"So? What's your tragic backstory?"
Harlow's question hung in the air of the fitting room like a grenade with the pin already pulled.
I pushed open the curtain and stepped back into the main store. "We should get moving. Post office closes at five."
"You're deflecting!"
"I'm time management."
"That's ALSO deflecting! You're just using schedule words to make it sound professional!"
She wasn't wrong. I grabbed her tote bag from where I'd left it and headed for the checkout. Harlow followed, still clutching her burgundy satin like a trophy.
"I bet it's something really interesting. Like you're secretly a prince from a small European country who had to flee because of a coup."
"That's not even close."
"Ooooh, so there IS something!"
"There's nothing."
"The way you said 'there's nothing' proves there's SOMETHING!"
