by Lacey Black
Jensen was two years behind me in school, and even though I didn’t hang out with him or Garrett, I knew them. Hell, everyone knows everyone in Rockland Falls. Small town, and all that. He was on the JV football team, while I was on Varsity, so we often found ourselves at the same place at the same time. Plus, I loved to torture his sister, so there’s that.
I think a night of playing poker, drinking a few beers, and hanging out with guys who aren’t wearing the same socks they’ve worn for a week is a positive thing. Poker night already has more going for it than what I’m used to. No, it’s not all smelly and gross overseas, but at times, we’re lucky to have five seconds to change our fucking socks when we’re in a hot zone. Sleep was another commodity I’m used to stealing whenever I could, keep moving whenever I couldn’t.
After I finish my grocery shopping, I head back to my tiny apartment above the hardware store. I really should ask Pete to find me a few available houses to look at. I was pretty good at saving the wages I made, and now have a decent little nest egg to fall back on. Getting a loan for a mortgage shouldn’t be too difficult, even with the expansion I have planned for the business.
When the groceries are put away and the oven is preheating, I turn on the television and pop the top off a beer. They’re talking preseason football on Sports Center, but I don’t pay much attention to it. I haven’t been able to really follow sports in a few years. Hell, I haven’t been able to do much of anything except work for a few years. That’s why this next phase in my life is so important to me. Not only does it give me something positive to focus my attention on, but it’s also helping my family. Dad’s ready to step back, even though he’s barely sixty. His health hasn’t been the best lately, and that’s why I need to make sure I’m here – at home. Where I belong.
Now if I could do something about the other problem holding my attention. She’s about five ten, with blue eyes and red hair. She’s hotter than a chili pepper in Texas, and as feisty as a rattlesnake. But do you know what? I’ve always been drawn to her like a moth to a flame. That’s probably a very accurate analogy too, considering she’d love nothing more than to burn me alive at the drop of a hat.
But Harper still threatens the plans I have for Douglas Hardware. Beautiful, sassy Harper, with skin so soft it’s like touching pure silk and a smile so captivating it kept me company many nights in foreign countries over the last decade and a half. She’s already increased her bid, which will keep her in the running where Mrs. Morton is concerned. That’s why I’m pulling out the big guns tomorrow and stopping by for a visit. By the time I’m done with Mrs. Morton, she’ll be wondering Harper who?
That building is as good as mine.
Chapter Nine
Harper
I have a freshly baked French vanilla and caramel cheesecake sitting in the front seat and a smile on my face. No, I didn’t make the creamy, rich dessert, but Marissa did. I only had to promise to oversee the family bed and breakfast tomorrow so she and Rhenn can go sailing.
Easy peasy.
Plus, Marissa will make sure to take care of all the meal prep before she goes, so my job is literally the easiest ever. Check out a few guests, throw in a couple loads of laundry, and make a bed or two. Done. It’s not like I have big Sunday afternoon plans anyway.
That reminds me of my Saturday night plans.
My date.
With Skyler.
I mean, he seems nice. How bad can dinner at the Mexican restaurant in town be? I love their grilled shrimp enchilada, so that’s always a plus. Right now, I need to focus on the task at hand: seduce Mrs. Morton with delicious cheesecake so she sells the building to me.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
I really should have probably had a shot of Jack before coming over here. Why am I so nervous? I’ve known Mrs. Morton my entire life. Just because she’s judgmental and curt, grumpy on a good day, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a few minutes of early afternoon time with her. Just as I turn onto her street, a big black Chevy truck pulls away from the curb in front of her house, heading in the opposite direction.
What. The. Hell. Is. He. Doing. There?
And then it hits me.
“Slimy rat bastard,” I holler as he drives away from me, heading in the opposite direction. This pretty much confirms my suspicions Latham is the other bidder on the building between his store and mine.
I throw my car in park and turn the key, angry Latham beat me to the punch. What else could he be doing here? Stopping by for a friendly afternoon visit? Hell no. He had ulterior motives.
Like me.
Grabbing the cheesecake from the front seat, I paste on my friendliest smile and head up the walk. The yard is freshly trimmed, the bushes manicured perfectly, and the flowers in full bloom. Definitely one of my brother’s jobs, I grin fondly, thinking about all the hard work and dedication my younger brother, Jensen, puts into his landscaping business.
When I approach the wooden door, I raise my hand to knock, only to have the door open before I can. “Can I help you?” Mrs. Morton asks as if she has no idea who I am.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Morton, I’m Harper Grayson. You may remember me. I am friends with your granddaughter, Mandy.” My smile is so wide, it’s starting to hurt my face.
“Oh, yes, of course,” she grumbles, stepping out onto the front porch. “You were the one who convinced my sweet little Mandy to sneak out of her house in high school, only to be picked up by the sheriff later that night after curfew.”
Well, hell. Of all my accomplishments and accolades, that’s what she remembers of me?
“Umm, yeah, sometimes we all do silly things when we’re younger,” I try to reason, starting to feel a little hot under the collar where Mrs. Morton is concerned. “Anyway,” I start again, pasting back on that smile, “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to drop off this homemade cheesecake! It’s French vanilla and caramel,” I beam.
She glances down at it, looking it over with a critical eye, before taking the dessert from my hand. “Thank you, dear. I do enjoy a good cheesecake,” she says, dropping the dish on the porch swing with a thump. I watch as the cheesecake smashes onto the clear plastic cover that helps keep it fresh.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, waving my hand casually, glancing down at the poor, mangled dessert. “By the way, your yard looks amazing! You obviously take exceptional care of it,” I boost, not above getting in a few positive comments about my brother.
“Yes, well, this nice young man stopped by earlier and helped me. I usually have your brother take care it, but he’s been so busy lately.”
Wait, what?
“Yes, he is very sought-after this time of year, but what do you mean nice young man?” My blood runs cold.
Mrs. Morton beams widely, a smile I’ve probably never seen grace her face in all the years I’ve known her. “That handsome Latham Douglas. He stopped by to lend me a helping hand a while ago. Brought me some of his momma’s delicious baked goods, and then offered to trim my grass, hedge the shrubs, and water and prune the gardens. He’s just such a delight, that sweet boy,” she croons, gushing over the Devil himself.
“Yeah, he’s something,” I mumble.
“He even had all the tools and items in the back of his truck. I don’t have any of that stuff anymore, since I just hire someone to do it. Ever since Stanley passed away and my old bones don’t work the way they used to.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, trying to think back to when Stanley Morton passed.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Ehh, it’s been two decades. He’s in a much better place.” Mrs. Morton glances down at the dessert. “One where the neighbors don’t bring you mangled cheesecake.”
“No…but it wasn’t…” I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Thank you for stopping by, Harley,” Mrs. Morton says, turning toward her door, leaving the cheesecake on the swing.
“It’s Harper.”
“What?” she asks loudly when she reaches
the screened door.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “Enjoy your day, Mrs. Morton.”
She doesn’t respond, just opens the door and steps through, leaving me dumbfounded on the front porch. What the hell just happened? And what in the world did she do to the poor cheesecake? I turn to head back to my car, feeling majorly defeated and played. Before I hit the bottom of the stairs, I turn back to the swing and swipe the cheesecake. It may not be pretty anymore, but it’s still cheesecake, and you don’t waste it!
I stomp back to my car, even more frustrated and determined to win this bid. Latham thinks he can come over here with his sexy smile and strong muscles – Wait. Stop thinking about his attributes, Harper. Anyway, he thinks he can come over here and charm the likes of Mrs. Morton, and well, he has another think coming. Sure, he may have gotten the edge today, but I’m not going down easily or without a fight. He wants to play dirty, I’m ready to play ball.
Dirty ball.
I can’t help but snort. Aunt Emma would be all over that sexual innuendo.
With my cheesecake in my lap, I head to my store to plot my next move. Free is there and is always good for a few dirty ideas when it comes to revenge. He may have won this round, but this is war, and the only person coming out victorious on the other side is going to be me.
* * *
I pull my car into the restaurant parking lot a few minutes before seven. Skyler wanted to pick me up at my place, but I insisted I just meet him here. I don’t know him well enough to actually hand over my home address. That’s something I picked up quickly during my time in New York City.
Exhaling deeply and pushing that thought out of my head, I grab my phone and fire off a quick text to Free.
Me: Just arrived. Wish me luck.
Free: Did you pack the condoms?
Me: What? I’m not having sex with him!
Free: Then why, again, are you going on this date?
Me: Not all dates lead to sex, Freedom Rayne! What kind of girl are you? *insert shocked emoji*
Free: The kind that likes to have her hair pulled every now and again, Harper Grayson.
Me: *giggle snorts*
Free: Text me when you leave. I’m going to your brother’s.
Me: Samuel’s?
Free: He would be so lucky. No, your other brother’s. It’s poker night. I ran into Garrett earlier today, and he mentioned he’s going to Jensen’s to play. I bet your uptight, anal brother will be there too. Bonus if I can make him blush in the first two minutes of my arrival.
Me: Well, you have fun. Don’t take all their money. Jensen has shoes to buy for my nephew.
Free: I make no promises. *kissy face emoji*
I slip my phone into my purse, swipe on a coat of nude lip gloss, and head to the restaurant. Inside, I’m instantly comforted in the scents of fresh salsa and tortilla chips, and my mouth starts to water. Glancing around the restaurant, I find Skyler standing up in a booth in back, waving to catch my attention. I offer a small smile and slowly make my way to our table. Of course, I know most of the people at the tables along the way, so after a brief greeting to half the restaurant, I finally find myself sliding into the booth.
Skyler is smiling widely – or at least I think he is. Hard to tell sometimes with that Tom Selleck mustache he has going on. “You look lovely,” he says, reaching for my hand. When I place it in his, he brings it to his mouth and places his lips on my knuckles.
But all I can think about is it looks like a small squirrel is frolicking on my hand. I try not to snicker (that would be rude), but a little noise slips out. I try to cover it with a fake cough, but then it just sounds like I’m fake coughing. Skyler glances up at me, his smile faltering just a little.
Now I feel like shit.
“So glad you could make it tonight,” he says, taking a sip of his water, glancing over my shoulder to the door.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, offering him a smile. I grab my menu and give it a look, even though I already know what I’m going to order. It’s what I order every time I eat here.
“I’m a little surprised you said yes, actually,” he says without looking up from his menu.
“Really?” I ask, setting my menu down on my place setting.
“Totally. You’re way out of my league,” he adds with a wink and a grin. “And I’m a few years older. I wasn’t sure if age mattered.”
“How much older?” I ask, curiously. I knew Skyler was a bit older than my thirty-two years, but the way he says it makes me a bit more concerned.
“Well, I have kids,” he says in way of answer, taking another drink of his water, so I do the same. “That are in college.”
I choke. “College?” I gasp, trying to get the water down my throat and not have it fly across the table and onto Skyler’s shirt. “And that would make you…”
“Fifty-three.”
“Wow,” I say aloud, even though I don’t really mean to. “You don’t look nearly old enough to have a kid in college.” Yet, now that he says it, I can totally see his age in the gentle wrinkles around his eyes and the subtle graying around the temples and mustache.
“Two, actually. Well, in college. One still in high school.”
Huh. Age is just a number right?
“So, three kids, then?”
“Yep. How about you?” he asks, glancing at the door over my shoulder once more.
“Oh, no kids for me yet,” I answer, glancing back down at my menu.
After we order, the conversation quickly turns to his ex-wife. “She even took the door knobs off the doors. I tell ya, when she cleaned out the house, she wiped it clean.”
“Really?” I mean, what else do you say?
Fortunately, our food arrives quickly, and I’m able to distract myself from the small critter on his face by shoveling my food into my mouth. I’ve always been a big eater, something that didn’t bode well for me while in New York.
“It must be good,” Skyler says, taking a small bite of his taco…with a fork.
“So good. I love this place,” I answer.
“My wife never ate like that,” he says, pointing at my plate…with his fork. “She had salads everywhere we went.”
“Oh,” I reply, glancing down at my half-eaten enchilada with extra sour cream and guacamole.
“But you have a hearty appetite. I can appreciate that,” he says, taking another bite of his taco…with his fork. “No wonder you have to work out so much.”
I stop my own fork halfway to my mouth and glance across the table. Did he really just comment about my gym activities and eating habits?
“My wife used to cook tacos on Tuesdays. She called it Taco Tuesday,” he adds casually, still eating his taco…yep, you guessed it. “She loves Mexican food. Loves this place.”
But what really caught my attention was that multiple times this evening, he referred to her as his wife. Not his ex-wife.
“She’s in travel. Runs the agency uptown by the coffee shop. Travel Pros. Ever been there?” he asks, looking over at me with curiosity before returning his eyes to the front door. I can’t get over the fact he’s barely asked anything about me – but I practically know all about his former life with his ex.
“No, I haven’t. How long ago did you say you divorced?” I ask, setting my fork down on my plate.
“Three months. Well, she left me three months ago. It’s not final yet. I had been hoping for reconciliation, but I caught her on a date last weekend with the lawyer across the street from her office. They were eating here, actually.” He glances around the room and a thought hits me. Did he bring me here in hopes of running into his ex and making her jealous?
Just then, the door opens and in walks a couple, their arms thrown around each other in a romantic embrace. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Skyler sit up straight, glaring at the couple who just entered the restaurant. Suddenly, he reaches for my hand again, almost knocking over my water glass.
I should have ordered the margarita. I could use a
drink.
He brings it to his mouth, and before I even know what’s happening, he’s sucking on my finger. Sucking. On. My. Finger! I gasp out of shock. He thinks it’s out of excitement. “I’m so glad you came tonight, baby,” he says seductively and low.
My favorite enchilada threatens to make a reappearance.
“Excuse me?” I ask, tugging on my hand, but he refuses to let go.
“Later tonight, I’m going to show you what else I love to suck on,” he says a bit too loudly for my liking and wiggles his eyebrows. The entire time, the squirrel above his lip brushes against my hand, making me consider just cutting it off to make a quicker escape.
“You know what, I think I should go,” I say, pulling my hand back with force and elbowing his glass of water. It topples over, sending cold water and ice into his lap.
“Shit!” he bellows, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant, including the couple who just so happened to be walking by our table.
“Skyler?” she asks, shock and anger written all over her face.
“Marge! What a surprise! I didn’t know I’d see you tonight,” he squeaks, blotting at his wet pants with the napkin, making me want to call bullshit.
I dig into my purse and pull out a twenty, ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Tossing it on the table, I scoot from the booth.
“Wait, don’t go, baby.”
“I’m not your baby,” I tell him adamantly, making a beeline for the door without even a glance back. “Thank you for dinner, but I’ll be leaving now.”
I don’t even hang around to hear the rest of the words he immediately starts to exchange with his wife. Ex-wife. Whatever.
As soon as I get in my car, I fire off a text.
Me: Date a total bust. I need booze.
It only takes her a few seconds to reply.
Free: Poker night. I brought wine. Come play.
She had me at wine. I drop my phone into my cup holder and pull out of the parking lot. Before I merge onto the street, the door of the restaurant flies open and Skyler and Marge spill onto the sidewalk. They’re clearly arguing, her hands flying around as she tries to make her point. I turn up the 98 Degrees, blasting “The Hardest Thing,” singing along as if I were standing on stage belting out the words alongside Nick, Jeff, Drew, and Justin.
