by Jaci Burton
“What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him—or you. What do you say, Barrett? Care to take me out?”
BARRETT WAS AT a loss for words. Harmony was his best friend’s little sister.
Only she wasn’t so little anymore. When he’d first been drafted by Tampa, he and Drake had bonded. Both of them played defense, they’d been roommates, and they’d become friends. It had been that way for the past six years.
He’d been coming here to Drake’s mom’s house ever since that first year, back when Harmony had been in college. Back when she’d still been a kid. Now she was a woman, and she’d just been dumped by some guy who was obviously too stupid to know what a treasure he’d had.
She was beautiful, with brown skin, long dark curly hair, and those amazing amber eyes. She had the kind of body any man would want to get his hands on, curves in all the right places . . .
And he had no business thinking about Harmony at all, because there was a code—no messing with your best friend’s sister.
Absolutely not. No. Wasn’t going to happen.
He pushed back his chair and stood, looking down at Harmony as if she were Eve in the Garden and she’d just offered him the forbidden apple. “I know the rule, Harmony, and so do you. I think I’ll go check out what Granny made for dinner tonight.”
He might be tempted, but there was too much at stake. He was going to step away from the sweet fruit in front of him before he decided to do something really stupid and take a taste.
Because going down that road would spell nothing but doom.
BRADY CONNERS WAS spending the day doing one of the things he enjoyed the most: smoothing out dents in a quarter panel of a Chevy. As soon as he finished, he’d paint, and this baby would be good as new.
It wasn’t his dream job. He was working toward that. But with every day he spent working at Richards Auto Service, thanks to Carter Richards, he was pocketing money that got him closer to his dream. And someday he’d open up his own custom motorcycle paint shop.
Somewhere. Maybe here in Hope. Maybe somewhere else. Probably somewhere else, because this place held memories.
Not good ones.
A long time ago—a time that seemed like an eternity now—he had thought maybe he and his brother Kurt would start up a business together. Brady would do bodywork and custom motorcycle paint, and Kurt would repair the bikes.
That dream went up in smoke the day Brady got the call that his brother was dead.
He paused, stood, and stretched out the kinks in his back, wiping the sweat that dripped into his eyes. He took a step back and grabbed the water bottle he always stored nearby, taking a long drink through the straw, swallowing several times until his thirst was quenched.
Needing a break, he pulled off his breathing mask and swiped his fingers through his hair, then stepped outside.
It was late spring, and rain was threatening. He dragged in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of fresh air.
He really wanted a cigarette, but he’d quit a little over a year ago. Not that the urge had gone away. Probably never would. But he was stronger than his own needs. Or at least that’s what he told himself every time a strong craving hit.
Instead, he pulled out one of the flavored toothpicks he always kept in his jeans pocket and slid that between his teeth.
Not nearly as satisfying, but it would do. It would have to.
He leaned against the wall outside the shop and watched the town in motion. It was lunchtime, so it was busy.
Luke McCormack, one of Hope’s cops, drove by in his patrol car and waved. Brady waved back. Luke was a friend of Carter’s, and while Brady wasn’t as social as a lot of the guys he’d met, he knew enough to be friendly. Especially to cops.
Samantha Reasor left her shop, loading up her flower van with a bunch of colorful bouquets. She spotted him, giving him a bright smile and a wave before she headed off.
Everyone in this damn town was so friendly. He mostly kept to himself, doing his work and then heading to the small apartment above the shop at night to watch TV or play video games. He had one goal in mind, and that was to save money to open his business. He saw his parents now and again since they lived in Hope, but the strain of Kurt’s death had taken a toll on them.
Nothing was the same anymore. With them. With him either, he supposed.
Sometimes life just sucked. And you dealt with that.
His stomach grumbled. He needed something to eat. He pushed off the wall and headed up the street, intending to make a stop at the sandwich joint on the corner. He’d grab a quick bite and bring it back to the shop.
He made a sudden stop when Megan Lee, the really hot brunette who owned the bakery, came out with a couple of pink boxes in her hands. She collided with him and the boxes went flying. She caught one, he caught one, then he steadied her with his other hand.
She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh, my gosh. Thank you, Brady. I almost dropped these.”
“You okay, Megan?”
“Yes. But let me check these.” She bent down and opened the boxes. There were cakes inside. They looked pretty, with pink icing on one and blue on the other and little baby figurines in strollers sitting on top of the cakes. There were flowers and other doo-dahs as well. He didn’t know all that much about cake decorations. He just liked the way they tasted.
“They’re for Sabelle Frasier. She just had twins.” She looked up at him with a grin. “A boy and a girl. Her mom ordered these for her hospital homecoming. I spent all morning baking and decorating them.”
He didn’t need to know that, but the one thing he did know was that people in this town were social and liked to talk. “They look good.”
She swiped her hair out of her eyes. “Of course they’re good.”
He bent and took the boxes from her. “Where’s your car?”
“Parked just down the street.”
“How about you let me carry these? Just in case you want to run into anyone else on your way.”
Her lips curved. “I think you ran into me.”
He disagreed, but whatever. He figured he’d do his good deed for the day, then get his sandwich.
He followed her down the street.
“I haven’t seen much of you lately,” she said.
He shrugged. “Been busy.”
“I’ve been meaning to stop in the shop and visit, but things have been crazy hectic at the bakery, too.” She studied him. “How about I bring pastries by in the morning? And I’ve never brought you coffee before. How about some coffee? How do you take it? Black, or with cream and sugar? Or maybe you like lattes or espresso? What do you drink in the mornings?”
He had no idea what she was talking about. “Uh, just regular coffee. Black.”
“Okay. I make a really great cup of coffee. I’m surprised you haven’t come into the bakery since it’s so close to the auto shop. Most everyone who works around here pops in.” She pressed the unlock button on her car, then opened the back door and took the boxes from him.
Man, she really could talk. He’d noticed that the couple of times they’d gone out. Not that it was a bad thing, but for someone like him who lived mostly isolated, all that conversation was like a bombardment.
Not that it was a bad thing. The one thing he missed the most since his self-imposed isolation was conversation. And Megan had it in droves. He just wasn’t all that good about reciprocating.
After she slid the boxes in, she turned to him. “What’s your favorite pastry? You know, I’ve dropped muffins off at the auto shop. Have you eaten any of those?”
He was at a loss for words. He always was around her. A few of his friends had fixed the two of them up before. Once at Logan and Des’s dinner party, then again at Carter and Molly’s wedding. They’d danced. Had some conversation. Mostly one-sided since Megan had done all the talking.
He wasn’t interested.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly the truth. What heterosexual male wouldn
’t be interested in Megan? She was gorgeous, with her silky light brown hair and her warm chocolate eyes that always seemed to study him with interest. She also had a fantastic body with perfect curves.
But he was here to work. That was it. He didn’t have time for a relationship.
He didn’t want a relationship, no matter how attractive the woman was. And Megan was really damned attractive.
“Brady?” she asked, pulling his attention back on her. “Muffins?”
“What about them?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Oh, come on Brady. Everyone has a favorite pastry. Cream puffs? Donuts? Scones? Cakes? Bars? Strudel?”
He zeroed in on the last thing she said. “Apple strudel. I used to have that from the old bakery when I was a kid.”
She offered up a satisfied smile. “I make a killer apple strudel. I’ll bring you one—along with coffee—in the morning.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to do that.”
She laid her hand on his arm and offered up the kind of smile that made him focus on her mouth. She had a really pretty mouth, and right now it was glossed a kissable shade of peach.
He didn’t want to notice her mouth, but he did.
“I don’t mind. I love to bake. But now I have to go. Thanks again for saving the cakes. I’ll see you tomorrow, Brady.”
She climbed in her car and pulled away, leaving him standing there, confused as hell.
He didn’t want her to bring him coffee. Or apple strudel. Or anything.
He didn’t want to notice Megan or talk to Megan or think about Megan, but the problem was, he’d been doing a lot of that lately. For the past six months or so he’d thought about the dance he’d shared with her. The conversations he’d had with her. She had a sexy smile—not the kind a woman had to force, but the kind that came naturally. She also had a great laugh and she could carry a conversation with ease. And that irritated him because he hadn’t thought about a woman in a long time.
For the past year and a half since his brother had died, he hadn’t wanted to think about anything or anyone. All he’d wanted to do was work, then head upstairs to his one-room apartment above the auto shop, eat his meals and watch TV, and on the weekends do custom bike painting. Keep his mind and his body busy so he wouldn’t have to think—or feel.
Women—and relationships—would make him feel, and that wasn’t acceptable. He’d noticed that right away about Megan, noticed that he liked her and maybe—
No. Wasn’t going to happen—ever. He needed to get her out of his head.
He only had time for work, and making money. He had a dream he was saving for.
And now he barely had time for lunch, because he had a Chevy to get back to.
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