Her hands flew up and she waved them animatedly. “Holy crap! How do I always forget that you’re related to Kyle Austen Reed?”
Most people did. It’s not like we were close. Kyle had a strained relationship with his dad, who was my dad’s cousin. We hadn’t grown up together and had only really been around each other at about a half a dozen family reunions we’d attended in our lives.
“So wait, Kyle Austen Reed wants to invest in the camp and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing?” Harmony stared at me as if there was a very good chance she needed to call the men with strait-jackets to take me away.
“This started out as a small project. Now it’s growing faster than I can really wrap my mind around. I just want it to be…to stay…true to what my vision is.”
“And you’re scared that if Kyle Austen Reed—”
“You can just call him Kyle,” I stated flatly.
If he was going to be a part of this discussion I didn’t need to hear all three of his names every time he was mentioned. It was how everyone, including tabloids, interviewers, and even other celebrities referred to him but to me he was just Kyle, my cousin from California.
“Sorry, force of habit.”
She shook her head slightly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The motion caused the cab to fill up with the scent of wildflowers and strawberries that was uniquely Harmony. I inhaled before I could stop myself. It was the sweetest smell in the world.
“Okay, so you’re scared that Kyle will donate the money with strings attached? That he’ll come in and think he can run the show?”
“No. He’d never do that.” Kyle was a stand-up guy. He hadn’t let fame and wealth change him. In fact, he’d used those things to help people. “The only thing he asked was that one week a year his charity, The Angel Alliance, would be able to host a camp for disabled kids and their families.”
“Oh yeah, I think I saw something on Access Hollywood about the Angel Alliance. Kyle married a single mom and her daughter, Angel, is paraplegic.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh and Angel’s only like ten or something but she has a really successful YouTube channel where she reviews movies. In fact I think that’s how the reporter said Kyle met them. It was a meet and greet his publicist set up because she’d seen her videos.”
“Yep, that’s how they met.”
Harmony held her hands to her chest as she collapsed back against the door, her eyes shutting as she exclaimed with an exhale. “Oh my God. That is so romantic.”
A sudden caveman reflex hit me. I wanted to be the only man putting dreamy looks on her face. I must not have been hiding my possessive urgency all that well, because when she opened her eyes she frowned.
“What?” she asked defensively. “You don’t think I can appreciate romance just because I don’t fall for every line that gets thrown at me down at the Cow? I grew up with eight brothers. I know that guys will say anything to get what they want. I just don’t fall for cheesy pick-ups from guys that only want to get laid, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a romantic.”
“I know.”
“You know?” She crossed her arms again and I had to hold in a groan of pure, unadulterated male appreciation at the display.
“Yes.”
“You think I’m a romantic?” Her tone was dripping with disbelief.
“No…”
Her expression turned smug. “That’s what I though—”
“I know you’re a romantic,” I finished.
“Really? Why do you think I’m a romantic?”
It was obvious she thought she was calling my bluff, but what Harmony didn’t know was that I never bluff.
“I know you’re a romantic because you notice things about couples that are happy—really happy—together. You see what real love is. True love. I’ve seen you watch from the sidelines when my dad pulls my mom on the dance floor any chance he gets and stares at her like the sun rises and sets in her eyes, that his whole world revolves around her smile, and you practically swoon. Or when your dad forgets he’s in church and pats your mom on the rear because when he’s next to her, even after over thirty years together, he can’t keep his hands to himself, and instead of you thinking it’s gross, you think it’s sweet. Or when you would tear up when you’d see Old Man Stiller walk to the cemetery every morning at five-thirty to have coffee with ‘his sweetheart’ even after she’d been gone—”
“You saw that?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yeah, I ran in the mornings, too, remember?” Harmony, like me, had run track in high school and the cemetery was on the five-mile loop around town that most of the track kids ran.
“But the rest…your parents…my parents…you saw me?”
“I see you. I’ve always seen you.”
“But…” There was confusion clouding her normally clear green eyes as she shook her head back and forth slowly. Then, in the blink of an eye—literally, she blinked her eyes and when she opened them—it was gone.
Straightening her back she inhaled. “If Kyle won’t come in and try to take over, why wouldn’t you want to accept his money?”