Four Of A Kind

Chapter 135: [3.37] Angelo-Harlow Adventure Time

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.

Troublesome.

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 customers like they were personally responsible for every wrinkle in existence.

“Valentine pickup,” I said.

Her expression shifted immediately to something resembling fear mixed with reverence.

“Ah, yes. One moment 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 crime.”

Harlow giggled. “You’re probably right. One time 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 garment bag that probably cost more than most people’s cars, handling it like it contained nuclear launch codes. She made me sign seventeen different forms confirming I understood the care instructions, the replacement 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 means.”

“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.”

Something in her tone made me glance over. Wistful again. Like she was watching something 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 someone transporting unstable explosives.

“Alright,” I said, sliding back into the driver’s seat. “Where’s this ice cream place?”

Her entire face transformed. “Really?!”

“You won fair and square. I’m not gonna welsh on the bet.”

She gave me 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 name.

“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 someone 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 home. Tourists taking photos. A guy walking seven dogs simultaneously.

“Yellow car!” Harlow pointed suddenly. “Oh wait, the game’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, methodically cleaning her fingers. Then she turned to me, her expression serious.

“Thanks for playing with me. I know it’s kind of childish.”

“It’s not childish. It’s just a game.”

“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 something 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?”

“Me?” She tilted her head. “I just like playing. I don’t care about winning or losing. I just want to have fun with someone 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 game.

“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 immediately after standing. Instead, she looked down at our joined hands, then up at me.

“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 meet my eyes.

“Come 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 hummed that same 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 Time.”

“That name 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 me, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Maybe!”

Her purple eyes sparkled with mischief, and for a moment I forgot she was technically my boss. Forgot about contracts and probationary periods and professional boundaries.

She was just a girl who liked car games 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 something 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 movement across the street.

A white van with tinted windows. Same model as half the commercial vehicles in the city.

Except this one had a decal on the side panel. Small. Black lettering.

Monchamp Media.

The same company name I’d seen on that Ford Fusion. The photographer who’d been watching me and Cassidy at the bubble tea shop.

My hand froze on the car door.

The van’s engine was running. Someone 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 someone was watching.

They were watching now.

“Isaiah?” Harlow’s voice came 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 home,” I said.

“Home home? Like your apartment?”

“Your home. The manor.”

She must have caught something in my tone because her smile dimmed. “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 merged into traffic, checking my rearview mirror.

The white van pulled out three cars behind us.