Of her hand slap and how I was too slow. “If I cannot hunt a pickle, tell me how to be fast enough to get in her hole.” Harlow stares at me, her eyes so wide they look like blue pools. She takes my arm and tucks her hand into it. “You and I are going to go for a walk, and you’re going to have to explain to me slowly what you mean. Very, very slowly. Because I’m pretty sure I’m misunderstanding.”
