Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  The memory alone was enough to make Harry burn with shame for his friend. He felt an absurd, ridiculous urge to pick up the phone and apologize to Pippa on Steve’s behalf.

  He wanted to tell her that Steve was a good guy, even if he was acting like an asshole right now. He wanted to somehow impart to her all the positive things he knew about Steve, all the memories and goodwill they’d built between them over the years.

  Not a call she’d be likely to take well. And not one he would ever make, either. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to get involved in Steve and Pippa’s very private business.

  He opened the envelope, eyeing the crisp fifties inside. Money that Pippa had had to scramble to find. Because Steve had his head up his own ass.

  His jaw set, Harry tossed the money onto the couch and headed for the door.

  He couldn’t fix Steve, but there were other things he could do. And it wasn’t like he had anything better to do tonight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PIPPA CLOSED HER eyes and breathed deeply, willing her body to relax into the warm water. Alice was asleep—bless her little cotton socks—the world was quiet, and the bathwater was scented with jasmine. Not a bad combination.

  And yet her mind still refused to let go of the usual fistful of worries that were on high rotation in her mind. Money—naturally—study, Alice, the situation with Steve and Child Support Services…

  Stop thinking. Breathe and relax and enjoy this little slice of paradise.

  She made a conscious effort to relax the muscles of her neck and shoulders. She was floating with her eyes closed, contemplating running the hot tap to heat the water a little when a loud knock echoed through the house. Her eyes popped open and she scowled at the ceiling.

  Who on earth would come calling unannounced on a Saturday night? And why had they come when she was finally giving herself over to the whole sinking-into-relaxation thing?

  Muttering beneath her breath, she stood and grabbed a towel. Water splashed onto the floor as she climbed from the tub. She blotted the towel against her heat-flushed skin as she made her way to her bedroom. She put on her robe and headed for the front door. Whoever was there knocked for a second time as she paused to cinch her belt. She checked the spyhole.

  A muscular male back filled the lens, along with a strong neck and a well-shaped skull covered with close-cropped dark hair.

  What on earth was Harry doing on her doorstep again? This was seriously becoming a habit.

  If he was here to make her take her money back, he was wasting his time. Something she was more than happy to tell him to his face.

  She did the usual shoulder-against-the-door routine to unstick the lock, then pulled the door open. Harry had been contemplating her overgrown lawn but he turned to face her.

  A jolt of awareness zinged through her as she met his gaze. Man-woman awareness—the kind she had no business feeling around Steve’s best friend.

  She was so thrown she launched straight into speech, sidestepping niceties like saying hello and asking after his health. “Before you start, there is no way in the world I’m taking that money back. So forget about trying to browbeat me into accepting. It’s not going to happen.”

  “I’m not here about the money.”

  “Oh.” She blinked, nonplussed.

  “I came to fix your bedroom door. And the lock.” For the first time she noticed the honking great toolbox at his feet.

  “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

  “Because it needs doing. The hall’s a fire hazard the way it is. And that lock is a disaster waiting to happen. I figure it will take me an hour, two at the most, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  He stooped to pick up his toolbox and stepped forward. She held up a hand to halt his advance.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses a second.” She shook her head, trying to get her brain working. “I still don’t understand.”

  It was Saturday night, after all. Prime partying time. What on earth was he doing on her doorstep, preparing to DIY?

  “What’s to understand?” He shifted impatiently, clearly ready to jump in.

  She stared at him, perplexed, even as a little voice in her head told her to simply thank him profusely and take him up on his offer. After all, she’d been sidestepping that stupid door for months now, and the lock had never worked properly. If she waited around for the landlord to take action, she’d be pushing daisies before it was done. And having both issues fixed would make her life infinitely more pleasant.

  But there was no reason for Harry to be volunteering to help her out like this. No reason that she could think of, anyway. Harry wasn’t her friend, he was Steve’s friend. But clearly something was motivating him.

  “At the risk of sounding like an ungrateful cow, I really don’t get why you would want to do this for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s awesome, but until you saw me on the side of the road last week we hadn’t seen each other for months.”

  Harry’s dark brows creased into a frown. After a long beat he set his toolbox down and met her eyes. “I talked to Steve today. Told him what had happened with your car.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. She could imagine exactly how that conversation had gone, how completely disinterested Steve would have been. “Right.”

  “I’ll be honest, when you said that stuff about him not paying any child support, I didn’t believe you. Not that I thought you were lying, but I thought there must have been more to it.”

  She didn’t like the idea that Harry—or anyone, for that matter—might see her as a bitter, resentful ex, ready to tarnish her former lover at the drop of a hat. This was why she didn’t talk about Steve to anyone other than her mother, as a general rule.

  “And what did Steve say?” she asked carefully.

  “He told me that you’d made your decision, and he’d made his.”

  She gave a tight nod. “That’s about it, yes.”

  If she ignored the part where he’d lied to the government to avoid paying for his daughter.

  “I didn’t know any of this stuff. He never talks about you or Alice. I figured things were just ticking over....”

  Harry looked acutely uncomfortable. She felt a stab of sympathy for him. She knew how much history he and Steve shared. Discovering that someone you respected and admired had feet of clay was never a pleasant experience.

  “He thinks I tricked him into becoming a father because I didn’t have a termination.”

  Harry winced. She tilted her head, trying to work him out. “So you talked to Steve, and your first thought was to grab your toolbox and come over to fix my door?”

  “I figured that if he wasn’t going to step up, the least I could do was make sure things are okay for you. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

  She stared at him as the meaning behind his words hit her.

  He felt sorry for her.

  He pitied her because her no-good ex wouldn’t cough up child support and she’d been left to manage on her own. He thought she was barely keeping her head above water, that she needed all the help she could get, and he’d come rushing to her rescue.

  It felt like a slap in the face, like a huge, unequivocal vote of no confidence. It felt as though he’d judged her and found her wanting and was now stepping in to sweep up the broken pieces and glue them back together for poor, struggling Pippa.

  Suddenly she felt acutely, inordinately foolish for that small zing of pleasure she’d gotten when she’d opened the door. For a few silly, pointless seconds, she’d allowed herself to believe that he had come calling again for her. Because of the way he’d looked at her breasts the other night and teased her and returned her impulsive hug. She’d been flattered, excited and energized by the notion that sexy, bad-boy Harry might find her attractive. She hadn’t planned to do anything about it—dear God, there were so many reasons that was a bad idea she couldn’t even begin listing them—but there was no denying that her feminine ego had stretched and purre
d a little at the notion that he might be interested.

  And he’d come calling because he felt sorry for her.

  Yeah.

  She took a deep breath, conscious of the embarrassed heat that was rising in a slow wave from her chest, up her neck and into her face. “I appreciate the thought, Harry,” she said tightly, “but I’m not quite at the begging bowl, prostrate on the sidewalk stage just yet.”

  His scowl deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What it sounds like. I don’t need you playing knight errant for me. The car was one thing, but this… No. Alice and I are getting by just fine.”

  “Did I say anything about how you and Alice are getting by?” Harry sounded aggrieved and baffled in equal measure.

  “Yeah, you did, when you came thundering over here full of good intentions. It would be different if we were friends, Harry, because then I would know that I could return the favor for you some time in the future. We’d have a history of give and take. But we’re not friends, are we? And you’re doing this because you think I’ve gotten a raw deal and you feel sorry for me. Right? I’m the human equivalent of one of those plastic seeing-eye dogs that you slip a coin into at the supermarket.”

  “Does it matter? Isn’t the important thing that the door is fixed and the lock works properly?”

  It was such a rational, calm, measured response that a red haze came over her vision.

  “What, just because I’m a single mother, I don’t get to have any dignity, is that it? Just because I’ve hit a temporary rough patch, I get to be painted as a victim who needs to be rescued? Well, guess what, Harry, I don’t need your help. I can get my own damn door fixed. And I definitely don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

  He held up his hands, palms out, as though he was warding off a madwoman. “Okay. Calm down. I was only trying to help.”

  “Well, don’t. I’m not your responsibility. I’m my responsibility, and so is Alice, and everything here is fine, thank you.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Jesus.”

  She grabbed the door. “Boy, am I glad I got out of a nice warm bath for this.”

  She swung the door shut, remembering the temperamental lock at the last second. Before she could catch it, the door hit the striking plate and bounced open. The door was open for only a split second, but it was more than long enough for her to see the I-told-you-so expression on Harry’s face. She pushed the door shut again and woman-handled it into position, swearing under her breath. Finally the latch clicked closed and she exhaled in an angry, impatient rush.

  She heard Harry’s heavy tread on the steps, then, a few seconds later, the sound of an engine starting. She swiveled on her heel and made her way up the hall to the bathroom.

  How dare he come over here to shove his good intentions down her throat like that? How dare he take her up as his own personal charity?

  She wrenched the tie on her robe free and tossed it into the corner. Every muscle tense, she stepped into the bath and sat in the water.

  The whole thing was made even worse by the fact that for a few crazy seconds she’d thought he was here because he’d been thinking about her as much as she’d been thinking about him. So much worse. While she’d been battling an unwanted attraction, he’d been giving his pity gland a good workout.

  She rested against the end of the tub, flinching at its coldness. The water was tepid, too, and instead of being a comforting haven, the bath suddenly felt wrong and awful and irritating.

  Another thing to thank Harry for: ruining her first moment of decent alone time in months.

  Oh, yeah, what an evil despot he is. The way he came over wanting to help you out because he’d learned that his friend is a jerk. Lock the man up and throw away the key for his crimes against humanity. What a scumbag.

  She closed her eyes, but it didn’t stop reality from sinking in.

  The way she’d responded to Harry…

  The things she’d said…

  The way she’d said them…

  She’d overreacted. Big-time. Her pride had been stung, and she’d lashed out like a sulky kid. Yes, Harry could have been more diplomatic with his offer, but it had been made with the best of intentions—and she’d shoved it down his throat because she’d been embarrassed and angry. Embarrassed because she’d imagined the glint in his eye had been about her and not just because he was an inveterate ladies’ man, and angry with both herself and Steve that she was in need of help in the first place.

  She was the one who had frittered away her twenties working in bars and tourist hot spots in far-flung destinations, instead of planning for the future. She was the one who had chosen to give six months of her life to a man who had proven as deep as the nearest puddle and as reliable as a house of cards. Harry had nothing to do with any of that. He’d been kind and generous and noble—and she’d been a shrew. A crazy, irrational shrew.

  She got out of the bath and reached for her towel. It was damp from the first time she’d used it, but she managed to blot up the bulk of the water before slipping into her robe.

  She owed Harry an apology. Actually, she owed him a major grovel. On her knees, beseeching hands, the works. The sooner the better.

  If Alice weren’t sound asleep, Pippa would go to his place right now, before the memory of her behavior had a chance to solidify in his mind.

  She sat on the end of her bed, regret making her toes curl into the carpet. She didn’t consider herself a rash person, but every now and then she did something really stupid. Like take antibiotics then forget to use backup contraception, or blow up at a nice guy like Harry because he was being a decent human being.

  She fell back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. She’d learned a lot about herself since having Alice. She’d learned that she was more resilient than she’d ever imagined she could be. She’d learned that if push came to shove, she could bear almost anything as long as her daughter was safe and well. She’d learned that she was stubborn—sometimes unattractively so—and more independent than she’d ever given herself credit for. And, apparently, she also had her fair share of pride.

  She pressed her hands to her face, thinking about what she would say to Harry when she went to see him tomorrow. She hoped he’d at least hear her out. If he didn’t… Well, she’d have to find some other way to make it up to him.

  * * *

  HARRY SLAMMED HIS way into the house, tossing his car keys onto the coffee table with so much force they skidded off the other side.

  Perfect. Another thing gone wrong in what was shaping up to be an incredibly shitty day. Next time he felt the urge to get involved in someone else’s life he was going to bite his tongue off and swallow it.

  He went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then crossed to the back door and let himself out into the yard. There wasn’t much to look at out here, despite his sister’s constant nagging for him to “do something” with the patch of lawn and jumble of trees, but he felt like he needed a bit of fresh air after his encounter with Pippa.

  She’d been so angry. She was always so good-natured, such a good sport, he’d been taken aback by her fiery response to his offer. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand where all that anger had come from. It wasn’t as though he’d insulted her or gone out of his way to make her feel small. He’d simply wanted to help, to right one small wrong in her life because he couldn’t fix the greater wrong.

  I’ve gotten a raw deal and you feel sorry for me. Right? I’m the human equivalent of one of those plastic seeing-eye dogs that you slip a coin into at the supermarket.

  He took a big swallow from his beer, shaking his head. He didn’t see her as a walking-talking charity appeal. Far from it. He felt bad for her—and for Steve, for that matter. In a few years’ time, he couldn’t help but think that Steve would look back on how he was behaving now and feel about three inches tall. For sure that was how Harry saw him—as a man who didn’t have the cojones to step up when it counted and own his respo
nsibilities.

  As for Pippa… Well, he’d tried. If she didn’t want his help, if she was too proud to let an old friend lend a hand, that was her call.

  It was probably just as well. The whole time they’d been talking—even when she’d been yelling at him—he’d been painfully aware that she was fresh from the bath or shower and almost certainly naked beneath her thin robe. The outline of her nipples had been visible beneath the fabric, her arms and legs pink and bare, her hair damp and clinging to her neck and shoulders… Every time she’d gestured or shifted her weight he’d caught a waft of something heady and floral that made him think of warm summer nights.

  Stop thinking about her, man. This is not helping anyone or anything.

  He took a pull from his beer, then paused with the can midair as it occurred to him that tonight was the first time he’d seen Pippa without her heavy-framed glasses. He’d always wondered how she’d look without them, and now he knew: too damned attractive for his peace of mind. Without them, the curve of her cheek had been revealed and there’d been nothing to distract him from the plushness of her mouth or the upward tilt of her small nose.

  Which bought him full circle to tonight’s argument being a good thing. The best thing, really.

  He swallowed the last of his beer, then crushed the can and tossed it into the bin. He still didn’t feel like watching TV, so he decided to drive to his parents’ place. There was a fifty-fifty chance they wouldn’t be home, given his mother’s love of socializing, but the lights were on when he arrived.

  He made his way up the path and gave a perfunctory knock before letting himself into the house.

  “It’s just me,” he called as he shut the door behind him.

  “In the kitchen.” His mother’s voice echoed down the hallway.

  He found his parents seated around the table, the plates from their evening meal stacked neatly together, a half-empty bottle of wine and a handful of travel brochures on the table between them.