“Chantelle, you don’t get it.” Harlow told her, flopping into a chair at the dining table. She was frustrated with the woman on the other end of the phone and had spent the last ten minutes pacing the floor.
“I do, honey. You got the feels. It happens.”
“No, it doesn’t. Not to me. What am I going to do, Chantelle? I can't have the bloody feels. Not for him. Feels are for someone you want to be with.”
“Honey, you want to be with him. Accept it. The more you ignore it, the worse it will get. Trust me.”
Harlow sighed and went quiet for a moment or two. “I do want to be with him, you’re right.” She told Chantelle “But there’s one tiny little problem with that if you hadn’t noticed, ” she added, sarcastically, as she set off on her pacing marathon again.
She had phoned Chantelle think
