Runaway Love (Cherry Tree Harbor #1) Read Online Melanie Harlow

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Forbidden Tags Authors: Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
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“He was.”

“Still planning on ending it when the kids get back?”

I kept my mouth shut.

My brother shook his head as he rolled paint onto the wall. “I’m not even gonna say it.”

We ended up staying at the bar later than I wanted to, and by the time we got home, we were starving.

“I’ll just make us something really quick,” I said to Veronica.

“I’ve got it,” she told me. “Why don’t you go take your shower and when you come down it will be ready?”

“Sounds good.” Even though I was dirty from work and probably smelled like sweat and primer, I couldn’t resist wrapping my arms around her. “Thanks for everything you’re doing this week. It’s above and beyond what I deserve.”

“Not true.” She locked her arms around my waist and looked up at me. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be singing for my supper on some street corner, and let me tell you, no one wants that.”

I dropped a kiss on her lips. “I wish there was more I could do for you.”

“I can’t imagine what that would be,” she said. “You’ve given me a job, a place to live, a little taste of family life. I feel like I’ve been adopted at age twenty-nine! I’ve got a dad, a brother, a sister . . .”

“You should just change your name to Buckley,” I teased.

“Veronica Buckley.” She laughed. “It has a nice ring to it!”

“Veronica Buckley.” As I said the name, I realized that’s what her name would be if we were married. “Wait a minute. Did I just accidentally propose?”

She tilted her head. “You know what? I think you did. But since I am not currently interested in matrimony, I will have to respectfully decline. I mean, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

Laughing, I let go of her and headed for the stairs, the name Veronica Buckley still lingering in my head.

It was official. I was losing my mind.

“I made my specialty,” she said, setting two plates on the table. “Fried bologna sandwiches.”

I half-groaned, half-laughed. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” She brought in two cold beers, then sat down across from me and picked up her sandwich. “I haven’t had one of these in ages. And this is much better than the ones I used to make as a kid. This is artisanal bologna, the butcher told me, premium meat from Yale, Michigan with a cult following. This bologna has its own festival!”

“Oh yeah?” I picked up my sandwich and took a bite.

“Yes. And I got fresh buns from the bakery, and that’s lettuce and tomato and homemade mustard from the farmers’ market. Nothing but the best for you.” She took a bite too, chewing with exaggerated relish.

I was amazed by how good it actually tasted. “Fuck. It’s delicious.”

“Told ya.” She took another bite. “Did you talk to the kids today?”

“Yeah, I called them earlier. They said to tell you hello.” I grinned. “Apparently, they snuck their new tap shoes into their suitcases. They’ve been showing off their dancing.”

Her face lit up. “I love that. So there’s no dance studio around here anymore? Someone told me there used to be one. I think the kids would enjoy a real tap class in a studio.”

“But they wouldn’t have you for a teacher.”

“That’s true.”

“Have you ever thought about owning your own studio?”

“Here and there. I do like teaching. But I’m actually waiting to hear back about a job this fall.”

“Are you?” Tension crept into my neck and shoulders. “With the Rockettes?”

“No. As an assistant to the lead choreographer for a show that’s opening on Broadway.”

“So you wouldn’t be performing?”

“Well, no, but it would be a fantastic opportunity. It would see me through the next six months until I can re-audition for the Rockettes. Those auditions aren’t until March, and if I don’t have to bartend or waitress in the meantime, I’d be thankful.”

While she talked, I finished my sandwich without really tasting it.

“I don’t have a lot of details yet, but my friend Morgan passed my new number along to the choreographer. He’s actually someone I used to know pretty well, so I think I’d have a good chance of getting the job.”

“Did you date him?” The words were out before I could stop myself, but I hated how they made me sound. Even worse? I hated the idea that she’d been intimate with someone else. Anyone else.

She looked surprised. “No. He’s a teacher, and I took his class a lot. He’s gay, actually.”

“Oh.” I exhaled, shaking my head. “Sorry. That question was out of line.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not my business who you date.” I got up and took my empty plate to the sink, but instead of putting it in the dishwasher, I left it there and stared out the kitchen window into the dark, my hands on the edge of the counter.



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