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“You’re a great friend, Lottie Fletcher,” Harlow said. “Thank you for sticking with Dad.”

“You’re welcome. He might be stubborn, but he’s a good man. There aren’t too many like him around anymore.”

“They broke the mold when they made him.” Harlow shot Lottie a sly side glance. “He might never admit it, but he likes you a lot.”

“You think so? Because sometimes I get the feeling he only tolerates me for my gardening expertise.”

“He may appreciate your expertise, but he’s also fond of you.”

“Enough about me.” Lottie tugged at the collar of her blouse, clearly uncomfortable at the direction their conversation had taken. “What’s a typical day in the life of the famous Harlow Wynn like?”

“Not particularly exciting. It starts at six. I eat a light breakfast and head to my home gym for an hour of cardio mixed with weights.”

“What kind of light breakfast? You’re thin as a rail. I bet you hardly eat anything.”

“My go to is a plant-based protein shake, a boiled egg or maybe a cup of yogurt.”

Lottie grimaced. “Plant-based protein shake? What’s in it?”

“Pea, soy, hemp and a little rice.”

“Gross.” She made a gagging sound. “I bet it tastes nasty.”

“It isn’t very pleasant,” Harlow admitted. “I try to sprinkle in a little cinnamon or mint to make it more palatable.”

“I would need a lot more.”

“After my workout, I shower. Depending on my schedule, my makeup artist and hairstylist come by to get me ready for whatever. Robert usually makes an appearance by then and we go over the day.”

Lottie interrupted. “Makes an appearance?”

“He…has his own bedroom suite. We tried sleeping in the same room. I snore and it keeps him awake.”

“Hmmm.” Lottie made a clicking sound with her teeth. “Have you been tested for sleep apnea?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“They couldn’t replicate the problem,” Harlow said.

“Meaning you don’t have a snoring problem.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I see. You’re going to find out one thing quickly about me, Harlow. I don’t sugarcoat my views on things.”

“I appreciate honesty. It’s rare in my line of work. Fire away.”

“Your dad told me a little about what’s going on with your husband pressuring you and how he’s basically MIA. He sounds like a real jerk. Top-notch, top tier, top of the heap, loser.”

“You sound like Aunt Birdie.”

“We’re here, Lottie.” Marty hopped down. He grabbed Harlow’s wheelchair and set it on the sidewalk.

“What a cute shop,” Harlow gushed. “Vic and I must’ve walked right past it earlier.”

Marty made a move to help her, and she waved him away. “Thanks for the offer, but I would like to try getting down on my own.” Keeping a firm grip on the sides of the wagon, she gingerly slid to the ground.