She finally released my hand so we could exit the vehicle, and the absence of her touch felt strangely wrong. Like I’d gotten used to it in the span of forty minutes and my stupid brain had already adjusted.
Troubleso.
The dry cleaners proved to be exactly the kind of place Vivienne would choose. Pristine. Expensive. With a woman behind the counter who looked at custors like they were personally responsible for every wrinkle in existence.
"Valentine pickup," I said.
Her expression shifted imdiately to sothing resembling fear mixed with reverence.
"Ah, yes. One mont please."
She disappeared into the back while Harlow wandered around the small waiting area, examining the pressed shirts displayed like art installations.
"Do you think Vivi ever just wears, like, sweatpants?" she asked idly.
"I think Vivienne considers sweatpants a war cri."
Harlow giggled. "You’re probably right. One ti in middle school, she got the flu so bad she couldn’t stand up. Mom wanted to call the doctor. Vivi refused because the doctor would see her in pajamas and that would be ’unprofessional.’"
"That’s concerning."
"That’s Vivi."
The clerk returned carrying a garnt bag that probably cost more than most people’s cars, handling it like it contained nuclear launch codes. She made sign seventeen different forms confirming I understood the care instructions, the replacent value, and my eternal soul’s forfeit if anything happened to the dress.
Harlow waited until we reached the car before unzipping the bag slightly to peek inside.
"Oh wow. This is the Lumière piece, right?"
"I have no idea what that ans."
"The collaboration dress! It’s gorgeous. Vivi’s been planning her entire outfit around it for three weeks." She zipped it back up carefully. "She’s gonna look like a princess Saturday night."
Sothing in her tone made glance over. Wistful again. Like she was watching sothing she wanted but couldn’t have.
"You’ll look good too," I said. "At the party."
She blinked. "I’m not going. Just Vivi and Mom. It’s a business thing."
"You’re literally the face of V-Girl."
"Yeah, but this is the grown-up brand. Maison Valentine is Mom and Vivi’s world. Cassidy and I just do the youth stuff."
She said it matter-of-factly, like stating the weather. But I caught the edge underneath.
I hung the dress carefully in the back seat, treating it with the paranoid care of soone transporting unstable explosives.
"Alright," I said, sliding back into the driver’s seat. "Where’s this ice cream place?"
Her entire face transford. "Really?!"
"You won fair and square. I’m not gonna welsh on the bet."
She gave directions to a small shop three blocks away, and we found parking in what might have been the last legal spot in Manhattan. The place was called Gino’s, family-owned based on the faded sign and the old man behind the counter who greeted Harlow by na.
"Harlow! Where you been? Three weeks, no visit!"
"Hi, Mr. Gino! I’ve been busy with school and stuff." She leaned against the glass case displaying approximately forty flavors. "Can I get strawberry in a waffle cone?"
"Of course, of course! And your friend?"
I scanned the options and landed on coffee. Safe. Predictable.
Mr. Gino scooped generous portions while asking Harlow about her sisters and her mother. Apparently the Valentine family had been coming here since the girls were eight. Richard Valentine used to bring all four of them on Sunday afternoons.
We sat outside on a small bench, and Harlow attacked her ice cream with the focus of soone on a sacred mission.
"This is the best ice cream in the entire city," she declared between bites. "Dad found it by accident when we got lost trying to find a museum. We never found the museum, but we found Gino’s, so it worked out."
I ate my coffee ice cream and watched the sidewalk traffic. Businesspeople rushing ho. Tourists taking photos. A guy walking seven dogs simultaneously.
"Yellow car!" Harlow pointed suddenly. "Oh wait, the ga’s over."
"You already won."
"I know, but..." She shrugged. "It’s hard to stop once you start looking."
I understood that feeling more than I wanted to.
She finished her cone and pulled out wet wipes from her bag, thodically cleaning her fingers. Then she turned to , her expression serious.
"Thanks for playing with . I know it’s kind of childish."
"It’s not childish. It’s just a ga."
"Yeah, but most people would think it’s stupid. Vivienne definitely would. She’d calculate the statistical probability of each color and optimize the route for maximum spotting efficiency."
That sounded exactly like sothing Vivienne would do.
"Cassidy would probably just pick cars she wanted to steal," Harlow continued. "And Sabrina wouldn’t play at all because she’d be reading."
"What about you?"
"?" She tilted her head. "I just like playing. I don’t care about winning or losing. I just want to have fun with soone who’s willing to be silly for like twenty minutes."
She said it so simply, but I heard what she wasn’t saying. That most people in her life were too busy, too serious, too focused on the brand and the image to just play a stupid car ga.
"Well," I said, standing and offering my hand to pull her up. "Consider your silly quota filled for the day."
She took my hand but didn’t let go imdiately after standing. Instead, she looked down at our joined hands, then up at .
"Isaiah?"
"Yeah?"
"I’m really glad you’re here. Like, at our house. With us. Not just because you’re good at tutoring and organizing stuff, but because you’re... I don’t know. Real? You don’t treat us like we’re made of glass or money."
Her cheeks had gone pink again, and she was doing that thing where she couldn’t quite et my eyes.
"Co on," I said. "We need to get that dress back before Vivienne sends a search party."
We walked back to the Lexus with her hand still in mine, which she’d just decided was happening now. The autumn air had turned cooler, and Harlow humd that sa pop song from earlier while swinging our joined hands between us.
"Today was fun," she announced. "We should do this every week. Make it a tradition. I’ll call it Angelo-Harlow Adventure Ti."
"That na needs work."
"Angelo-Harlow Fun Hour?"
"Worse."
"The Weekly Chronicles of Assistant-kun and the Sunshine Girl?"
I stopped walking. "Are you doing this on purpose?"
She grinned up at , bouncing slightly on her toes. "Maybe!"
Her purple eyes sparkled with mischief, and for a mont I forgot she was technically my boss. Forgot about contracts and probationary periods and professional boundaries.
She was just a girl who liked car gas and strawberry ice cream.
And she was still holding my hand.
We reached the passenger side and I opened her door, which made her giggle like I’d done sothing impossibly charming rather than basic courtesy. As she slid into the seat, still smiling that dangerous smile that made my chest do uncomfortable things, I caught movent across the street.
A white van with tinted windows. Sa model as half the comrcial vehicles in the city.
Except this one had a decal on the side panel. Small. Black lettering.
Monchamp dia.
The sa company na I’d seen on that Ford Fusion. The photographer who’d been watching and Cassidy at the bubble tea shop.
My hand froze on the car door.
The van’s engine was running. Soone sat in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t see through the tint, but I’d worked enough late-night bar shifts to recognize when soone was watching.
They were watching now.
"Isaiah?" Harlow’s voice ca from inside the car. "You okay?"
I forced myself to move normally, closing her door and walking around to the driver’s side. I slid in and started the engine without looking back toward the van.
"Let’s go ho," I said.
"Ho ho? Like your apartnt?"
"Your ho. The manor."
She must have caught sothing in my tone because her smile dimd. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine. Just want to get Vivienne’s dress back before she calculates how much it depreciates per minute."
I pulled out of the parking space and rged into traffic, checking my rearview mirror.
The white van pulled out three cars behind us.
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