“Bad girl,” he chided, then ran a knuckle down her soft cheek.
Another sexy look. “You know I owe you.”
“I thought about that all through apple pie and ice cream.”
“Making me the cherry on top? You already popped that.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be crude.”
“Don’t be stodgy.” But of course she was smiling again.
He broached a more delicate subject. “How do you feel about giving in to your grandfather and promising him you’ll be a farm girl again someday?”
Her gaze slid from his. “Someday is the operative word. It’s not anytime soon, that’s for sure. It’s a decision for far, far in the future.”
At that, he kissed her quick then climbed into his car alone, deciding now wasn’t the time to ask her back to his place. As much as he wanted her in his bed, he was equally unsettled by the thought of her eventual return to Sawyer Beach. It was better to spend the night apart to ensure he didn’t become…over-fond.
Call him staid. Call him concerned about emotional safety. Neither meant stupid.
More than one person in Sawyer Beach proved impossible to resist, which was how Harper found herself sitting at a long table in the town’s former drugstore that had been converted to a popular food hall. While manning the Sunnybird Farm booth at the town farmers market that Sunday afternoon, she’d been ambushed by Sophie who insisted she join her and a group of women for dinner.
To be honest, Harper hadn’t put up much of a fight. Sitting around wondering if Mad would call or wondering if she should call him seemed like a lame move.
And being with other company proved a great idea, especially when that company came with cocktails and generous portions from the macaroni and cheese bar. The others seated beside her were delightful. There was Sophie, of course, and her friends—some who were Harper’s friends from the past as well—and then newer acquaintances.
“Tell us all about living in Sin City,” Sophie said now, leaning across the table. She’d opted for a giant margarita and then a second. “Do you know a ton of showgirls?”
Harper shook her head. “Boobs too big, legs too long. Why give myself a complex?” She was on mojito number three.
“It must be an exciting place to live though,” said Carol Ann, who’d been Harper’s partner in biology class. Now she was a pharmaceutical rep, which Harper found perplexing since the curly-headed brunette had always neglected to turn in her half of their lab write-ups.
“You were totally hung up on that pitcher for the baseball team,” Harper recalled, pointing at the other woman’s ski-slope nose. “Now I remember. You volunteered to be in charge of materials and methods every time and instead you only came up with excuses.”
Carol Ann sighed. “I was boy crazy for a while. You managed to avoid that.”
Not forever, though. And when she’d found herself drowning in her feelings for Mad, she’d sensibly taken herself to parts unknown.
“Do you gamble?” one of the other women asked. She owned the boutique in town—new to Harper, called Gifts for Girlfriends—and was to be married to John Boone, a lifetime pal of Mad’s. “You must know all the tricks and tips.”
“The only tip I know is not to gamble unless you want to lose.”
“Words to live by,” Sophie said, and lifted her glass for a toast.
The entire table clinked rims. Some beer spilled into the communal vat of truffle mac ‘n’ cheese, somewhat depleted yet not completely gone. They all gasped in dismay.
“I’ll get more,” Harper volunteered. She almost tripped over her own chair upon rising, but then managed to avoid its four legs and everyone else’s on her way to the pasta food stall. Halfway there, her gaze snagged on the back of a man—dark hair, wide shoulders, good butt. With the seriousness of the partially inebriated, she rocked back on one heel and allowed herself some moments to admire.
Then the attractive man shifted and she could see his profile—also very nice—and she recognized that the handsome guy was none other than Maddox Kelly.
Damn. She hadn’t considered they’d run into each other here. She’d counted on not running into him in fact, but once again she’d been sucked into his orbit. Or he’d been sucked into hers.
They had a mutual orbit.
Sighing, she wondered whether to fight her fate or resign herself to it. Did she go to him or try to escape somehow unseen?
Across the hall, a person waved to get Harper’s attention. She narrowed her eyes, then realized it was her favorite teacher, Mrs. Gill. Warmth rushed through Harper and she smiled, waving back with vigorous energy. Happy for the diversion, she twined around the tables, her gaze on her former mentor.
There were new silver threads in her hair, but the older woman still wore a bright berry-colored lipstick and delivered a great hug. “Sit down,” she said. “Tell me everything.”
“That might take a while,” Harper warned, but then they were exchanging life highlights. Mrs. Gill had three grandchildren and a plan to retire in another couple of years. Harper said that the farm was doing well and her family too.
Under the older woman’s fond gaze and persistent questions, she went on to share about the many countries she’d worked in and traveled through after leaving Sawyer Beach.
“And the teaching?” Mrs. Gill asked. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I did. My students were so eager to learn English and their families…well, they were great too. Welcoming me into their homes and their kitchens. I tried so many different foods you wouldn’t believe it.”
“It all sounds wonderful.” The older woman touched cool fingertips to Harper’s forearm. “But you’re here now and I sense a new chapter upcoming in your life.”
“You’re right,” Harper admitted. “But I haven’t figured it out quite yet.” Definitely not sticking with bartending, she knew, though it was more the golf guys and the sadder-but-wiser women she was way over. Mixing drinks wasn’t so bad. And any paycheck was a boon.
“You’ve done well so far,” Mrs. Gill said, beaming. “And I can’t wait to see what you come up with next. You don’t need to know exactly what that is this very second.”
Harper nodded. “Yes.” It felt good to admit she was contemplating something new and that she wasn’t entirely sure what that something new would look like. Strangely, in an adaptation of a too-common saying, speaking truth seemed to give her power. “I’m turning a new page.”
Then she recalled her mac ‘n’ cheese mission and excused herself with a kiss to Mrs. Gill’s cheek and a promise to visit again. With a little skip in her step, she ordered more of the truffle-drizzled casserole that she delivered to the table. To replenish her empty glass, she spun back toward the bar.
With a fresh cocktail in hand, from the corner of her eye she caught sight of Mad again, contemplating a long selection of salads on ice. What was the point of attempting avoidance, she wondered, when their singular trajectories kept leading them back to each other? The truth was, she wanted to be with him again, and he’d virtually admitted the same.
With a little shrug, she headed his way, then tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned, then smiled.
Her lips were already curved in one.
“You looked very serious standing there contemplating arugula and radicchio,” she said.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Which one is which?”
“You need to come out to the farm again. We’ll have a greens tutorial.”
“I’d like that.” His eyebrows rose. “You’ll be around for such a study session? I wasn’t sure of your immediate plans.”
“I’ve committed my car to the Sunnybird Farm cause while Grandpop’s truck is getting fixed—the diagnosis was the need for a new torsion bar,” she said. “So Sawyer Beach is stuck with me for a few more days.”
Enough time to make good on that promise she’d half-joked about.
You know I owe you.
She could tell that
occurred to him, too, because one eyebrow rose and there was a new glint in his eyes. “I was planning on calling you after my dinner with…”
His gaze shifted over Harper’s shoulder and he groaned. “Mom,” he said.
Harper took a look. Amongst the nearby tables sat Gwen Kelly, beckoning to them with a friendly smile on her face.
“She’ll never forgive me if I don’t bring you over to say hello.”
“Of course,” Harper said, already moving in that direction. “I’ve always liked your mom.”
The older woman patted the chair beside hers and sent her son off for a post-dinner cup of coffee. “Tell me what you think of the food hall,” she said, focusing her attention on Harper.
“It appears to be doing really well,” she said. “I can say the mac ‘n’ cheese is sublime.”
“I know it. I tell myself if I eat a salad as well it cancels some of the calories, but I really don’t care.” Gwen tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “Now, how is your family?”
“Much the same. Working hard.”
They chatted about the farm and Harper asked about Gwen’s duties as mayor of Sawyer Beach. “I cut the ribbon on a new convenience store and a day care center two days ago,” she said. “And I’m planning to be at your family’s upcoming Pumpkin Day.”
Harper blinked. “Another mayoral obligation?”
Gwen leaned close. “It’s more of an avocation, in this case. I keep trying to fix up your mom with an eligible bachelor I have in mind and I think I might be wearing her down.”
“My mom?” Harper stared. “Rebecca Hill, grower of herbs, reader of cookbooks, connoisseur of evenings spent alone?”
“I’ve been trying to change all that…or just the evenings alone part. There’s this great guy who works in the city hall planning department. I think they’d be perfect together.”
Harper tried imagining it. “I’d have to teach her how to use mascara before attempting dating. She has long lashes, but they’re very blonde at the tips.”
“Then you’re on board with it? You’ll hand her the Maybelline before you’re off abroad again?”
Which part of that to tackle first? Harper took a fortifying swallow of mojito.
“I need to prepare you—it only seems right,” she said next. “I don’t think Mom will agree to dating.”
“Really? Why not? I will personally vouch for this man.”
“My mom lost her heart to my dad—well, the man who is my biological other half is a better way to describe him. We’ve never actually been introduced.”
Empathy radiated off Gwen and she put her hand over Harper’s. “I didn’t realize you don’t have a relationship with your dad.”
“Like I said, never met him. Not sure we have the right name for him and we suppose he knows nothing about me. But all the same, my mom has never gotten over him.”
Gwen frowned. “Surely—”
“I read her diaries,” Harper confessed. Her eyes flew wide. “I can’t believe I said that.” Maybe it was the fourth mojito.
“Your secret is my secret,” Mad’s mom assured her. “But are you certain you didn’t read something into her writing that wasn’t there? Or maybe you were too young to understand…”
“I was twenty-one. It was just before…well, a little while before I made my plans to leave Sawyer Beach. And I promise you, her feelings, his loss…well, my mom has never recovered. She hoped to be as passionately loved in return and that didn’t happen.”
Gwen squeezed her hand. “You know what? I’m even more determined now. Get the Maybelline. I can’t let a fellow female go on living like that.”
“I don’t know,” Harper said, doubts flooding in. “Don’t you think she’s…well…safer without doing that to herself?”
“Without doing what?”
“Putting her heart on the line again.”
“Oh.” Letting go of Harper’s hand, Gwen released a breath. “Well.”
Harper shrugged, loathe to disappoint the older woman. “But if you want, I can go ahead and get the mascara and tuck it into her bathroom drawer before I leave. Just in case.”
“Just in case.” Gwen nodded, her gaze in the distance. Then it sharpened on Harper again. “So you’re definitely leaving soon?”
“Back to Las Vegas. I relocated there after living in Portugal for a time.”
“Portugal.” She clasped her hands together. “It sounds so romantic.”
“Not so much when you get pneumonia.”
“That’s right. I heard you were sick.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “And maybe a little homesick as well?”
“I knew I wouldn’t recover fully until I lived close enough to receive emergency rations of my grandmother’s special vegetable soup.” Truth is power, that voice inside her said again. “So yes, I can admit—especially to our esteemed mayor—that I missed Sawyer Beach. Dreadfully at times.”
“I’m sure you don’t regret those wonderful years of travel.”
“No, of course not.”
“What was best about them?”
“Learning I could rely on myself. Really feeling comfortable with independence.” She took another swallow of her potent drink and it loosened her tongue. “Before I left, I felt dangerously close to becoming too much like my mom.”
“Grower of herbs, reader of cookbooks, and connoisseur of evenings spent alone?”
“Something like that,” Harper admitted. She’d mostly been afraid of loving someone who wouldn’t love her back. Of pining over a certain man and living with a broken heart.
“Though it seems to me you know how to use mascara just fine,” Gwen said now, smiling.
Harper smiled back. “I bought it in Paris. It’s the best kind.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “Do tell.”
“It’s—”
The appearance of a male arm and the clack of a wide latté cup hitting the table interrupted.
She looked up. Mad stood above her, his brows drawn together, his mouth turned down in a frown. “What’s wrong?” she said.
“While waiting for the coffee, I took a call and found out some news about those two jerks we took in from the beach Friday night. The ones who broke into Geoff’s car?”
“Oh?”
“They found some stuff in their vehicles that points to other recent crimes around town.”
“You solved the catalytic converters caper?” Gwen asked.
Mad gave his mom a look. “Treat this seriously, Mayor Kelly.”
“I’m sorry.” She cast down her eyes. “I just had to say that.”
A second look smoldered his mother’s way. “As I mentioned, they were in possession of stolen goods. But they’ve made bail now.”
“Still,” Harper ventured. “That’s good, right, that they’ve been identified?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s goddamned terrific.” Then without another word, he stalked off.
“I wonder what’s gotten into him?” Gwen said, frowning after her son.
Harper joined her in staring at the retreating man. Why the sudden black mood? And did this mean their joining orbits was off?
Chapter Eleven
Mad marched to the bar and grimaced at the long line of customers waiting for service. He should have gotten his beer on his way to fetch the coffee, but he’d been thinking of something else at the time.
Thinking of Harper, looking so damn appealing in a pair of tight jeans, beat-up boots, and a gauzy embroidered shirt, as if she’d just landed at Sawyer Beach circa Summer of Love. Not only had she looked like daisies and peace signs, she’d been smiling and sending out undeniable flirtatious signals.
Of course, his mom had interfered right before he’d secured her promise to meet him for “dessert,” and then he’d been assigned the task of hot beverage-procurer. As the son of the town mayor, he’d been unable to be inconsiderate and refuse her.
And then he’d returned with that damn hot beverage and discovered exactly how incon
siderate he truly was. Had been, years ago.
I missed Sawyer Beach. Dreadfully at times.
Simple words that made him worry he’d somehow sent her away when she didn’t want to leave town. There was that damn globe birthday present, which now that he thought about it, practically yelled here’s your hat what’s your hurry. And then, when she returned to the States, was it possible she’d avoided moving back to the town where he continued to reside?
She’d thought him married, after all. With kids.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw her still chatting with his mother, happily enough it seemed, but he couldn’t shake this feeling that he’d let her down.
That he’d screwed up.
Six people ahead of him in line stood Sophie Daggett. If anyone would know…
She looked over as he sidled up to her. Her scowl didn’t warm his heart, nor the fact that she immediately directed her gaze elsewhere. “You can’t take cuts,” she said, making clear she wasn’t in an uplifting mood.
Well, he wanted honesty.
“Look. Sophie. Did I, uh, miss something six years ago when Harper was still here?”
“Of course you did.”
“I did?”
“You’re a man.” Her scowl deepened. “Of course you missed something. You missed something then, you’re missing something now, you’ll be missing something tomorrow too.”
She still wasn’t looking at him so he followed the direction of her gaze. That guy she’d been with before, Tatted Arms, had one of those lanky limbs curled around the waist of a girl in a polka-dot mini skirt and purple cowboy boots.
“You deserve better,” he said, patting her on the shoulder.
“Hart’s the best,” she snapped back, and that’s when he realized she was actually staring at Hart Sawyer, who had just reached the head of the liquor line. A woman stood at his side and he was solicitously turned to her.
“He’s buying that woman a drink,” Mad said, blinking in surprise. “He’s here with that woman.”
“Well, good,” Sophie said, with a little flounce, though there was a definite sharp edge to her voice. “Maybe his grief is easing. I’m happy for him. I’m very happy for him. I’m very, very happy for him.”
SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4) Page 14
