Harley
“Give me,” the old woman says.
I remember her from the restaurant when I confronted Rome. Her eyes were fixated on Calista the entire time, as though she had some magical power and could figure out whether my daughter was her grandson’s.
“Um.” I slide my hands under Rome, the back of my hand grazing his strong chest.
An unbidden memory from the night we were together flashes through my mind. How is that even possible? The man is wearing a light jacket.
Go figure that a night I haven’t been able to forget for two years, Rome has no recollection of. I think he’s humoring me with his newfound clarity.
Once Calista’s in my arms, she stares at the blue-haired woman in front of us. The one who is pouting.
“You can’t just take her,” Rome says to his grandma.
“She’s my great-grandda
