“Are you working for the chamber of commerce? Because you don’t have to convince me. I know it’s a nice place…and a nice place to raise a family.”
“More people are moving in than are moving out.”
We come home.
She rummaged in her canvas bag. “Do you want more cookies? I also have Nilla Wafers.”
“Can’t say no.”
As she handed over a stack, her fingers brushed his warm, dry palm. A streak of heat ran up her arm and she was hyper-aware of him all over again, his big body, his scent, the way he’d always affected her. The night they’d met, at Sophie’s graduation party, he’d strolled up, so big, so confident, and she’d felt her heart flutter for the first time in her life.
This was no boy, she’d thought, because she’d found boys her age so easy to dismiss. Silly.
This was a man, she’d decided. And wanted him for her own.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
Admitting to reminiscing about their shared past seemed beyond foolish, so she cast about for an untruth she could sell. “Just wondering what else don’t I know about you.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I work too much. I surf when I can. Enjoy family and friends by the ocean and in the mountains.”
“Hah!” Smiling now, she pointed her cookie at him. “When I closed my eyes at night, I could see you doing all that. Beach barbecues and windy trail hikes. Surfing with the guys. Weekly poker night.”
A beat passed.
Then Mad’s voice, low, deep. “You thought of me when you closed your eyes at night?”
Her smile vanished. Crap. Cranking down the window, she stuck her head out the opening. “Did you hear something?”
“No.” He slid closer on the bench seat. “You thought of me at night, Harp?”
“I was sure you married Courtney. It was sometimes…amusing to imagine you as a dad. Cute little kids. Pets. Do you have a dog?” For some reason panic half-closed her airway. He was simply too near.
She pressed closer to her door.
“Right now I work too much for a dog.”
“Right.” She looked away from the looming wall of his body and scanned the avocado orchard, searching for movement.
When she looked back, Mad had drawn even nearer. Or it only seemed that way. She could feel the warmth of his body reaching out to hers and she remembered that sweet hollow below his shoulder where her head rested so neatly. His heartbeat in her ear.
Her love for him overwhelming.
Like the way her mother had felt—still felt, it appeared—for her always-absent lover, the father of her daughter.
She gripped her thigh and dug in her nails, recalling the pain of leaving home. “Remember Grandmom’s old tabby, Kerchief?” she asked, just to say something. “That cat lived to be twenty-two years old.”
He whistled, sounding impressed. “Purred like a motorboat.”
“Yes!” She laughed. “Every year Kerchief climbed to the top of the Christmas tree and knocked the angel off the top.”
“And ate your grandmother’s cookies. Those are still the best holiday cookies around.”
“Her birthday cakes surpass the cookies.”
“Remember the birthday bonfire we had to celebrate your big day when you turned twenty-one?”
“Only the best birthday and the best bonfire ever.” She could almost smell the wood smoke mingling with the salt from the sea, and hear Sophie laughing uproariously at her terrible aim with a horseshoe. “All my girlfriends gave me a charm for my bracelet.”
“All my poker friends gave you beers from around the world.”
She’d always told people she was going to travel and the internal clamor to do so only grew louder the more attached she became to Mad. “The moon was so big I thought it might swallow us up.”
“Raf brought out his guitar and we sang folk songs.”
“You have a terrible voice,” she said kindly.
“You never remember any of the words. It’s not ‘Sheldon row your boat ashore.’”
“Really? It’s Rufus? George? Ringo?”
Laughing, he reached over and ruffled her hair. “That was a good night.”
“It was,” she said, and a sigh escaped before she could hold it back. “And Sawyer Beach is a good place.”
“Ah, Harp.” He reached out, but didn’t tousle her hair this time. Instead he tucked a strand behind her ear, and she was forced to suppress her shiver. “It sounds like you missed it.”
“Of course I missed it,” she whispered, the truth breaking free. “I missed…everything.”
Everything? Mad tried not to hear something more. But…
Everyone? Him?
Ridiculous thought. Ridiculous to want so damn badly to ask. This sudden need to look back, to dig into what they’d once had, wasn’t like him. He had buddies who lived for rehashing high school basketball games—remember when we took the Monarchs by twenty-two points and I fouled out. Shane had one beer too many and went on and on about an epic ride he’d caught at Costa Rica’s Playa Dominical. But not Mad. Mad was forward-looking at all times.
Except right now he was looking at Harper Hill’s beautiful face.
He took in a quick breath and reminded himself they’d been a thing six years before and as good a thing as it had been, she’d left him anyway.
A cool breeze seemed to blow against his neck and he glanced back. Froze.
Through the window, he detected a rustling in the orange trees. Narrowing his eyes, he slid down the bench seat for a closer look.
“What?” Harper asked.
“Shh.” Definitely a rustling in the trees.
“Wait here,” he whispered, then swiped the heavy flashlight he’d left on the floorboard.
“Wait for what?”
“Shh!” With his free hand he reached up to switch off the overhead bulb, then opened his door and slipped out.
It had been a long time since he’d snuck around, but he did his best to creep into the darker shadows made by the mature grove. The sound of leaves rubbing together came again, and he peered into the darkness, trying to discern the direction.
These weren’t avocados hanging from the branches, and he didn’t know the going rate for oranges, but he supposed they could be as valuable. Holding his breath, he slipped another few feet forward.
The noise intensified. To his right.
He leaped that way, at the same time thumbing on the flashlight. The beam washed over glossy leaves but he didn’t see a fruit thief—
Eyes. He saw glowing eyes.
His heart jolted. A strangled cry erupted from his throat.
Something furry landed at his feet.
He didn’t actually shriek.
No, that was Harper, snickering with laughter.
“What the hell?” he asked, playing the light over the gray-brown critter curled beside his toes, eyes closed, completely still. “Did I frighten it to death?”
“Did it frighten you to death?” She was still snickering.
Mad gathered his dignity, despite the fact that the animal’s hairless tail was seriously creepy. “I’ll have you know it emitted a very weird yelp as it tumbled.”
“Oh.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I thought that weird yelp came from you.”
“I think it broke its neck.” He glanced at Harper. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”
“Mad—”
“Shit, Harp.” Guilt stabbed harder as he stared back down at the thing. “I actually killed a defenseless animal.”
She gave a little hum and her hand swept down his forearm.
He felt the stroke from his scalp to his soles. “Give it a nudge with your toe,” she advised, squeezing his wrist.
“Desecrating a corpse is illegal in this state,” he said, telling himself not to grab her hand.
Another hum, more like a chuckle. “Trust a farm girl. Nudge it with your toe.”
Shrugging, he scooted his foot forward, but before maki
ng contact the possum corpse reanimated and skittered off, into the darkness beyond his flashlight beam. “Jesus,” he said, rearing back.
With more dignity.
The same way he made it back to the old truck’s passenger seat, his companion still laughing at his surprise over encountering a possum playing possum. Then it was Mad and Harp again. Alone. In the dark.
“I guess some crop loss due to wild animals is to be expected,” he said.
“I forgot you were so tenderhearted,” she replied, more laughter in her voice. “It’s cute.”
“My life’s goal,” he grumbled. “Former girlfriend finds me cute.”
The former girlfriend sounded too loud within the truck’s interior and the ensuing silence too quiet. Though they’d never actually broken up, not really. She’d made plans to leave and then she’d gone away. In fact, she’d applied for the teaching position without discussing it with him at all and then presented the whole plan of her Sawyer Beach escape with a smile pasted on her face. Fait accompli.
Don’t think about the past, Kelly, he reminded himself. Focus forward.
“We probably don’t need to stay longer,” Harper said now, shifting on the seat as if she felt the tension growing too. “I’m betting the thieves won’t show.”
“But you said they hit around midnight.” It wasn’t near that yet.
“If anyone was out here, don’t you think your possum hunt would have put them off?”
Not if they rolled up now.
But he grasped at the opportunity to shut down the stakeout and separate himself from her beguiling company. “Maybe you’re right. I, uh, need to get up early tomorrow. I have plans to paint my house.”
“You have a house. Wow. All grown-up.”
“I bought it from my grandparents,” he said. “They retired to Hawaii.”
“So you’re going to spend tomorrow painting.”
“First I’m going on a run,” he added. “I’m thinking of training for a marathon.” A thought he’d just made up right now, but it seemed an activity that was future-forward and would keep his mind and body occupied when Harper departed.
“You’re very industrious,” she said, starting the truck. It bounced over the ruts in the single-track dirt road and the squeak of the old shocks saved them from more conversation.
Once on the smooth pavement that led toward town, Harper glanced over. “I don’t run,” she said. “But I was into hot yoga for a while.”
“Oh, yeah?” He tried not to imagine her long legs and slender torso bending and twisting. Twisting and bending.
Now that they were closer to town, where he’d left his car in the lot of Harry’s, the streetlight illuminated her face. “But I had to quit the yoga. Made me too sweaty.”
He barely suppressed a groan, imaging those long legs and slender torso heated and damp. “You should try taking up something else then. Fencing. In a suit of armor.” His imagination put her into clunky metal.
There. Better.
He breathed easier until she took an unexpected turn. “Where are you going?” Looking back, he pointed. “Coffee place. My car. That direction.”
“A little turn down a memory lane or two first. I haven’t had a chance to do much exploring. You don’t mind, do you?”
Hell, yes, he minded!
But he remained silent while she steered past the elementary school, and then the municipal pool and tennis courts. The locals’ favorite beach was moonlit, the sand glowing silver, and he recalled a hundred volleyball and touch football games. As she made it to the high school, he thought of Homecoming and Friday night dances and that time he made out with Ellen McDonald in the stands at the baseball diamond.
All memories that didn’t include Harper.
There might have even been a smile on his face, with all the harmless reminiscing. Emily McDonald went on to be valedictorian and then some bigwig executive in an athleisure wear company. Still, he remembered her best for rocking his world when he was fifteen and she was seventeen. Closing his eyes, he recalled the flavor of her strawberry lip gloss.
Maybe he nodded off. But he came quickly awake again when Harper braked. The truck rocked, she turned off the engine, and then its tick was the only sound in the silence of the night.
His gaze took in their surroundings.
An invisible hand closed over his throat. “What are we doing here?” he choked out. Of course he knew exactly where “here” was, their own personal make-out spot, a dead-end road on a bluff overlooking the Pacific.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, her hand gesturing out the windshield. “Look at the moon reflected in the ocean.”
He gave it a cursory glance. They’d never visited here for the view.
Or he hadn’t, anyway.
“There’s no ocean in Vegas,” she said.
“I bet they have a moon.”
“Not a Sawyer Beach moon.” A sigh.
The first time he’d brought her here had been at the end of their first official date. He’d done the group thing a couple of times—attended a beach bash, dropped in at the Daggett residence when he knew Sophie had her good friend Harper over—then invited her to dinner and the movies.
He didn’t remember what they ate and what they watched but he would never forget their first kiss. Him, tender. Her, tentative. At the taste of her, his heart had dropped to his stomach and then shot back up, pounding within the cage of his ribs as he tasted her again. His spinning head had still retained enough sense not to grasp, hold, promise.
But he’d set another date before dropping her off that night, and then another and another until some of their friends called them Marper or Harpox or something equally annoying.
And he’d loved it, even when he’d pretended to be dragging an iron ball behind him, chained to his ankle.
No one had been fooled, of course, hence the pitying looks three years later when Harper had gone off on her adventures.
“You owe me for that, you know,” he said aloud. Then wished the words back.
“For what?” She shifted on the seat, switching her moon attention to him.
“You ruined this place for me,” he lied.
She smiled, clearly delighted. “You didn’t score when you brought other women to our spot?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Never even tried.”
“Hmm.” She paused. “Am I bad for enjoying the idea?”
“As long as you’re only bad with me.”
Her happy expression sobered and she looked away. “Well…”
Yeah. Talk of the past wasn’t the street either of them wanted to venture down. He turned his gaze out the window. “Do you still hate mustard?”
“Just the bright yellow kind. But I like Dijon now, and that grainy brown spicy stuff.”
“Tastes change.”
“I learned to like a lot of different cuisines,” she said.
“Travel will do that for you. In Costa Rico I lived on chifrijo.”
“I never tried that.”
“It’s only the best snack ever! It includes fried pork rinds, beans, and avocados among other things.”
“Not a big stretch for a California boy,” she pointed out.
“I had snails in France. Haggis in Scotland.”
“I’m impressed. I remember you turning your nose up at Doritos unless they were the nacho cheese variety.”
“That’s not me, that’s Raf.” He frowned. “By the way, did he ever try to hit on you? I just learned he planned on it and also that he’s not above setting his sights on other guys’ girls.”
“I don’t remember,” she said, with an airy wave of her hand.
That was his problem. He remembered it all. Every kiss, every sigh, every time they’d made love. He’d been her first.
She’d been his best.
Another blast of cold blew across the back of his neck. What the hell was the source of that draft? “Do you still avoid cracks in the sidewalk?”
“No
.” She laughed. “Not since I’ve been to places that have more cracks than sidewalk. And I look up now, not down.”
“Is that a new philosophy?”
Another laugh. “A precaution since the time I ran into a potted geranium hanging from a wall in Portugal and nearly knocked myself out. But I do stuff twelve grapes into my mouth at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
“Because…”
“I learned in Spain that it’s supposed to bring me good luck for the next twelve months.” She shifted on her seat, facing him more fully. “What’s with all the questions?”
“Just checking.”
“Don’t make me pull it out of you.”
He couldn’t afford to let her put her hands on him, that’s for sure. “Verifying that we’ve both changed. You and I, we’re different now.”
“Right. Changed. Different.”
Her agreement didn’t appease him. In the dark, in that place, with her beside him, her scent surrounding him, it felt as if his heart could too easily fall into old habits.
Stay alert, Kelly, he told himself. Stay apart.
Chapter Six
Under the shade of the Sunnybird Farm pop-up tent, Harper made minute adjustments to the baskets of produce displayed on one of the portable tables. “Did we leave some bunches of basil in the van?” she asked her mother. They were tied with short cotton lengths of ribbon in the farm’s signature yellow with their name trailing along it in spring green. “I bet these go fast.”
Her mom piled oranges beside a grouping of lemons. “That’s all for today. The restaurant at the new winery nearly cleaned us out.”
“A new winery, huh? I’ve heard the economy around here is booming.”
Her mother smiled. “I’m not complaining. Especially since I have my daughter helping me out today.”
“With Grandpop still off his feet, of course I’m willing to help out.” Part of the farm’s income stream was selling their produce at a couple of farmers markets in the area. Today they were set up at a supermarket parking lot one town south of Sawyer Beach.
“You’re not too tired after last night’s vigil with the avocados?” her mom asked.
“Shall I get us each a lemonade from the stand across the way?” Avoiding discussing the night before seemed imperative.
SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4) Page 7
