Hero in Disguise

by Sharla Lovelace

  “It’s got vanilla in it,” Christian said defensively.

  “Give me something oozing with filling or dripping with glaze,” Harper said. “Don’t insult my exhaustion.”

  Christian huffed and tossed her a Bavarian cream-filled tort, which Harper caught and bit into with a moan.

  “So much better,” she mumbled. The bell over the door dinged and Harper took a swallow of the coffee to quickly wash down the tort.

  And nearly choked on it.

  She lowered her coffee cup slowly, her eyes resting on the two men walking in. Frankie DeSalle from down the street. And a guy with short-cropped dark hair, a night’s scruff on his face, and dark eyes that she still dreamed about. No. Fucking. Way.

  Her fingertips tingled and her chest squeezed so tightly she had to set her cup down on the counter.

  Except that it missed.

  “Shit!” Harper yelped as the stoneware mug shattered against the tile, sending coffee and tiny red shards to places she’d never find.

  Dropping to her knees in the mess and wishing the floor had a secret escape hatch, Harper grabbed a towel off a low shelf and mopped coffee from herself and everything she could reach while still unseen.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” she muttered, feeling sweat pop out on her scalp. “Get the mop!” she whispered urgently at Christian, as if she were really pulling off the stealth move and five customers plus the two that just walked in hadn’t witnessed the smash-and-duck.

  “What are you doing?” Christian asked, mumbling the words down at her as the two men approached. She pasted on an apologetic smile, and Harper wanted to disintegrate.

  “Fine, I’ll get it myself,” she hissed, getting up while purposely keeping her back turned and all but running to—

  “Harper!”

  “Oh, God,” Harper groaned under her breath, slowing her retreat. Please, not now, Frankie. Please, please, not—

  “My God, what happened to you?” he said, his broad smile crinkling around his eyes.

  Slowly she turned, and saw the other guy’s expression change. Focus on Frankie.

  “Well, I’m evidently a little clumsy.” She forced a chuckle and held her arms out. Brown blueberry-scented liquid dripped from her neck to the bottom of her apron and had splashed onto her bare arms. What a way for him to see her again. Not that she cared. “Christian will take care of you while I grab a mop.”

  Why was Jake here? It was everything she could do to not look back. It was as if magnets were tugging at her eyeballs. She wanted so badly to search for a reaction, study his face, see if that expression she caught in the eighth of a second she looked at him meant that he remembered her.

  As much as she hated it, that’s what had the heat rushing from her chest to her ears. She had to be friggin’ glowing. They may not have been together long in that summer twelve years ago, but every moment, every word, every touch, was etched in her memory. Her name whispered against her skin, first touches, first love, first everything.

  All starting with that damn wedding. And that damn song.

  Harper bounced from task to task dutifully that day, her heart swelling every time Jake caught her eye across the room. It was pathetic, but she couldn’t help herself. He had her completely messed up.

  At eighteen, Harper had dated, but no one was like Jake. She may have been less experienced than other girls her age, but she knew enough to know this boy with his intense gaze hit all the right wicked and delicious buttons.

  It was different with him. Everything was just—more. Something foreign and exciting and way off Harper’s normally very structured life plan. Since she’d met Jake, she didn’t spend her days thinking about college or learning to run her family’s business; all she cared about was being close to him, feeling his eyes on her, and fantasizing about more. He made everything inside her hum, and she hadn’t even kissed him yet.

  And today? Today as they prepped for the impromptu wedding of two soup kitchen regulars, he’d mentioned several times that there would be a song for her. He said she’d just know.

  She was picking up paper plates when the haunting tune of an old seventies song came on that sent goose bumps over her skin.

  When I saw you standing there . . .

  Harper turned to find Jake halfway to her, weaving through the couples. His eyes were locked onto hers as the lyrics seemed to come straight from him.

  I ’bout fell off my chair . . .

  “Oh my God,” Harper whispered, unable to look away from someone as captivated with her as she was with him.

  “Dance with me,” he said, holding out a hand as the first chorus of “I’d Love You to Want Me” rang out.

  Harper didn’t even remember walking into his arms, she was just there. Moving to the music. Crushed against his body, one of his hands sliding down just an inch past legal and the other going up into her hair.

  Her brain felt like it exploded into a billion tiny dots, sensation overload taking over as she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave in to the oh-so-good feeling of being wanted by Jake.

  Harper closed her eyes as his hand pulled her tighter against him and inched even lower. Low enough to slide his fingers into her back pocket. Tight enough to feel everything he had for her.

  Her nose filled with the scent of him as she buried her face against his neck. God, it was all so impossibly good. He smelled amazing. He felt even better. And moving as one like that, his hands possessive on her body, Harper felt dizzy with the need for all of it. Suddenly she didn’t care that they were in the dining hall of the soup kitchen with a room full of people. She felt his breathing quicken as she let her fingers play up into his hair, and that one reaction sent everything hot rushing to her core.

  His face lowered against her hair. “I love it when you touch me,” he whispered against her ear.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, Harper’s knees nearly collapsed, but as tightly as he held her, she was pretty sure she’d never touch the ground. Her face rose to meet his, forces beyond her will pulling her to him. When her lips grazed the stubble on his chin, bringing a low growl from his chest, that was it. She was done for. Harper had never wanted anyone like this. Heart, mind, body, and soul, she was tingling with need. She wanted all of him.

  “Harper,” he breathed against her lips, a second before claiming her mouth.

  “Harper.”

  She gasped and clamped her lips together, her heart slamming against her ribs as she blinked back to the present. Shit-damn-hell, there it was. The voice she’d still know in her sleep if she was struck blind and stupid tomorrow. Her mind knew it, and the way her arms instinctively crossed her chest, her heart knew it too.

  He remembered.

  Stop. She took a deep breath, raised her chin, forced her gaze to go neutral, and had a second’s flash of brilliance fed by desperation.

  “Yes?”

  The surprise in his face was worth smelling like blueberries and creamer all day. The heart palpitations when she met those dark eyes again after twelve years were another story. They were intense. Like he was drinking her in. Like they used to. Breathe. None of that matters. She couldn’t hold out for long, but she could at least gain some high ground before she dissolved into a puddle.

  Frankie’s head was on a swivel, looking back and forth between them.

  “You know each other?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Yes,” Jake said at the same time.

  Shit.

  “Well, hell, Harper, I didn’t know that you knew Jake—”

  “Smith,” Jake finished, bringing a questioning glance from Frankie that he didn’t return because he was still staring at her.

  Harper didn’t know what that look was about, and she didn’t care. She only knew that her shoes were about to melt into the floor from his gaze. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Be careful what you wish for, Harper.

  “I—I don’t,” she began, even extending her hand in a giant act of bravado, praying it wasn’t sha
king. “I’m Harper Haley,” she said, her tongue thick.

  Maybe he’d be an ass and not take it.

  Except he did. And the second her hand was enveloped in the warmth of his, she knew her poker face—if there even was one—was done for.

  I love it when you touch me . . .

  His mouth turned up at the corners, and in that moment Harper didn’t know if he was mocking her or playing along or if he just knew that she totally wanted to kiss him, but—what? No, she didn’t! She wanted to slap the hell out of him! This man who left her in his dust.

  “We worked together once,” he said, seemingly to Frankie, but every word sunk into her as his gaze never left hers. “At a soup kitchen.”

  “Soup—” Frankie said, his eyes going wide. Protective. The oh, fuck of the situation was overwhelming. “You’re that Jake?”

  Oh, good, that’s better. Make sure he knows that I told everyone.

  Jake looked at him, and something silently passed between them before Frankie looked down at his hands, his jaw muscles working, then back at Harper.

  “Well, not that all this awkwardness isn’t fun,” Frankie said. “But my new friend, Jake Smith, and I were up all night at the bar and could really use some good coffee.”

  “Of course.” Harper spun out of Jake’s grip and into action. She was sweating. Or maybe it was still the coffee dripping. No, she was sweating. “Here, or to go?” Please go.

  The bell dinged and what looked like a sea of green poured in as a large group of teenagers all wearing the same group T-shirt descended, all talking at once. Harper had never been so grateful for chaos. Frankie and Jake wouldn’t want to stick around in that. No one would.

  “Here,” Frankie said. “We’ll grab a table before all these kids land.”

  Shit. “Black?”

  “Yes,” both men answered behind her as she grabbed cups with unsteady hands and delivered them safely.

  Get it together.

  “So what prompted staying up all night?” she asked, attempting conversation that she immediately realized she might not want to hear the answer to. Before she could backpedal, Jake slapped Frankie on the shoulder.

  “Talking business,” he said. “We both want to open restaurants.”

  Frankie nodded, not looking at him. Or her. “Yep.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll get to now, courtesy of the Jerichos,” Harper said over the din of background voices that hadn’t quite approached the counter yet.

  “Yeah,” Frankie said, cutting his eyes toward Jake. “Damn Jerichos.”

  Jake gave him a look and Frankie ignored it.

  She scrunched her nose. “I couldn’t do what you do, being on call for whatever and whenever. Doesn’t that get weird?”

  Frankie started to laugh and shook his head. “You have no idea.” He leaned forward on his elbows then, glancing sideways at Jake, who listened with an amused expression. “It’s good money though. And honestly, it’s not the worst thing that could happen to us. I mean, it sucks seeing it close, but Marie and I have talked about opening a restaurant for years. Kind of thought we’d do it in addition to Sticks, but at least now we’ll have a little money to start over.”

  The mass of green T-shirts moved in as a whole behind them, and Harper signaled to Christian, who held up a finger as she answered the phone.

  “Damn.” Harper glanced at her watch. Her dad wasn’t back yet and things were about to get hairy.

  “Problem?” Jake asked, forcing her to look at him again. At the dark hair cut shorter now. The day-old scruff on his face. At the little laugh lines that now crept out from his eyes. Eyes that used to make her weak in the knees, that now dropped to watch a droplet of coffee as it journeyed down into her cleavage. At the lips—forget his damn lips! He leaned over the counter at the mess still pooling there. “Other than Mount Vesuvius back there?”

  “Yes, I’m down a person, my dad’s at the bank, and—Christian, grab some more to-go cups from the back when you’re done,” Harper yelled over her shoulder. “We don’t have enough mugs for this.”

  “Saw your sign out front,” Frankie said over the noise. “Who left?”

  “Angel,” she said. “Oh, and we got a surprise visit yesterday. Guess whose building sold after all?”

  Frankie blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Yep,” she said. “But we lease, so we won’t get a nice little coin purse out of the deal, I just get kicked out.” She pointed up. “Of my apartment, too.” Jake’s face looked stricken. “So I have to find another place to live, and hopefully a new location for the shop.” She shut her eyes as she said the next words. “Or close.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jake said, bringing her back. His expression was completely genuine. He was truly sorry. But for what? Her dilemma? That had nothing to do with him. For taking everything she gave him and dumping her twelve years ago? It was a little late for that.

  She cleared her throat. “Either way, I need some help.”

  Frankie moved aside as Jake looked behind him, then back at her.

  “Give me one of those aprons,” he said.

  Harper blinked and looked up from where she was sliding mug shards over discreetly with her foot. “What?”

  “You need help,” Jake said. “I happen to be free at the moment.”

  Her tongue felt disabled. “Wh—what? But—no, you can’t—”

  “Why not?” he asked with the hint of something tugging at his lips. “I’ve done it before.”

  The image of a young Jake pouring coffee into what seemed like a million foam cups in an assembly line of his own making, managing crowd control like a master, filled her mind. This was a little different. And she wasn’t supposed to be remembering that.

  “I can’t hire you,” Harper said, as he was already rolling up his sleeves and walking around the counter. To her side. “No.”

  “Why?” he asked, walking up too close.

  Her breath caught in her chest, and she turned to Frankie like he could somehow fix it.

  “Frankie?”

  But he stared at Jake like he’d just sprouted horns. “What are you doing?” he asked him, a rare seriousness in his tone.

  “Helping out,” Jake said, turning in a circle. “Got another one of those?” he asked Christian, pointing at her apron.

  Her mouth gaped open like a fish. “Um,” she said.

  “Don’t you have a job?” Harper asked under her breath, glancing back at the waiting kids, who were starting to abandon their trivial teenage conversations to stare at them. The hint of something juicy hanging in the air.

  Jake smiled, although it was a little sad. “It’s kind of part-time,” he said. “And I’m taking a little break.”

  Harper felt her eyebrows rise. “Taking a break?”

  “What’s going on?” came a voice from behind her as her dad emerged from the hallway. He gave Jake a look as if to ask what the hell he was doing behind his counter.

  “I’m trying to get a job, if Harper here will hire me.” Jake finished off a sleeve and extended his hand. “Looks like you need help.”

  Oh, God.

  “Dad, no,” Harper said. “He doesn’t need to—”

  “You have any experience?” her dad asked.

  “Dad!” Harper exclaimed.

  He pointed at the lobby. “You have fifty kids ready to order. Don’t be picky.” He turned back to Jake as Harper’s stomach tied in a knot. “Although you seem too polished to be searching out a coffee shop job.”

  “Just looking for a sideline,” Jake said. “I may not know the drink recipes, but I can slap orders together and be the runner.”

  “Sold,” her dad said, reaching around the back wall for a large apron. “Honey, quit glaring at me and go take these kids’ orders. Give them to—”

  “Jake,” he said.

  “Give them to Jake,” her dad continued. “I’ll man the coffee. Christian, you do food, and Jake, be all you can be. When this rush is done, somebody clean up this mess.” />
  “Yes, sir,” Jake said, looking at Harper as he tied his apron on.

  She felt anger begin to twitch in her eyes. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t here, standing in front of her, cockily weaseling into a job in her shop after leaving her with no explanation all those years ago. After she’d done what she’d done . . . and said what she’d said.

  “Fine,” she whispered through her teeth, turning unseeing to the first kid in line. “Can I help you?” The kid’s eyes widened, and Harper shook her head. Way to go. Scare the customers. “I’m sorry.” She forced a smile to cover the acid in her mouth. “Welcome to the Steaming Mug. What can I make for you?”

  Chapter Three

  What the living hell was he thinking?

  Frankie’s glare from the other side of the counter asked the same question, and honestly, Jake had no answer. His feet had him around that counter before his brain could shut his mouth.

  “Mind if I borrow him for one second before you get him all busy?” Frankie asked Harper, thumbing in Jake’s direction.

  “I’m already busy,” Jake said, grabbing trays.

  “He’s already busy,” Mr. Haley echoed, prepping a machine, his back to everyone. “Come back later or get to work, Frankie.”

  “Feel free, really,” Harper said, refusing to look Jake’s way.

  Frankie rounded the counter’s corner at record speed, turning his back to Harper and putting his face close to Jake’s, challenging him. Something Jake Jericho didn’t tolerate, but in that second—hell, ever since they’d walked into the coffee shop—he hadn’t been Jake Jericho.

  “A moment?” Frankie asked.

  Jake blew out a breath and set down his stack of trays, pushing Frankie a few inches in the process, and then backing out of earshot.

  “Frankie—”

  “What are you doing?” Frankie whispered.

  “I know.” Jake held up a palm. “I just—” He just what? Got sidetracked by blue eyes and an old kick to the chest?

  “Look, Mr. Jericho,” Frankie began, his eyes going hard. “This has been entertaining, but it’s time to get real again. These people have a shitload of crap dumped on them right now.”