“I don’t know,” I say, getting my wallet out.

“I forget about the new lock. The girl came in saying she was supposed to meet Harper but couldn’t get in. Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” I smile at him. “I’ll let Harper know.”

“Well, good. She said Harper would be really upset if she didn’t get in.” James waves off the bill I attempt to hand him.

I frown. Harper doesn’t get mad at anyone. A tingle travels down my spine. “When was this?”

“Yesterday. The girl asked if she could borrow the key to get in for a few minutes.”

“Did she have dark hair? Tall? Prissy?”

“Yeah,” he says with a chuckle. “Prissy fits. She came back yesterday afternoon and said she’d forgotten to bring me the key back.”

“Uh huh. We’re going to have to get the lock changed.”

“Problem?”

“Yeah. I’ll pay for a locksmith. Are you cool with that? I’ll get it done today and bring you new keys. Also if that girl comes back, call me. No one should be let in.”

“Got it. Sorry if it was a mistake.” James looks to the next person in line.

I eat one roll on the way upstairs. There are some things I need to remedy in my life and Tori is first on my list. I grab a red marker from my apartment and write on the white bakery bag—‘Sweets for the sweet.’

After showering, I tape the bag to Harper’s door. Her words last night cut into my heart. I had expected a second chance. What if she never gives it to me?

I push the negative thoughts away. I have changes to make in my life, beginning now.

It takes forty-five minutes to drive to Tori’s salon. Her doors aren’t open yet, so I wait in a parking space. She’s always late. It shouldn’t surprise me when the front doors don’t open on time.

When I walk inside, Tori sits in a styling chair. She flips through a magazine and doesn’t notice me.

A receptionist greets me. “Good morning. What can we do to help you?”

“Tori,” I say, pointing at her.

Her head pops up. “Leo. What a nice surprise.” She looks around. Two stylists prep their stations. “We can talk privately in the back.”

“No. That’s all right. We can talk here.”

She studies herself in the mirror and fidgets with her ring, spinning it around on her finger. It’s her wedding set. She must wear it sometimes and certainly didn’t expect me to show up today.

“I know you came by the apartment yesterday.” I give her a hard look, my eyes narrowed.

“You’re mistaken,” Tori says.

The girl at the next station glances over curiously. I nod at her and return my attention to Tori.

“If you ever step foot in the building again, I’ll do two things. I’ll call the police, since you will be breaking and entering.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She laughs, her lips tight in a fake smile.

“I’ll also print a column about you and all your lies, every tiny deceitful thing you’ve done, on Mr. Expose. Have you heard of it? I’m Mr. Expose.” I know she has heard of it. Even Good Morning America talked about the popularity of my blog, calling it the new generation of reality television.

I’m no longer ashamed of what I’ve been doing with my writing. It’s print journalism that helps uncover the truth.

Her mouth drops and the other stylists stop what they’re doing.

“So think about it,” I say. “You’ll be the talk of Nashville. Everyone will know what a bitch you are.”

“You wouldn’t.” She takes a couple of steps forward.

“I would.” I turn to the other stylists. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

I turn my back on her and leave, betting she won’t stab me in the back with styling sheers since we have witnesses.

22

Eleventh Hour

Harper

“Fresh baked cinnamon rolls. Yum.” Josie munches on one and licks the sugar from her fingertips. “He wrote you a love note on the bag. Don’t you think this is romantic?”

“Um…no. That’s hardly a love note.” I bite into my own pastry. “Sticking baked goods to my door doesn’t change anything.”

She lowers her chin and looks up at me with sad, puppy eyes. “Come on. Harper. I can vouch for him. He needs a second chance.”

“Second?” I make a scoffing sound. “I appreciate that you love him and want us together, but I can’t do it.”

There’s a deep, stabbing ache in my chest whenever I think about Leo. I look away from Josie so she won’t see it in my eyes. The pastry suddenly tastes bitter and I throw it in the trash.

Josie glances at her cell phone. “What time is your flight?”

“At ten. Thanks for coming by. I guess I’d better head that way.” I grab my purse and suitcase.

Josie throws her arms around me. “Text me. Call me. Whatever.”

“You know I will.” I give her a too-bright smile. It feels odd to be leaving my little apartment and this life I’ve made, even if it’s only for a visit home. “You don’t want to come with me?”

She releases her hold on me and pulls back with a pout on her face. “I can’t leave the bookstore. Or I would.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For everything. For being a terrific friend.”

I’ve been away from Austin, Texas for four and half years. In that time, nothing has really changed. I guess I expected my hometown to look different somehow.

I maneuver the rental car into a metered parking spot in front of Starbucks. My cell dings with an incoming text as I turn off the motor.

Josie: Where r u now?

Me: Hey. Haven’t even made it home yet. Supposed to meet a friend for a coffee first.

Josie: Can I get your parents address? In case I can get away from the store?

Me: Sure.

I text the address before poking change into the parking meter. When I enter the coffee shop I’m glad to see it isn’t crowded. There’s an empty table near the windows. I order an iced coffee and head for it. This meeting has been coming for a while and I’m surprised at the excited, anxious feeling fluttering in my belly.

I’ve seen one photo of Isabella while researching online. I’m curious. I was surprised when I learned her age and Wesley’s real age—both a decade older than myself.

I scan the cars as they pass on the street.

The café’s door opens. A woman steps inside and holds the door.

A young girl with chestnut hair and chocolate-colored eyes in a wheelchair enters, her grin lopsided. She’s young, female version of Wesley.

“Harper!” She wheels to the first table in her way and stops. I realize I should’ve chosen a better table and hop up to switch seats.

“Hey there. How did you recognize me?”

She tilts her head. “Your picture is attached to your email address. I asked Mom to show me since you guys are friends. Your picture is so old. You’re much prettier in person.”

“Oh. I don’t ever go online.” I glance up at Isabella. We’d agreed that she would tell Charley I’m a family friend. It’s the truth.

Isabella is blonde and slim, with a heart-shaped face. Her coloring matches mine and it’s startling that we sort of resemble one another. We could be sisters.

“Hi Harper. So nice to finally meet you,” Isabella says.

I hold out my hand and she shakes her head. I’m confused, but then she takes the steps to close the distance and hugs me. When she draws back, she has tears in her eyes.

“Yes, finally.” The hug feels nice, the kind from a long-lost friend. I’m intensely relieved that it isn’t weird at all.

Charley attempts to move a chair to the side of the table. “Mom?”

“Got it. Don’t be so impatient,” Isabella says, arranging our table so Charley has plenty of room. She looks to me. “You two sit tight and I’ll get some drinks.”