She’d told her mother more times than she could count to let that pipe dream go, but it hadn’t happened yet.

Harper closed her eyes and took another deep breath, reminding herself that she loved her mother. Really she did. But sometimes the woman tried every ounce of her patience. Today was no different. But she could get through this. She had to get through this. And really this was just the calm before the storm when it came to what was going to happen. Because when the truth came out, all hell was going to break loose.

So Harper went back to protocol number one in regards to Delilah Laurence: she locked her jaw tight and stared straight ahead, counting down to her escape.

Thirty-two minutes, twenty-nine seconds…

Twenty-eight seconds…

Twenty-seven seconds…

She looked across the circle of chairs to find Mel’s amber eyes on her, eyes that very rarely missed anything. You okay? She mouthed.

Harper nodded. Twenty-five seconds…

Twenty-four seconds…

You sure?

Harper nodded again, forcing a smile that just made Mel’s eyes narrow. She turned away from the speculative gaze of her friend just in time to catch Hannah stick a massive pink bow on the top of Trevor’s head.

Twenty-three seconds…

Twenty-two seconds…

Trevor ran over to his aunt Grace who was bouncing Rosie Mae on her knee. Rosie was nine months old and giggling up a storm as she watched everything going on around her. Her strawberry blond hair, a gift from her redheaded father Jax, was held back with a green headband.

Twenty-one seconds…

Twenty seconds…

Trevor took the bow off his head and put it on his cousin’s before he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, causing another collective aww from around the circle.

Nineteen seconds…

Yeah, she could get through this. She would get through this.

The countdown continued in her head for the next half hour, and she kept up with her steady breathing all the way through the rest of the shower. She stayed strong when she said good-bye to her mother, not flinching under the final Delilah once-over.

Must. Not. Show. Weakness.

Because any sign would be spotted and latched on to.

But Harper’s downfall was when she was helping clean up. She went to throw something in the trash and a plate of half-eaten food was sitting on top. The second she lifted the lid, the scent of fried chicken mixed with that pungent smell of eggs hit her like a punch to the face…or to the stomach. Really it was all things poultry that were enemy number one on the not-so-friendly list.

She got to the bathroom just in time, dropping to her knees and ridding herself of the tiny cup of fruit and few crackers she’d managed to eat earlier. Her stomach cramped painfully, apparently hell bent on proving to her just what was going to happen if she continued to try to put anything in it.

Her skin broke out into a sweat, her eyes watered, and her head pounded. It took her a minute to catch her breath, but the disorienting ringing in her ears was going full force. Her head spun as she stood up, forcing her to grab on to the wall for balance. She stood there for a couple of seconds, holding on to the wall as she attempted to pull herself together.

It took a lot longer than she’d imagined.

When she got her breathing under control she cleaned herself up as much as she could in the tiny stall, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. What she really wanted was to rinse her mouth with water.

Well, if she was being honest, what she’d really like was to drink some water, but she wasn’t all that sure if her stomach would be kind enough for even that at the moment.

She opened the door and took one step before she registered that she wasn’t alone. She stopped dead in her tracks as she spotted Mel and Grace who were both leaning against the counter, their arms folded across their chests and their eyes focused on her.

“So are you going to start talking?” Mel spoke first.

“Or are we going to have to force it out of you?” Grace finished.

Now Harper wasn’t much for losing her shit. Really, she was more the suffer-in-silence type. But as she looked at her two best friends everything hit her. The sob that broke out of her mouth a second later was one she couldn’t hold back any longer. The two women converged on her, wrapping her up in their arms as she lost it.

“We’re here, Harp,” Mel whispered as she rubbed her hand up and down Harper’s back.

“Always will be,” Grace said.

When Harper managed to somewhat rein herself back in, she pulled away from their embrace.

Grace reached behind her and grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. “Please tell us what’s going on.”

“Yeah. Is it Brad?” Mel asked.

Harper took the tissue, shaking her head. “No. It’s something else…someone else.”

“Someone?”

“When…what?” Grace’s eyebrows bunched in confusion.

Harper didn’t have a chance to answer either of her friends’ questions when the bathroom door opened.

Abby Fields walked in, a streak of green icing on her cheek and bits of cake in her auburn hair. Abby was Paige’s best friend—had been since both women were five years old—and was now an honorary member of the close-knit girls in Mirabelle. She was actually a recent transplant to Florida herself, though she lived about three and a half hours east in Jacksonville.

The woman was busy, there was no doubt. She was about two months into her new job running the PR department for St. Ignatius, one of the top hospitals in the south and her new official relationship with a now Stanley Cup winner Logan James. The Stampede had just won two days ago, but Abby had taken a break from the celebrations to come to the shower.

Abby took in the scene in front of her, her steps faltering as she walked into the bathroom. “Trevor discovered the cake table,” she explained.

“Ahh,” all three women said as they took a step back from the sinks to make room.

Grace excused herself to one of the stalls, while Harper washed her hands and Mel fiddled with her short blond curls in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

Abby made quick work at the sink, cleaning herself up and unsnapping her purse to pull out her compact. She touched up her makeup before she turned to Harper, a bottle of eyedrops in her hand. “Allergies sure have been a bitch this year.”

“Thanks.” Harper managed a watery smile as she grabbed the bottle.

“No problem. And keep it.” Abby nodded to the bottle before she reached out, touching Harper’s hand lightly, and then headed out of the bathroom.

Harper tilted her head back and put a few drops into each eye, grabbing another tissue and dabbing at the new stream of moisture on her face.

“Okay,” Grace said as she came out of the bathroom stall and started washing her hands in the sink. “Start talking.”

“Can we not do this here? Please?” Harper shook her head, doing everything in her power to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened.

She knew she needed to tell them. That she actually wanted to tell them. To talk to her best friends and tell them everything that was going on. She just didn’t want it to be in a bathroom where anyone that was still there cleaning up could walk in on the conversation. She was under no delusions that she’d be able to keep it together when she told Mel and Grace everything.

None.

“Your reprieve is only going to last as long as it takes for everyone to leave.” The severe look on Mel’s face brokered no argument.

“Yup, as soon as everyone clears out we are having ourselves a little conversation. Got it?”

“Got it.” Harper nodded, taking a deep breath to fortify herself.

The truth was definitely about to will out…and very, very soon.

*  *  *