Operation Meet Cute by K.M. Neuhold

Chapter 23

HARLOW

I hustle over to my computer on Sunday morning, trying not to spill my tea as I hurry to accept Marnie’s call before I miss it. One of these days, I’m going to be ready and sitting in my chair when she calls instead of hauling ass not to miss it. The call connects, and my best friend fills the screen—a very real tropical background behind her.

“I kind of hate you,” I complain, seeing the palm trees swaying behind her.

“You live in California,” she reminds me. “You can see palm trees whenever you want. And you can practically walk to the beach.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot my life is totally awesome, thank you for that reminder.” I smirk, and she gives me the finger. “So, how’s the honeymoon going? If he’s letting you out of bed for a video chat with me, I don’t think he’s doing it right.”

“He’s doing it right,” she assures me with a not-so-subtle wink.

“Speaking of doing it right,” I lead, piquing her interest. She sits forward, putting her chin on her hand and raising both eyebrows at me. “Teddy and I are moving in together.”

Her eyes go wide. “Back up. The last I heard he was moving to New York, so I’m going to need a hell of a lot more context right now.”

“He didn’t move to New York,” I say coyly, mainly because she’s fun to fuck with.

“For the love of Keanu Reeves, will you just spill the damn tea before I hang up on your ass for being such a tease?”

I cackle and then cave and tell her all about my mad dash to the airport, followed by our swoony love confessions. I spare her the details of what happened when we got home…I mean, other than pulling down the neck on my T-shirt to show her the hickey he left on my collarbone.

“I’m so happy for you,” she tells me when I’m finished recounting it, with a few directorial notes, of course, like what song should’ve been playing when I jumped into his arms and which parts would’ve been slo-mo’d in post-production.

“I’m happy too,” I admit, still smiling with the same dopey grin I’ve had on my face for days. I hear my front door open and close, and I wiggle excitedly in my seat. “That’s my boyfriend,” I brag, swiveling in my chair to greet Teddy when he comes into my bedroom.

I tilt my head up for a kiss, and he leans down to deliver.

“Hey, Denver,” Marnie teases, and he groans.

“I can’t believe you told her that.”

“I can’t believe you’re embarrassed to have such a fantastic, movie-worthy name,” I counter.

He shrugs. “I like Teddy.”

I give a tug on his shirt to pull him down for another kiss. “I like Teddy too,” I agree.

“Ugh, you two are gross,” Marnie complains, and I laugh against his lips.

“Why don’t you get back to your husband. And tell him I said he’s definitely not doing it right if your hair looks that damn good afterward.”

I hear Oscar’s shout of protest in the background as Marnie ends the call.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your chat,” Teddy says as I turn off my computer to give him my full attention.

“You’re fine. She needed to get back to honeymooning anyway. What’s up?”

“I had this crazy, possibly destructive idea that the two of us could go to the farmer’s market this morning and get some fresh ingredients to cook dinner together.”

“Yes,” I agree instantly. “But we couldn’t even find it last time.”

“We’ll find it this time,” he assures me. “I not only mapped it, I used Google Earth to make sure I knew exactly where it is.”

“Awesome. Can we buy something I can fry?” I ask, hopping out of the chair and going to my dresser to grab some fresh clothes to wear out.

“No,” he says.

“Fine, I’ll sauté something instead.”

“Do you even know what it means to sauté something?”

“Yeah, it means you just…you sauté it,” I explain with an indignant huff while my boyfriend mocks me with his eyes alone. Mean.

“I will allow you to chop something,” he bargains, making himself comfortable on my bed while I change.

“Absolutely no deal.” I step in front of the mirror on top of my dresser to mess with my hair once I’m dressed, and Teddy comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and pressing a kiss against the side of my neck. “I have chef-ing in my blood. I have to cook,” I declare dramatically.

“I’m going to have to make sure we have so much homeowner’s insurance.”

“That’s a given,” I agree, turning in his arms and smiling at him. “Come on, let’s go get some of those ridiculous cinnamon buns. We can keep arguing about dinner once I’m nice and sugar buzzed.”

“Keanu help me,” he mutters, shaking his head and not bothering to hide his own grin.

TEDDY

The farmer’s market is crowded, and the sun is already hotter than hell, even at the early hour, but Harlow’s hand in mine as he gleefully drags me from stall to stall is more than worth it. We’ve managed to agree on a variety of vegetables and some prime cuts of beef that looked incredible. We’ve also stuffed ourselves with pastries and bought more skin-care products than I knew existed.

“It’s the vanilla body butter that makes me all silky smooth,” Harlow explains, holding it up for me to sniff.

“Mm,” I hum, leaning into him and giving him a dirty smirk so he knows I’m imagining rubbing it all over him later. “It smells like frosting and you.”

“I am delicious frosting,” he agrees, pulling out some cash to pay with and dropping the small container into the reusable bag he brought along.

I put my arm around his shoulders and steer him away from the stand once he’s finished, saving him from the fresh wave of people crowding around to buy some of the products as well.

“What else should we hit?” I ask, looking around and trying to figure out what we’ve missed.

“I think I’m good, actually. Why don’t we go home to watch movies and make out on the couch until it’s time to cook dinner,” he suggests with a grin.

“I love that plan.”

We do just that, cuddling and kissing and half-watching movies for most of the day. We browse some realty sites too and talk about the things we’re both looking for in a house.

“We don’t need that many bedrooms,” Harlow argues as we make our way into the kitchen and start getting set up to make dinner.

“One for us, one for Eileen, where we can put cat trees and build wall shelves for her to enjoy, one for guests like your mom or Marnie, and one for your office.” I list off each room, ticking off fingers as I explain before pulling out the roasting pan for the meat.

“I don’t need an office.” He waves me off.

“You need an office to write your scripts.” He may be going through a bit of a writing funk right now, but he’s going to need the office sooner or later. His expression softens, and he smiles at me.

“I think falling in love with you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Harlow says with a happy sigh.

“Hard agree.”

“Okay, so what do I have to do to cook this prime rib?” he asks, rubbing his hands together.

“Right, first thing I want you to do is stand over there,” I say, pointing to the far end of the kitchen.

“Ha, ha,” he says dryly. “Seriously, I want to do something.”

“All right,” I agree, washing my hands and pulling out the spices I plan to use. “We’re going to do a dry rub, and then roast it for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” he repeats, sounding positively aghast with horror. “Can’t we just turn the temperature up higher so it’ll be done sooner?”

“No. But I’m sure we can find a way to distract ourselves while it cooks.” I smirk, and he chuckles.

“Fine. Dry rub, let’s do this.”

He puts on his favorite cooking playlist, and I show him how to do the rub. Of course, cooking with Harlow is never just cooking. He dances and sings, nearly dropping the meat when we move it into the pan, and then he dances some more.

I spent so much of my life always trying to make the safest, smartest choices. I decided against pursuing a hockey career because I wanted something more stable. I had a very specific checklist for deciding on men when I met my ex. That tactic hasn’t been all bad, after all I have a thriving career and a very nice nest-egg. Harlow is like all the messy, perfectly imperfect things I missed out on, and I love him even more for it.

“Dance with me,” he insists once the roast is in the oven.

I laugh and pull him closer, doing some kind of awkward combination of a waltz and… honestly, I don’t even know what. I can pull off a slow dance, but anything else, and I’m a bit of a mess. Not that Harlow seems to mind. He laughs right along with me, copying my dorky dance moves and eagerly trusting me when I attempt a risky dip. Luckily, no bones are broken in the process.

I know he loves his movie moments, but I’ll take these silly, spontaneous, wonderfully imperfect moments any time.

The song changes to something slightly slower and I yank him into my arms. He grins and lip-syncs along with “Love Story” by Taylor Swift, completely unironically and utterly unashamed, exactly like the man I’m in love with.

I don’t think my heart could feel any more full, but something tells me that Harlow is going to find a way to make me fall more in love with him every second for the rest of eternity. I guess I’ll just have to make it my mission to do the same.