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I think he’s ready to set the past free.
Chapter 55
Poppy
“Kent, stop! I swear if you pop one more balloon…” Harper's voice snaps from down the hall; her threat is left dangling menacingly in the air.“I need this to be perfect.”
“Chill, Siren. You’ve got enough balloons to start your own circus. If one goes missing, it’s not the end of the world.”
“You already massacred three, getting them into the car, and then executed two more with the car door.” Harper seethes.
I glance at Julian, who is unsuccessfully trying to adjust the electric heater settings to prevent our meal from turning into a culinary disaster.“Why is Harper bringing balloons?”
Harper bursts through the door before Julian can formulate an excuse, a parade of balloons bobbing wildly behind her. My gaze drops to spot elegant men's dress shoes peeking out from the chaotic cluster—Kent, obviously engulfed in a balloon forest.
Harper, arms wide with bags hanging off each, proclaims,“Happy Thanksgiving!” like she’s hosting a game show. Overly dramatic might be her middle name.
I offer a smile, my expression drooping so obviously that it momentarily throws her off her game show host persona.
It was a fake smile. I am happy she's here; I just...it's hard to convince my cheeks to grin again.
She blinks away the brief hurt, rallying with,“I brought the dessert.”
“I’m here too,” Kent announces as he battles the sea of balloons, sounding like he's waging war on a plastic invasion.“Releasing these beasts now,” he declares, setting the balloons free. They ascend toward my not-so-high ceiling, ribbons fluttering down like misplaced rain, creating a bizarre indoor festival.
Henry swats at a ribbon that dares to caress his face,“What the heck is this?”
“They’re called balloons, Henry,” Harper grunts as if explaining rocket science to a toddler.
“Yeah,” he retorts,“Did you have to buy out the entire store?”
“That’s what I said,” Kent chimes in, his voice muffled by the latex jungle.
Harper dumps the bags she’s lugging down with exaggerated care,“Because I wanted to. When a woman wants something, she gets it, you idiots. We’re supposed to be celebrating and being happy.”
“Keep it up, and you’ll get no pie from me.” Harper hisses. She then begins to open a bag with a tenderness that contradicts her earlier fierceness, her hands delicately searching inside like she’s extracting a baby from its cradle.“Oh crap, it’s starting to melt,” she exclaims, pulling out a bowl with an odd concoction wobbling inside. "Kent, can you put it in the mini-fridge? Fast. Hurry!"
“What the hell is that? Soup?” Henry asks, peering skeptically at the bowl as Kent rushes it to the fridge.
“It’s whipped cream, you moron,” Harper snaps, her hands planting firmly on her hips.
“Why’s it in a bowl?” Julian asks, genuinely puzzled.
“Because I made it,” Harper declares.
“I helped. Actually, I’m taking credit for the cream, Siren. I was the one who got carpal tunnel from whisking it for hours.” Kent states.
“It wasn’t hours,” Harper corrects with a sidelong glance at me, her smirk playful.“He's such a drama queen,” she teases.“Really, it was just a few minutes of vigorous labor. What use are you if you can’t whip some cream?” She glares at Kent.
Kent wraps his arms around her from behind, his tone teasing,“I can whip cream just fine.”
“Jesus,” Henry blurts out, his tolerance evaporating.“Shut the hell up.”
Poor Henry. This is a mild introduction to surviving a conversation dominated by Harper and Kent’s relentless banter.
“Where’d you buy the pies from? Was it from the bakery I told you?” Henry asks, inching closer.
Harper rolls her eyes.
