by Beth Andrews
“After Lena was here last time, I spoke with my attorney. She feels it’s best I let Lena see Max as often as possible. In case Lena decides to sue for more custody.”
“Is that what Lena wants?”
He lifted a shoulder.
Harper couldn’t help but heave a soft sigh of exasperation. “If you’re unsure and obviously worried about it, why don’t you just ask her?”
He looked away for a second, his mouth a thin line. “Because,” he said, his voice low, his eyes on hers again, “I’m afraid I won’t like the answer.”
“Sometimes, those are the questions that need asking the most.”
“Sometimes, they need to be left unsaid.”
He walked toward the door and she hurried around the desk. “I guess we’re both on our own for the night,” she said then slapped a hand over her mouth. Oh, dear God, that had sounded like a hint, a broad one letting him know she was free for the evening.
He faced her and she quickly dropped her hand. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Where’s Cass?”
“She’s spending the night with my in-laws.” Harper forced a smile. “When I have the house to myself I always plan on getting a ton of work done—cleaning out dresser drawers and the refrigerator, painting walls, maybe even cooking meals ahead to freeze...” She rolled her eyes at her own delusions of grandeur. “Then I end up eating a bowl of cereal for dinner and curling up with a good book for hours on end.” She linked her hands together in front of her at her waist. “What about you?”
“I don’t often curl up with a book. Good or otherwise.”
“No.” She swallowed. “I mean, do you have plans? For tonight.”
“Plans?”
Did he have to repeat what she said? It drove her nuts. “Plans. Dinner plans with your family or...or...a...” She could barely even think it, let alone say it. “A date,” she said, spitting the offensive word out.
He stood in the doorway, looking big and broad and handsome. “I don’t have a date.”
Relief rushed through her, made her knees weak. “No?”
He gave one slow shake of his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “No.”
“So you plan on staying home tonight, too?”
Another of those head shakes. “I’m going to eat dinner at O’Riley’s at seven.” He turned only to face her again and murmur, “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
TWO HOURS LATER, Harper let herself into her house, tossed her keys onto the small table in the foyer, Eddie’s words echoing in her head.
Maybe I’ll see you there.
Did that mean what she thought it meant? He wanted to see her there?
But he hadn’t asked her to dinner. He was leaving it, the decision, up to her.
Was that supposed to make her feel in control? She snorted, shoving a Barbie doll aside with her foot. How could it when she’d never felt so out of control in her life? So confused. Conflicted.
She’d thought of him. During times when she used to think of Beau, when she used to remember how they were together, how he’d been, Eddie had slipped into her head instead.
She paced the confines of her living room, bumped into the coffee table, skirted it and made the trek toward the television.
She glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. She wasn’t going. She couldn’t. O’Riley’s was a popular bar, a place where many people went for drinks or a casual dinner.
Someone, possibly many someones, would see her there. With Eddie.
Beau had only been gone eleven months. It was too soon to date. Too soon to even think about letting another man kiss her. Touch her. Make love to her.
Except she was thinking about it. Had thought of it over and over again since Eddie had kissed her on her porch two weeks ago.
But that’s all she’d do, she assured herself. Think about it. About Eddie.
She’d just stay home tonight. Maybe she’d order Chinese, watch a romantic comedy. She had the house to herself. Her time was hers, all hers. She could do anything she wanted. Or nothing at all.
That’s what she’d do, Harper thought with a nod as she plopped down onto the couch and picked up the TV remote, pushed the on button. She’d hang out here. By herself.
Alone.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing wrong with being alone. She’d been a single woman way before she’d met Beau. There had been plenty of weekends where she’d curled up on her couch with a good book or small stack of DVDs. She’d been fine then and she’d be fine now.
But as the TV came to life, she didn’t see a commercial for car insurance, she saw Eddie’s face, heard his voice again. She saw him sitting at O’Riley’s by himself. Waiting for her.
How long would he wait?
What if he decided she wasn’t worth waiting for?
She clicked off the TV and jumped to her feet, searched frantically for her car keys—which she knew darn well were on the table where she’d tossed them. Luckily, she glanced down, saw she was in just her socks and she still had on her god-awful Shady Grove Elementary shirt and horribly wrinkled khakis.
She checked the time again. Six-forty. Ugh. Peeling the shirt off, she hurried to her bedroom. Yes, she could be alone. Had been alone, had been lonely a few times. But tonight she didn’t have to be. Tonight she could be with Eddie.
* * *
IT WAS SEVEN-TWENTY.
The waitress came up to Eddie’s table yet again. In the past few months, O’Riley’s had grown quickly from a popular bar to a popular restaurant. The tables and booths were filled with the dinner crowd. It would shift eventually as the diners left. People would come in wanting a drink or two instead of a meal, they’d crowd onto the tiny dance floor or play pool, maybe throw some darts.
But right now, he was smack dab in the dinner rush, taking a table on a busy night and he hadn’t ordered anything other than a beer.
He was lucky the waitress with the funny crooked hair and neck tattoo didn’t stab him in the throat with a fork.
He couldn’t wait for Harper any longer.
Shouldn’t have waited this long, wasn’t sure why he had.
He’d been hopeful. After two weeks of keeping his distance, of trying to convince himself that he had little interest left for her, his damn hopes had soared simply because she’d asked about his plans for the night. Had told him she was going to be alone.
He thought she’d wanted to be with him.
Stupid.
“I’ll have the fish fry,” he told the waitress. “And an order of sausage bread to start.”
He doubted it would come even close to Pops’s bread but he wanted to make sure his bill covered the time he’d sat there not eating. He handed the laminated menu to her. “And another beer when you get a minute.”
“Hi.”
He glanced up to see Harper, her cheeks pink, her breathing fast. She swallowed. Searched his gaze. “I’m not too late, am I?” she asked, and he wasn’t sure what she meant, but it seemed to be more than just if she was too late for dinner.
Christ, but he was glad—really glad—to see her.
He just wasn’t sure if he should be.
Standing, he reached around to pull out her chair, and she sat and hung her purse over the back of it. Harper had changed into dark jeans that cupped her hips and ass and a V-neck sweater that showed the pale, delicate skin of her chest, the curve of her breasts.
Leo’s voice floated through Eddie’s mind. Hot for teacher, indeed.
The waitress took Harper’s order and Eddie sipped his beer to soothe his dry throat. He wanted to tell her he was happy she’d come, that she looked pretty in that peach sweater, that he was looking forward to getting to know her better.
He kept silent. It was safer. And, if he was being
honest with himself, easier.
When they were alone, Harper smiled at him, seemed more at ease as she looked around. Eddie gave himself a mental pat on the back for choosing a table in the far corner where the lighting was dim, the sounds somewhat muted. Where fewer people could see them.
“Not much has changed about this place since I was here last,” Harper said. She shifted. Their table was small, so small that her knee bumped his. He didn’t move away.
“When was that?” he asked.
He liked how her forehead crinkled when she was thinking, as if she had to get it just right. As if they were the students in class and the teacher had called on her.
“Five years...no, more like six.” She brushed her hair aside, smiled at the waitress when she brought Harper’s glass of wine. “Beau and I came here after his stepbrother’s wedding and...” She shook her head. “And I doubt you want to hear about ancient history.”
He had a feeling she thought he didn’t want to hear about her husband. Looked as if he was going to have to figure out the right thing to say. Never an easy or comfortable task for him. But he’d give it a shot.
“I want to hear about you,” he finally said.
She sipped her wine, averted her gaze. “I’m an open book. A boring one.”
“I don’t think so.”
“No?”
He thought she was fascinating. He had firsthand insight into her as a teacher. Had seen her with the kids in her class, how good she was with them, how much she cared about them. He’d seen her with her daughter, knew she was an excellent mother. She was smart, pretty, friendly and way too open.
“No,” he said gruffly. “There’s nothing boring about you.”
She reached over, laid her hand on his, her fingers warm and soft. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
He wanted to turn his hand, capture hers with his, link their fingers together. Because he did, too much, he waited a moment and then slid his hand away on the pretense of lifting his beer. “I doubt that.”
She’d been married to a lawyer. A trial attorney who used words for a living. Beau Kavanagh had probably told her daily how special she was. How beautiful. Things that Eddie thought to say but for some reason, couldn’t get out.
“I’m being serious,” Harper said. “It is one of the nicest things anyone’s said about me because I know you mean it.”
“I’m that easy to read?”
She laughed, the sound drawing attention from the table next to them, had the other diners smiling. “No, because you don’t say anything you don’t mean. Anyone who speaks as infrequently as you do usually means what they say. Why waste those precious words on lies?”
“Exactly.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about her knowing him that well, though. “Tell me about the last time you were here.”
She hesitated but then nodded. “Like I said, it was after Michael’s wedding. We all came here after the venue in Pittsburgh shut down for the night, and a couple of college kids hit on one of the bridesmaids. She wasn’t interested but they weren’t too eager to take no for an answer. Her boyfriend got involved and—” She shrugged. “One thing led to another and the next thing I know, guys are pushing each other, yelling. I thought for sure a riot was about to erupt but Beau talked everyone down, had them buying each other drinks by the end of the night.”
“He was a mediator?”
“He was a charmer. And, yes, a peacekeeper. I think he came into that role naturally, playing it between his parents until they divorced. He then took those two natural abilities—that charm and the ability to talk anyone into anything, and his wanting peace between all parties—and decided to make a career out of them. Then again, I guess that’s what a lot of people do.”
“Did you?”
“I loved kids, always knew I wanted to be a teacher. What about you?”
“I knew I wasn’t cut out for college—obviously.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“Just because you had some struggles, doesn’t mean you can’t get a college degree. I just figured you didn’t want one. Not everyone does.”
That was true and had been for him. Even if he had been able to get better grades, the idea of sitting in classrooms for another four years had made him break out in a cold sweat. It still did.
The waitress brought their appetizer, set it on the table between them.
Harper groaned and the thought of her making that sound for him, because of what he was doing to her, had his body stirring.
“Oh, that smells so good,” she said.
“Help yourself.”
She looked at him as if he’d just suggested she crawl on top of the table and nibble on his neck.
Which wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever heard.
“Do you know how many carbs are in this? Not to mention fat. And the calories. Oh, the calories.”
She was so earnest, his lips twitched. “No. Not calories.”
“Sure, jest. You’re not the one trying to lose ten...okay, okay...fifteen pounds.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to lose weight?” Lena had been always moaning about calories and carbs and working out. When she’d been pregnant, every bite of food had to be measured, weighed and carefully calculated so she could achieve her goal of being back to her pre-baby weight within four weeks of giving birth.
“You do remember what I looked like in high school, right?”
He helped himself to a huge slice of the sausage bread. A long string of mozzarella stretched from the loaf.
“Now you’re just torturing me,” she muttered, pouting.
“Do you want some?”
“Am I sitting here, living and breathing and smelling how good it smells? Of course I want some.”
He cut her a small slice. “Then you should have it. Why deny yourself? So you were skinny in high school. You ask me, you look better now.” He set the plate in front of her. “You’ve blossomed. You were cute back then. Now you’re beautiful.”
She blinked. Blinked again. Her mouth opened and shut.
He’d made her speechless. Just by telling her the truth. Just by telling her his thoughts.
He’d have to try it more often.
“I’m going to eat this,” she said, picking up her fork. “But only in celebration of you stringing together that many words. Who knows when a miracle like that will happen again?” She bit into the bread. “So,” she said around her mouthful, “tell me why you chose to become a carpenter.”
“It wasn’t a choice,” he said. “It just...was. I never even thought of doing anything else. From the first time I made something with my dad, I just knew.”
“It must be nice, being able to make...to build...something out of nothing. To see it in your head and make it a reality. It takes a lot of creativity, doesn’t it? And math skills—never my strong suit.”
“Weren’t you in the top twenty percent of our graduating class?”
“Ten.”
Ten percent. Of course. “I’m betting your math is fine.”
“Only because I worked my butt off to keep my grades up. Calc about did me in.”
“I don’t use much calculus in my work. Just regular addition and subtraction. The basics.”
“Please. I’m sure you have to work with percentages, fractions, volume and square footage. Right?”
What could he do but nod?
“See. Just the idea of all that figuring makes my head hurt.”
“At least I don’t have to read Shakespeare anymore.”
She grinned. “Me either.”
Their dinners arrived and they dug in. She even helped herself t
o a second slice of sausage bread.
“Did you travel after school?” Harper asked him.
“I did the summer thing, went down South—which was a mistake. Never go to the deep South in the summer.”
“I bet.”
“What about you?”
“I worked at Cass’s day care center the summer after graduation and went to Clarion University. It’s a small university about an hour and a half away from here.”
“You stayed close to home.”
“Relatively speaking. I thought I wanted to get as far away from Shady Grove as possible but it wasn’t meant to be.”
“You got homesick?”
“Nah. Although that may have played a part in it. Only child, doting parents. I’m not sure how any of us would’ve done if I’d been too far away. I applied to Georgetown. It was perfect. Far but not too far.”
“What made you decide not to go there?”
“They decided for me. I didn’t get in.”
“But you were in the top ten percent of our class.”
“Actually, I was in the top five percent. I didn’t want to brag,” she said, blushing. “It didn’t matter to them that I was smart and in the top of my class. I was upset at first, for months actually, but it was a great lesson to be learned. There are always people smarter than you. There will always be someone who has more success, someone who has less. You can’t get picked for every club, school or organization. Not everyone is going to like you. I didn’t like learning those lessons at the time but I’ve come to realize how important they were to me. I went to Clarion, I got a great education, I became a teacher like I always wanted and I made some lifelong friends in the process. I got a job in my hometown, met Joan who introduced me to her son and fell in love with a good man. I married him. Had his daughter.” She smiled softly. “All in all, it wasn’t such a bad deal. And I can’t help but believe things worked out exactly as they were meant to.”
“You can say that even after what happened to your husband?” he asked quietly, awed by her strength. Her faith.
“You know, when I didn’t get into Georgetown, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. But a few months after Beau died, I realized how incredibly blessed I’d been all these years—was still blessed. Because even though I didn’t have him in my life anymore, even though I still miss him every day, I can’t help but be grateful for the time we did have together. Both as a couple and as a family. He loved me. That makes it easier to get through each day. But I hate that Cassidy doesn’t remember him, that she’ll never know what a truly wonderful man he was, how much he loved her.”
