worried about my wedding. Fretting it all, to be honest. And today, I’m going to meet my grandmother. In Chicago.” She giggles, and this time, her laugh is mixed with joy instead of fear.

“With a sexy guy who has a heart of gold,” she says, her words barely above a whisper, like I wasn’t supposed to actually hear them.

“That guy feels the same about you.” I tap the tip of her nose and try to keep the intensity out of my gaze, burying my true feelings. They’ve strayed from just friends to a whole lot more, but my attraction to Harlow is rooted deep inside me. So far down, I can’t find the place where it changed from her friend to hopeful lover.

Lover.

It seems like such an odd word, and one I’ve never used to describe myself. But my feelings for Harlow aren’t based on lust, and it’s too soon to use any other “L” word besides like. Though, that “L” word doesn’t fit my feelings completely either.

Is there a place between like and love? If there is, I’m standing in the middle of it.

I shake my head and come back to the moment. I’ll have time to figure out things between us. For now, my focus is on Harlow, and helping her however she needs me.

“Tell me the address and I’ll enter it into the GPS.” Harlow gives me the location and we head out.

Most of the homes we’ve passed in Park Ridge are stately two-story types with large, manicured lawns. The kind of places requiring money. After a few turns, we arrive on her grandmother’s street. It’s lined with modest, well-kept ranches. I slow down so Harlow can check out the houses.

The GPS tells us we are approaching the location on the left. I look over and see Harlow clutching the letter in her hands while worrying her bottom lip. She scans each house to see if the numbers on them match the one in her letter.

“There it is,” she says, pointing to the house while bouncing in her seat.

I pull over to the curb in front of the house. The drapes are closed in the windows facing the street and there isn’t a car parked in the driveway. If I had to guess, I’d say no one is home. I kill the engine and wait.

“This is it.” Harlow means more than our arrival. It’s time for her to meet her past and build a new future. She glances over at me, her eyes begging me for strength.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Part of me wants to run up to the door. Another wants to stay hiding out in the car like a chicken shit.” She takes a couple deep breaths and grabs the door handle, but her hand stills.

A sudden movement catches my eye and I look to find the garage door opening.

“Look.” I lift my chin toward the house and Harlow’s gaze follows.

“Someone’s home,” she squeaks.

We sit in thick silence as a woman steps out of the garage. She’s older, likely in her sixties, but it’s her blond hair that gives her identity away. It matches the hair color of the beautiful woman sitting beside me.

Harlow turns back toward me with tears in her eyes. A lone one streams down her face and I wipe it away.

“It’s her,” she breathes.

The woman, who has to be Harlow’s grandmother, eyes our SUV, but likely can’t see inside due to the tinted windows. She walks to the front of the house, turns on a garden hose, and begins to water yellow, blooming plants.

“My heart is racing,” Harlow says, glancing back at me with a hopeful smile on her face. “Wish me luck.”

“You’ve got this, babe.”

She bends over the center console and plants a hurried kiss on my lips. “Thanks, Sin.”