Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“I know,” I murmur, bringing my hand up to cover his and lean into his touch. My dad is a good man, but he would kill for me and that’s no joke. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When I return to the bar, Terry’s behind it rearranging beer in the cooler and Harlow is sitting with a bottle of water in front of her, surfing on her phone.
She’s as stunning as ever, her vivid red hair spilling down her back. Her head turns my way, those green eyes brightening. “Over visiting your pops?” she asks.
“Yeah. He said to give you a hug, so I better do it before I forget.”
I take the stool next to hers and lean over for a quick embrace. Harlow Alston and I have been friends since our freshman year when some redistricting landed me in a new school where I didn’t know anyone. It was smack in the middle of a wealthy Pittsburgh suburb and I stuck out like a sore thumb. Harlow took me under her wing on my very first day and we’ve been close ever since. While our paths diverged slightly after school—I started working in my grandpap’s bar because the thought of college made me break out in hives and she went on to law school—our bond has remained tight.
My dad adores her and she’s spent many a night at our modest house for sleepovers, and her parents have always welcomed me with open arms into their affluent life. In a way, we’re like peas and carrots too.
“Good Thanksgiving?” she asks. While we usually talk at least once a week and text more frequently, we haven’t spoken since before the holiday three days ago.
“Just me and Dad, but it was good. You?”
“Stone and I ate at my parents’. It’s nice having a boyfriend for the holidays, so I think I’ll keep him.” Harlow reaches into her tote and pulls out a folder, handing it to me. “I can’t stay long as I have a hearing downtown, but here are the flyers and an outline of the basic game plan.”
I flip through the documents, my lips curving into a grateful smile. “This is amazing. Thank you. You really didn’t have to do all this, but—”
She punches me in the arm, hard enough that I yelp. “Are you kidding? This is a really good cause, and we’re all excited to do it.”
By all, she means some members of the Pittsburgh Titans hockey team. She and her boyfriend, Stone Dumelin, who’s a first-line left-winger, are doing a charity toy drive the day after tomorrow to distribute throughout Allegheny County’s homeless shelters. My grandpap did a small toy drive every year and it’s become an important Christmas tradition for me and my dad. We manage to collect a decent box of goodies each year, but Harlow suggested combining the Titans’ star power to help increase donations.
This idea came about a few weeks ago when she and Stone stopped by to hang for a bit with me. Of course, I think the real reason Harlow suggested it was because they could see that business wasn’t all that great. There were more empty tables and stools than filled, and she thought having the Titans come in for a celebrity appearance to get donations would bring in a lot of new customers and help drive business.
It was a sweet offer and one I wasn’t going to refuse. But I’m well aware she’s doing this as much for me as she is for the needy kids in our area.
She nods to the folder. “I’ve got two players committed including Stone, but I’ll probably have a few more. Cover charge is one unwrapped toy and we’ll set up a photo station and charge for pictures with the players. The money collected will go to a charity of your choice.”
“And they really don’t mind doing this?” I ask in awe.
Harlow laughs. “They not only don’t mind, they love getting involved in the community. I think it’s their way of giving back to a city that’s shown so much love and support since the crash.”
Leaning over, I nudge her shoulder with mine, leveling her with a devilish grin. “I still can’t believe you’re dating a famous hockey player.”
Her eyes glitter as she nudges me right back. “Say the word. I could name five single guys right now who would kill to go out with you.”
I scoff at the notion. “Yeah, right. As if they’d ever want to go out with a bartender.”
“Don’t,” Harlow says, and it’s the same tone she used on me back in high school if I ever got down on myself. “Don’t ever define yourself by what you do for a living. And for the record, you’re not a bartender. You’re a businesswoman who owns a retail establishment.”
I try to mollify her without letting go of my realistic expectations when it comes to my love life. “I’m just saying… I’m so busy here most of my time is tied to this business. It doesn’t make dating or relationships easy.”