It’s not like it’s a high-peak time. It’s just past eight in the morning and the sun is bright and yellow, the sounds of birds and the campers packing to leave the only noise apart from Harry and Gemma’s conversation.
“They said I can start Monday. I know it’s not as kick-ass as your career, but it’s a start.”
“I’m proud of you,” Harry says. “You know I’ll never stop supporting you. But I know you’ll do amazingly, too. How is the little soldier?”
“Hey!” Sebastian yells, stomping over to the camera.
Harry turns the phone, grinning, and I wave over at the little guy. With his jet-black hair and his conquer-the-world eyes, he definitely takes after his uncle.
“I’m not little,” Sebastian says, dropping down into Gemma’s lap. “Tell him,Gace.”
I giggle, wheeling my chair over, not bothering to correct him. When it comes to Harry’s nephew, I’ll beGaceall day long.
“Uh-uh,” I say, smiling. “You’re a big strong man, Seb. Anybody can see that.”
He tosses his curly black hair. “See, Uncle Harry? I’m aman.”
Harry rolls his eyes good-naturedly, reaching across and aiming his tickling, torturous fingers at my side. “You two are becoming quite the team.”
I slap his hand away, kicking off the edge of the bed so that the chair slides across the floor and bumps into the desk.
“Stay away from me, monster,” I giggle.
“Bye, Gace!” Seb calls. “I’m going to do some maths now.”
“Math,”I tease. “With nos.”
“Nope!” he giggles. “It’s maths and it’s football and it’s pitch. Uncle Harry said so.”
I shoot Harry a playful pout. “I thoughtwewere becoming the quite the team, huh?”
I roll back to the desk and swivel in the chair, watching as my blog’s admin page finally loads.
My mouth falls open as I stare at it, the reason for the slow loading now finally making sense.
My latest post –Not All Fun and Games: Life at Harry Hadley’s Fitness Camp– has garnered more fricking views than all my other posts combined, driving so much overnight traffic to the site that my bandwidth is struggling to keep up.
“Oh my God!” I yell, navigating to the post page to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
But the reader figures of the post are through the fricking roof, seriously rocket-ship-high.
“This is crazy,” I whisper.
And then I spot another post, one I’d forgotten about until now.
It sits in theto-be-publishedsection: the scathing takedown of Harry I wrote when I was at my lowest.
It feels like a lifetime ago that I wrote that now. So much has changed.
I quickly delete it, and then almost leap out of my skin when Harry moves up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“Jesus, playboy,” I laugh. “I’m jumpy as heck right now. Can you believe this?”
“Of course I can,” Harry says, massaging me softly as he leans down to look at my blog page. “Check your emails, too. I bet you’ve got hundreds of sponsors begging to get involved in your blog.”
My fingers are trembling with excitement as I navigate to my emails page.
That takes its sweet time loading, too.
