Of Happiness by Olivia Luck

behind me to grab my makeup bag off the counter. In a smooth movement, he lifts me, my makeup bag, and curling iron up and rushes us back into the bedroom.
    “But my shampoo,” I say laughingly.
    “Time to go.”
     
     
     

 

    “ S he can’t leave the city without having a conversation with me first.”
    After Harris practically dragged me back to his apartment and hurriedly introduced me to a clocking-out Eleanor, he showed me his idea of what we could do without too many set plans. In the early evening, we visited the grocery store, so I could cook (and Harris could help by opening cans and encouraging me from his seat at the breakfast bar). Now we’re sharing a chaise lounge on his terrace. I’ve settled between his spread legs, my back to his front. His broad arms wrap around the top of my chest. We’re both wearing pairs of his sweatpants, but I have my own tank top on and he’s shirtless. His skin provides a warm, human blanket.
    At the mention of Claire, his body goes tense, muscles flexing.
    “Why?” he asks in a voice on the edge of anger.
    “There are a few reasons. A week ago I had three steady clients in Chicago; now I’m down to one.”
    “Fletcher?”
    “Dropped me like a bad habit.”
    He sighs, the breath tickling my ear.
    “There’s more to this than me finding new clients though. Until recently I hid from Claire. She needs to know I’m serious about our relationship and committed to you. Maybe it will be for naught, but this is really important to me.” The tautness melts off him and he squeezes me tightly.
    “If it’s what you really want to do…”
    “Believe me, this is not on the top of my most wanted activities. I need to speak to her because that’s how important you are to me.”
    “I really don’t like this, but I can’t deny you,” he says huskily against my ear.  
    “I need to do this,” I whisper, closing my eyes and sinking into his embrace.
    “The car comes for her tomorrow at ten.”
    “Then I’ll go at nine.”

    Harris pulls his boxy SUV around the semi-circle driveway in front of Claire’s building. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turning to face me with a pleading look.
    “Let me come in with you.”
    As I was preparing to walk here, Harris demanded that he drive me. Though he didn’t mention it, I could tell he felt anxious about my impending confrontation with Claire. He would have to fall in line, though. I couldn’t soothe his jangled nerves because I was too busy fighting with my own.
    “While I really appreciate you wanting to, I need to do this on my own.” Fixing him with my own beseeching gaze, I continue, “Claire and I were a friends of some sort before you and I happened. My hope is she’ll take this as a sign of my respect, me coming alone.”
    He inhales a deep breath and nods his assent. “Fine. But I’ll be waiting right here; call me the second you need me.”
    “Hopefully I won’t.” I try to reassure him and myself as I move across the car to drop a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for wanting to come with me.”
    “Hurry up and go before I follow you in there,” he grumbles.
    With a deep breath of my own, I exit the car and begin the walk inside. Bernie’s at the front desk this morning, waving happily when he sees me walk back. He must not know I’ve moved out, because he doesn’t comment.
    One sweaty-palmed elevator ride later, my heart is galloping and I knock a knuckle against Claire’s front door. A few moments later, the pounding of footsteps near the door let me know she’s home.
    “What?” she snaps, yanking the door open. This isn’t the Claire I’ve come to know. The woman before me wears a ratty robe, hair piled high on her head in a sloppy bun. “You,” she snarls, taking a menacing step forward.
    “Yes, me.” I roll my eyes at her, putting out a more resolute front than accurate. “Can we please talk?”
    Her nostrils flare, eyes narrow. I’m convinced she’s going to slam the door in my face when