Don't Promise Me Forever

09 | in which Harper and Lawson fall into a hedge

Alisdair gave her a lazy smile. "Oh, I agree that millennials are lazy Rebecca, but have you considered that we're all nihilistic products of capitalism seeking eudaimonia?"

Harper blinked.

The woman blinked.

"Well, I—" The woman cleared her throat. "That is to say, I—"

"I'm simply saying," Alisdair said mildly, "that the current economic climate obfuscates the situation."

Alisdair leaned closer to the roses, examining some of the petals. His movements were relaxed. Unbothered. Harper got the sense that he enjoyed running vernacular circles around unsuspecting middle-aged women.

"So whilst millennials might be lazy," Alisdair continued, "you can't deny that the establishment must be partially blamed for— Ah." He broke off, grinning widely at her. "Harper Lane. Charming hat."

"Thank-you." She held up her camera. "Smile."

They posed good-naturedly as Harper snapped a photo. The woman looked relieved to have been spared a response.

Not for long, though.

Harper turned to Alisdair. "Have you seen Moira? I feel like I should introduce myself properly."

"Over there." He gestured to the maze. "With Lawson."

"Thank-you."

Alisdair turned back to the woman with the green hat, an amused gleam in his eye. Harper hastily took her leave. No need to stick around for the verbal carnage that was about to occur.

She backtracked towards the maze of hedges, skirting around white tables and planters. Lawson was leaning against a pillar, holding a glass of champagne. His dark hair was rumpled, and his white shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow; the veins in his forearms flexed as he raised the glass to his lips.

A petite brunette woman stood next to him, dressed in an immaculate salmon suit. She was speaking animatedly with a sour-faced man, waving her hands about. A pair of dirty gardening gloves peeked out of her pocket.

Moira.

Harper had met Lawson's mother only briefly — no more than thirty seconds, when she was waiting for Lawson that morning — but it was definitely her.

Harper took a purposeful step forward just as Lawson looked up. Their eyes locked. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and Lawson muttered something to his mother — an excuse, maybe — before starting in her direction.

"Ohio," Lawson said.

He took her wrist, tugging her gently sideways. Harper frowned.

"Where are we going?"

"The maze," Lawson said.

Harper twisted, straining her neck in search of Moira. "I wanted to introduce myself."

"I'm sure you did," Lawson said cheerfully.

"Lawson!"

She kicked at his ankles. Lawson whistled a pop song, sounding frustratingly unconcerned. He guided her through the maze — two left turns, a right, a hard left at a stone bench — and Harper yanked her hand free.

She crossed her arms. "You're being ridiculous. This is so unprofessional."

"I agree," Lawson said, squinting down at a lopsided hedge. "Perhaps the gardener was drunk." He patted the hedge. "Appalling workmanship, really."

Irritation pricked at her. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

Lawson thought. "Cricket."

Harper blew out a breath. She was about to cut her losses and charge in the direction they'd come from when a thought occurred to her. "Hang on. Why don't you want me to meet your mother?"