Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Why don’t you look surprised?”

  “He was on my doorstep when I got home last night. Saw my truck in your driveway, wanted to know why I was spending time with his ex-girlfriend.”

  She blinked again, but this time it read more like amazement at Steve’s gall than surprise.

  “He came right out and asked you that?” Her voice was a little on the high side, her eyes wide.

  “Not in those exact words.” He wouldn’t repeat what Steve had said. It wouldn’t do anyone any favors.

  Pippa’s chin lifted and he had a feeling she didn’t have many illusions about the flavor of the conversation they’d shared.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that, and I’m sorry that helping me has made trouble between you and Steve.”

  “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault Steve’s acting like a dick.”

  “But it’s because of me. Because of our history.”

  “It’s because of Alice and because Steve has got some shit he needs to deal with. Neither of which places you in the firing line.”

  Her expression softened. “You’re a nice guy, Harry. Sometimes too nice.”

  “I wish you’d stop saying that.”

  “Tough luck.” She smiled. Then she lifted a hand and pushed her glasses up her nose and he knew there was more.

  “What else do you need to tell me?”

  This time her look was incredulous. “Have you been taking mind-reading pills or something?”

  He gestured with his index finger around his own eyes to indicate her glasses.

  “You muck around with your glasses when you’re nervous.”

  “I do not.” Her hand lifted to adjust her frames again. She caught the action midair and returned her hand to her side, but her expression was rueful.

  “There goes my career as a covert double agent,” she said.

  Harry crossed his arms over his chest and propped a shoulder against the door, letting her know that they weren’t going anywhere until she came clean.

  She sighed, tweaked her glasses again, then shook her head in frustration at the gesture.

  “Okay. Fine. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But you won’t like it. And this is definitely my fault.”

  He made a winding motion with his finger, encouraging her to stop tap-dancing and start talking.

  “Okay. I’m getting there. In case you haven’t noticed, I have this ridiculous temper. Sometimes it takes the wheel and dumb-ass things come out of my mouth. Like the other week when I gave you a hard time for offering to help out when it was really myself and my stupid feckless life I was angry with.”

  He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

  “Steve pretty much wanted to know the same thing—what you were doing over here last night—but he offered me money for Alice before going there. When I told him I didn’t want his money under those circumstances, he warned me off you, told me I was stupid to think I was special and you would treat me exactly the same as all your other women.”

  Her face and chest were pink but she didn’t look away. Harry had to school his own features to keep a lid on the anger growing inside him. Last night Steve had been an asshole, but tonight he’d stepped over the line. Big-time.

  “He made me so angry, pretending he gave a toss about Alice when all he cared about was whether you were sleeping with me or not. Whatever you said to him, you must have really pissed him off.”

  She stared at him expectantly, inviting him to fill in the blanks, but he simply shrugged. He wasn’t about to start telling tales. Somehow he’d gotten stuck between his oldest friend and Pippa, but he wouldn’t stay any longer than he had to.

  He’d barely finished shrugging before Pippa held up a hand.

  “Forget I asked that. What happens between you two is your business.”

  “Tell me the rest of it, Pippa.” Because it was becoming clear to him that she’d be happy to prevaricate all day long if he let her.

  “Okay. But I might not be able to look at you while I say it.”

  “All right.”

  She scrunched up her face like a kid about to swallow a mouthful of cod liver oil. “After he made that crack about me not being special, I, um, may have given him the impression that his suspicions were more than grounded. There, uh, may even have been a reference to us doing it on the hall floor and you being very creative…” She swallowed. The sound was audible, like a cartoon gulp. Confession over, she relaxed her face and made eye contact with him, waiting for his reaction.

  Clearly she thought he’d be angry. Maybe he should be, given the state of play between him and Steve, but as he’d said earlier, it wasn’t her fault Steve was acting like an asshole. Harry figured he’d have been pretty damn provoked, too, if someone had thrown the same kind of crap at his head.

  And maybe he was warped, but he couldn’t help admiring her chutzpah.

  “The hall floor?” he asked after a short pause. “What’s wrong with the bed? Apart from the fact that it’s leaning against the wall, of course?”

  “We didn’t make it to the bed. Too impatient.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Her hands gripped each other tightly at her waist. “I know I should have turned the other cheek, and if you like I’ll call him and explain I only said it to get a rise out of him. I’m pretty sure he didn’t believe me, anyway, because I’m about a million miles away from one of your usual bar bunnies. Plus there’s Alice. If he’d stopped to think about it for half a second, he’d have known that he was definitely barking up the wrong tree in the wrong forest in the wrong country.”

  “Define creative for me.”

  She stared at him, arrested. “You’re not angry.”

  “Why would I be angry?”

  “Because I’ve made things even more difficult between you and Steve.”

  “Nope. He did that by coming over here being offensive and insulting you.”

  “Harry… You have to stop letting me off the hook.”

  “Deal—if you stop trying to take responsibility for stuff that isn’t yours to own.” He pushed away from the door frame. “Is that garlic I smell?”

  “Yes.” She appeared distracted, a worried frown creasing her forehead. “But I’m not sure we should be doing this anymore. Even if Steve is totally out of line, I hate the thought of you two fighting because of me and Alice.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. What he really wanted was to pull her into his arms, but that was never going to happen. He could feel her distress vibrating through her frame like a low-voltage current.

  “I’m here because I want to be. No other reason.”

  He was a little surprised to realize it was true. He’d started helping Pippa because he’d felt for her situation. He’d kept helping her because someone had to step into the breach left by his mate’s irresponsibility. But beneath all of his good intentions there had always been a rock-solid foundation of liking, pure and simple. Pippa was good people. He wanted to make her life better.

  And he was fast developing an obsession with getting her naked—but that was a whole other ball game.

  “If you keep being nice to me, I’m going to cry. And then I’m going to have to kill you, because I pride myself on never crying in public.”

  He squeezed her shoulder lightly before releasing his grip. “Okay. Where’s my dinner? That mean enough for you?”

  She blinked rapidly a couple of times. “Yeah, that’ll probably do it.”

  He dumped his toolbox in her bedroom before following her down the hallway. She wore one of her retro dresses today, this one a red-and-blue striped sundress with little red strawberries scattered across it. The fabric swished around her slim calves as she walked, flirting with the backs of her knees. She had nice legs—shapely without being too skinny or too muscular. As Goldilocks would say, they were just right.

  But you won’t be sleeping in that bed, Goldi. Remember?

  He forced
his gaze away from Pippa’s body as they entered the kitchen. Alice was playing on a mat beneath a colorful plastic toy frame, batting at a bright yellow star. Because he didn’t trust himself to keep his eyes to himself, he crouched down beside the baby.

  “How are you doing, Miss Alice?”

  Predictably, all Alice did was stare at him, wide-eyed. Then her small mouth curved into a gummy smile and he couldn’t resist the urge to touch one of her tiny-nailed hands. Her skin was incredibly soft. Harry watched, fascinated, as her hand curled around his index finger. He smiled. This kid definitely had a thing about woman-handling men.

  “We’re having spaghetti with garlic bread, but I’m running a little late getting it all together,” Pippa said from behind the kitchen counter.

  He slipped his finger from Alice’s grip and stood. “It’s cool. I haven’t got anywhere else I need to be.”

  She nodded and rummaged in the kitchen drawer for something. She still looked agitated. Steve’s visit had rattled her more than she wanted to let on.

  “Don’t suppose you’ve got any wine?” he asked.

  “I do. A Semillon sauvignon. It’s a little fruity but okay.”

  She sounded surprised and he knew she was remembering that he didn’t drink while working.

  “You look like you could use a glass of wine,” he said.

  She puffed her cheeks out. He got the feeling she was trying to decide between being amused or offended. After a few seconds she smiled.

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “Only to the trained observer.”

  “Right. Remind me again what you’re trained in observing?” She opened the fridge as she spoke, pulling out the wine.

  “Women.”

  She laughed. “I guess you are.”

  She poured two glasses. He accepted his with a murmured thanks when she passed it over.

  “Cheers, Mr. Observer,” she said, lifting her glass in a brief toast before taking a healthy mouthful.

  He took a smaller sip, barely managing to stop his mouth from puckering at the grassy acidity of the wine. He was more of a beer and red wine man generally speaking, but if sharing a glass of white wine with Pippa meant she’d happily have one, he was prepared to suck it up.

  “So. How was your day?” she asked with forced brightness.

  He told her about an incident with a customer at work, exaggerating the personalities to make her laugh. By the time they sat down to eat, she’d finished her glass of wine and the tightness had left her face. She lifted the bottle, asking silently if he wanted a second glass, but he shook his head.

  “I’m good for now, thanks.”

  She hesitated a moment, then shrugged as if to say “what the hell” and poured herself another.

  He asked her questions about her university course for most of the meal, watching the emotions chase themselves across her face as she first enthused about a particular lecturer and then condemned a narrow-minded education department policy that she was convinced was all about bureaucracy and nothing about education.

  “You sound pretty passionate about this stuff,” he said.

  “Do I?” She looked surprised.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  She considered for a moment. “Maybe I am a little passionate.” She laughed. “I never thought I’d say that. When I signed up for the diploma I was just being practical. But there are definitely parts that I really enjoy.”

  “Like?”

  “The kids. Their energy. I’ve done two lots of teaching rounds now and the things kids say…man, they’re funny. The way they view the world is refreshing.” She poked her fork in his direction. “What about you? Do you love your job? Are you passionate about it?”

  “About cars and engines? Can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing. But I wouldn’t call it a passion, as such. But I like solving problems, making things work.”

  “You know what that is? Your white-knight complex, in its career form.”

  “I don’t have a white-knight complex.”

  “Sure you do. Running around helping people. Riding to the rescue.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she was the only person he’d rescued lately, but at the last minute he decided it might be a little too revealing.

  “I think of it more as an adult form of playing with Lego,” he said.

  “And the people you work for, they’re okay?”

  Harry helped himself to another slice of garlic bread. “Leo’s okay. Loses his cool a little too much for my liking. But he’s not the worst boss I’ve ever had.”

  “Let me guess—that was your dad, right?” She looked pleased with herself, as though she’d just aced her Psychology 101 exam.

  “Actually, Dad was a good boss. Good teacher, too, which was weird, since he just about throttled me when he was teaching me to drive. When it came to work, though, he knew what he was talking about and I listened.”

  Pippa sat back in her chair. “So why aren’t you working for him, then? Why doesn’t the sign above the door say Porter and Son instead of Village Motors?”

  “You sound like my mum.”

  “It comes with the territory.” She glanced toward Alice, gurgling happily in her bassinet, before nailing him with a look. “You going to answer my question or not?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  She huffed out a laugh and planted an elbow on the table. “Thinking about it?”

  Pippa leaned toward him, all amused outrage and mock-challenge. Her warm brown eyes were alight with interest, and the wine had put color in her cheeks. He found himself thinking for the millionth time about her cherry-red bra and creamy, full cleavage.

  “It’s not what I want,” he said.

  “Your own business?”

  “The long hours. The responsibility. Everyone looking to me when things go wrong. Why take on all of that when I can pull down a good wage and go home at the end of the day, put my feet up and forget about everything?”

  “You’re not ambitious? No big life plan?”

  “What more do I need? I’ve got my own place. I’ve got a truck and one of the best vintage muscle cars Australia has to offer. There’s not a lot of stuff that I want that I can’t get.”

  “You make it sound pretty good.”

  “But?”

  “But nothing. Like I said, you make it sound pretty good.”

  Pippa was sincere. He sat back in his chair. He hadn’t even realized he’d moved toward the edge of his seat until then, the better to counter the argument she hadn’t made.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look surprised.”

  “I don’t know. Guess I was expecting more resistance.”

  Definitely he’d been expecting more judgment.

  “Because I sounded like your mother before?”

  “Because the consensus from the rest of my family seems to be that I’m copping out.”

  Pippa drained the last of her wine. “You know what? Everyone should just live their lives and let you live yours. You’re not hurting anyone. You’re happy and healthy and content. What’s not to like about any of that? There are plenty of people with six-figure incomes, huge mansions and garages full of cars who can’t say the same.”

  “So teaching’s going to do that all for you? Keep you happy and healthy and content?”

  She flashed him a rueful smile. “That’s a whole different ball of wax.”

  Pippa started gathering the plates. He stood and took them from her hands, stacking the cutlery and their water glasses on top.

  “Why?”

  “Because I have Alice. I don’t have just me and what I want to consider. My life isn’t only mine anymore.”

  He frowned, even though she hadn’t made it sound like a complaint, more as though she was simply stating the facts.

  “That sounds pretty grim.”

  Pippa was folding the place mats, but she stopped and looked at him, a startled expression on her face.

  �
�Does it? I didn’t mean for it to. Having Alice, thinking of Alice and what she needs is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s sort of…I don’t know…opened my heart. Made life less about me. And I mean that in a good way. Loving someone and wanting them to be happy is a pretty great mission to have, in my book.”

  She gave him a small smile before slipping past him to stow the place mats away. He dumped the plates in the sink, her words echoing in his head.

  He wasn’t sure why, but they made him feel…unsatisfied in some way. Unsettled.

  “I’ll go get changed. We’re plastering and painting today, yes?”

  “Yeah. Old clothes.”

  She laughed. “All my clothes are old.”

  He dried his hands on a tea towel as she left the room. Then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he ran water into the sink and washed the dishes.

  And all the time he thought about Pippa, about the glow she’d gotten in her face and eyes when she talked about her daughter.

  She was a special woman. Funny, smart, self-aware, sexy. He liked the way she looked at the world. Liked the way she kept surprising him.

  Maybe after he’d finished fixing her ceiling he could swing by and see her every now and then. Have a beer, maybe, catch up. He didn’t have any women friends, unless his sisters counted—and he suspected they didn’t. Maybe he and Pippa could be friends. Because he was starting to feel as though it would be hard to not have her in his life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  PIPPA KNELT ON the cold tile in the bathroom to tie the laces on her runners. The two glasses of wine she’d drunk with dinner had worked their way through her system, warming her belly and taking the edge off her anger with Steve. Or maybe it was Harry’s easy good humor that had done that.

  He’d been so calm and understanding, even when she’d confessed that she’d dumped him in it with his best friend. He could have been angry—very angry—with her. But he wasn’t, and he hadn’t packed up his stuff and gone home. He’d eaten her dinner and done his best to distract her.

  Beneath his rugged, take-no-prisoners exterior was an incredibly decent man with a good heart.

  A wave of gratitude washed over her. If only there was some way she could repay him for all his many large and small kindnesses. She stared at the wall, trying to think of something—anything—she could do or buy that would let him know how much she valued his efforts and support.