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HARLOE
Shane stops in front of my prom photo, and I cringe at my orangey-yellow hair.
“Nora and I went a little overboard with the bleach. I should have never let her talk me into it.” My nose scrunches.
Shane smirks, lifting a lock of my hair. “I like it dark, but you look beautiful no matter what you do.”
“It’s orange, Shane,” I deadpan, but he just shrugs. “This was a bad idea.”
“Embarrassed?” he asks, pointing to the next family photo on the mantel, where I’m making a ridiculous face.
“Will!” I yell toward the kitchen. “Why haven’t you put these photos in storage?”
I swear my brother has barely changed a thing since Dad moved into his house out back.
Will pops his head around the corner to find me pointing at a photo of me dressed as an elephant for Halloween. I had absolutely zero sense of what was cute or cool in middle school.
He grins wide. “How else am I supposed to remind you what a nerd you really are?”
Will dips back into the kitchen, and I roll my eyes, turning back to Shane. “Ignore him. In fact, ignore all of this. Can I get you a drink or something? I thought they’d have dinner ready by the time we got here, so I was not anticipating this trip down memory lane.”
“That’s my fault. We got tied up.”
“Were you with my brothers today?”
“Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “We had to take care of something.”
He’s being dodgy as hell, avoiding my gaze, which probably means I don’t want to know. “Is it taken care of?”
Shane nods. “Mostly.”
“Got it.” I press my lips tight, following him down the line of photos. “You really don’t have to look at these. It’s kind of ridiculous. I wasn’t cool when I was younger. Not like I am now.”
I brush my hair off my shoulders in an overexaggerated sweep and smile big, making Shane chuckle.
“You underestimate yourself. I think it’s cool you’ve got all this.” He pauses in front of a photo that makes my chest squeeze. “Your mom?”
I nod, throat tightening.
“You look like her.”
“She was probably my age there.” And Shane is right; I look just like her.
Her long wavy brown hair was whiskey-gold in the sun. We share the same bright-blue eyes that have slivers of purple in certain lights. And I have her nose that’s a touch too big for the rest of my face. Mom is smiling in the photo. It’s one of her mischievous smiles that Dad claimed was his favorite because Mom was always so curious that she was constantly trying new things.
Dad said her wild spirit is one of the reasons he fell for her. He said I got that spirit too, but I forgot that for a while.
Shane clears his throat, noting my discomfort and moving on.
He steps away from the photos, sliding his hands into his pockets and looking around the room. Two out of three lightbulbs are out overhead, making it darker in here than it should be. It draws out the scruff on his jaw, which is a touch longer today, seeing as he hasn’t shaved since Thursday. His hair and eyes are both pitch black with so little light.
“Seems like a nice place to grow up. It’s so…”
“Domestic,” I offer.
“Yeah, domestic. I didn’t have a childhood like this.” His gaze meets mine, and it’s difficult to read the look in his eyes.
