Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“They’re in heat.” Harley’s gaze stays fixed on the sea of very enflamed-looking baboon butts.
I come to a stop next to her, unsure if I’m fascinated, disturbed, disgusted, or a combination of all of the above. “They look like they’ve contracted an STI. And how in the world do you know they’re in heat?”
“Because I visited the zoo with my sisters when I was about Peyton’s age and witnessed the same thing.” Her cheeks are close to the same color as the baboon butts.
Peyton glances over her shoulder and then points at a pair of baboons. The female—she’s easy to identify—is being followed around by one of the males, who is practically sniffing her butt. “Why is he doing that? And what’s wrong with that baboon’s butt? Is it sick? It looks sore.”
Harley and I share a panicked glance, and she raises both hands in the air. “Not it.”
I give her a look. “You’re gonna throw me under the bus like that?”
“I’m not throwing you under the bus. I’m just here to see the pandas, not give a nine-year-old a sex-ed lesson thanks to some randy baboons. That’s your job.” She backs up a couple of steps, heading in the opposite direction of the monkeys.
“Can’t she stay nine forever?” I grumble, not wanting to go any farther, but Peyton is almost at the fence, apparently enthralled by the weirdness we’re witnessing today.
“Wouldn’t that be lovely.” She calls out, “Peyton, let’s get ice cream before we head to see the pandas.”
She spins around, her eyes lit up with excitement, and she skips back over, the baboons completely forgotten. “Can we get a funnel cake?”
“Absolutely.” I’m not above bribing her with all kinds of food to avoid a conversation about baboon romance.
“Saved by the funnel cake,” Harley says with a grin. “For now.”
We stop for funnel cake, which proves to be just as entertaining as the exhibits. Little Ella can’t get enough of the ice cream, and her excitement is hilarious and infectious.
Ella manages to get the spoon out of Harley’s hand, and ice cream goes flying. At first I think she’s missed everyone, until Harley turns around, face scrunched up, vanilla ice cream and strawberry sauce dripping down her cheek.
“Hold still. I’ll get it.” I grab a napkin and tuck a finger under her chin, tipping it up so I can wipe the ice cream off.
“I got it.” Her tongue peeks out, catching a drip as it reaches the corner of her mouth. She cracks a lid. “Did I get it?”
“Your tongue needs to be about three inches longer for you to handle this on your own, and then you’d be part lizard. If you hold still, I can get it for you.” I stick my tongue out, like I’m going to lick it off her face, and her expression shifts from amused to horrified.
“I have wipes!” Peyton stands on the chair and waves them around.
Harley steps on my toe and pushes away, grabbing the wipe from Peyton at the same time. She cleans the ice cream off her face with one hand and holds the other one out, fending me off.
I burst into laughter. “I wasn’t actually going to lick your face.”
“You looked way too serious.”
“Um, Harley? Daddy? I don’t know if the wipes are going to be enough to clean up Ella.” Peyton looks like she’s not sure if she should laugh or not.
We both turn at the same time to find Ella with one hand in the ice cream and the other one in her mouth, her whole face and shirt covered in sticky ice cream and strawberry sauce.
“Oh Ella!” Harley claps a hand over her mouth and points to me. “You’re helping me clean her up.”
We spend the next fifteen minutes in the family bathroom, cleaning ice cream off Ella, who needs an entire change of clothes. And even though I basically need a full shower when I get home, and so does Peyton, I can’t stop smiling.
Harley is a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds. Warm and bright and full of life. And I’m glad the initial awkwardness is giving way to friendship. It makes me feel a little less alone and like this kind of happiness isn’t out of reach anymore.
Eight
THE SMALL THINGS
HARLEY
“We’re still on for tonight, right?” Chad asks.
“Absolutely. One hundred percent.” I have him on hands-free because I’m driving to Spark House. I’m only half paying attention to our conversation because I’m nervous. We have a video conference scheduled with the Mills brothers to discuss the Spark House franchise, and every time we talk about it, I get all sweaty. I don’t know if it’s psychosomatic or what, but I keep having to wipe my hands on my pants because they’re damp.
And apparently Selene Angelis is going to patch in because she’s part of the Mills Hotel social media team. We’ve been working with her ever since Holt Media created Teamology, the program that partners small family-run businesses like Spark House with green sponsors.