by Brinda Berry
“You, my idiot brother, do what you want. You don’t listen to me anyway.” She mutters the entire time she walks to my door. “Always pretending to want my advice and then, when I give it? Deaf.”
After Josie leaves, I grab my wallet and keys so I can head out and pick something up for the neighbor.
* * *
I knock on Harper’s door three times. Her truck was parked outside when I returned from the store, so I know she’s home. Is she looking through the peephole at me? Have I upset her so much she’s not going to answer? I feel like a dork standing here with this basket, since I wouldn’t be taking food to a new neighbor under normal circumstances.
This feels like something my mother would’ve done when she was alive. I can hear her telling me to do exactly what Josie had.
The door finally opens. I take in Harper without knowing what to say. She appears to be harried, her ponytail lopsided with strands of hair falling at her cheeks. She’s a hot mess. It’s very cute except for one small detail— she holds a steel meat mallet.
For one uncomfortable moment, I remember seeing her watching me in all my usual haunts. Maybe Josie was deathly wrong and this is where I meet my end.
“Harper.” I take a step back out of swinging distance.
“Oh. It’s you.” She blows a strand of hair from her eyes.
“I wanted to bring you a housewarming gift.” I hold up the basket by the handle.
“Thanks.” She opens the door wider. “Come on in.”
“You look busy. I can leave this—”
“No, it’s fine,” she says. “Sorry to ask, but could you hold something while you’re here?” She takes the basket with her free hand and walks to the kitchen area.
I stand in the doorway, not really wanting to come in. But it seems a little rude to back away and run for my life. And I could probably dodge the mallet. I’m amused by my own paranoia. Josie would have a good laugh if she knew.
“So can you hold something for me?” she repeats.
“Sure,” I say and step inside. I chuckle to myself at the feeling of stepping into the lair of a dangerous creature.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” I hide my grin. “Am I holding a steak down or what?”
“Huh?” Her eyebrows knit and she tilts her head. “I don’t understand.”
I point to the weapon she holds.
“Oh. I don’t have a hammer, and I’m trying to put my bed together. The entire thing came in a box.”
Only a woman would move into a place without owning basic tools. “How about I go get my tools?”
“You have a hammer?” She waits a beat. “Of course you do. Yes, please. That’d be great.”
She walks around the bar and places the mallet inside a drawer. “I’ll put this food away.”
Because Josie suggested cheese and crackers, I was determined to steer clear of those items. It’s the way of brothers and sisters. You do the opposite of what they want.
Instead, I’d filled the basket with gourmet marinara sauce, whole grain pasta, fresh French bread, and a parmesan cheese. I don’t know if she cooks, but spaghetti seemed easy and safe. I figure if you can boil water, you can make pasta.
I leave and return five minutes later with a small metal toolbox. She opens the door on one knock. Her ponytail is fixed now, no stray pieces escaping the hair band.
I grin because I kind of enjoyed the other look. It was wild and uninhibited. Sexy.
“Real hammer, real screws. I assume you need screws for the bed? Unless you wanted to use paperclips or something.” My sarcasm makes her smile.
She assumes a serious expression. “I used bread bag twists. That doesn’t work?”
I follow Harper into her bedroom where planks spill from the end of a long box. The picture on the side is of a platform bed. “This, right?”
“Um hm.” She kneels on one side of the box and grabs a sheet of instructions. “When you knocked earlier, I was reading these. I realized I needed a hammer and a screwdriver.”
“Yeah. You always do.” I turn my head to nod at the mattress leaning against the wall. “You didn’t carry all this up here, did you?”
“Your sister helped me.”
I grimace. “Don’t do that again. Come and get me. Josie should’ve yelled when you needed help,” I say. Then I realize they didn’t, based on my actions the first time they asked. “Sorry about earlier. I was in the middle of something,” I lie. “Instructions.” I hold out my hand for them. It’s not too difficult to figure out what we need. I search for the pouch of screws and locate my Philips screwdriver.
Harper doesn’t say much. I spend a few seconds of silence concentrating on lining up two boards of the platform frame. “So. What brings you to Nashville? Hand me one of those washers, please.”
She drops the washer into my outstretched hand. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought I’d visit here and after I did, I loved it.”
“You travel a lot?” I grab the Philips and insert the screw.
Harper hesitates. “No. I grew up in Texas. After I got married, I moved to Washington. I haven’t been anywhere else.”
I nod, a little uncomfortable that I’ve taken the conversation to a topic that suddenly feels very personal. “I need a screw. A long screw.” I hold out my hand again and press my lips together at my words.
She stares at me. There’s a noticeable flush to her cheeks. Good God. I’m not the only one whose thoughts went straight to the gutter. The girl’s got a dirty mind, and it didn’t take a shortcut for her to travel there.
I dip my head so she can’t see my grin. “Can you hand me another long screw? Same length as the last one?”
Harper’s hand shakes a little as she rummages through the bag. She locates the one I need and drops it near my leg. “Here you go.” No eye contact now.
For a girl who’s been staring at me every time I see her at Dane’s bar, she is now painfully shy. “What do you do, Harper?” I ask and continue twisting the screwdriver.
She’s silent.
“Do you have a job yet?” I ask.
“I applied for a few. I’ve only worked one places before, so it’s probably going to be tough to get hired.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” she answers and her chin lifts in challenge. “I did some babysitting and dogsitting when I was in high school. My parents didn’t want me to work then, so I didn’t. And Wesley thought women should stay…well, I just didn’t work.”
I nod. Apparently, her dead husband didn’t want her to work any more than her parents did.
“What do you do?” she asks.
It makes sense she’d return the question. Still, I always hesitate to tell people much about how I spend my time and make money. “I’m writing the next breakout novel.” I give the statement lightly so I almost sound like I’m teasing.
“A writer. That’s interesting. Have you written anything I’ve read?”
“I doubt it. Screw?” I hold out my palm and move to hold the next two pieces of wood together.
She quickly drops the screw into my extended hand. No blushing this time. All this talk must be distracting her.
“Is that how you make a living?”
I’m caught a little off-guard by her question. The Mr. Expose blog is how I actually have steady income. The two thrillers I’ve written certain don’t qualify, since I’ve spent all year sending them to agents.
I concentrate on twisting the screwdriver and move on to the last boards of the frame. “Well, I do have some freelance work I do. But you won’t have read any of it.”
“Try me,” she says.
Only two people know I’m Mr. Expose. Josie is one and Dane is the other. Neither would tell a living soul, so my secret is safe. “Hey, we’re almost done.” I stand and place my hands on my hips. “Let’s put the mattress on the frame.”
I grab one side and she gets the other. We walk the mattress over to the platform. “Thanks for
helping me. I’d be hammering away with the meat tenderizer if you hadn’t come along.”
“Not a problem. What else do you need?”
She looks around the room. “Nothing really. I wish I had a television or more books. I’ll get those later.”
Harper’s belongings are sparse. How does someone who’s been married have so little in the way of housekeeping? Josie is single and her apartment is packed with enough furnishings for three houses.
“I’m so glad you came over. I thought maybe you didn’t like me.”
“I don’t know you.” I give her a pleasant smile. If I had a collared shirt on, I’d be pulling at my neckline.
“When I knocked on your door and introduced myself…”
“I didn’t expect a new neighbor. That’s all.” But now the thing that’s been bugging me resurfaces. I can’t help myself. “Plus, I thought I knew you from somewhere. Have we met before?”
“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “But I thought you looked familiar, too. Actually, I thought you were Joe Delaware, the famous country singer when I saw you one day at a bar I found downtown. I was eating lunch there and you were with Josie. Of course, I didn’t know Josie then. Small world, huh?”
“Joe Delaware is a lot older than I am.” I laugh. “And a lot richer.”
Harper shakes her head. “Well, close up I can see the difference. You’re a better looking guy than he is.”
I don’t do well with compliments. I know I’m not dog-turd ugly. Or so I’ve been told by Josie when her friends asked her to play matchmaker.
Instead of responding to her, I glance around the bare living room. “If you need a book to read, I have quite a few. You’re welcome to borrow one.”
“That’d be really nice.”
“I need to get back to work if you don’t need any more help. Come grab a book if you like.” There. I’m still being neighborly.
I grab my toolbox and Harper follows me across the hall. She hesitates a little in the doorway as if waiting for an invitation.
Man, have I ever behaved like a dick.
“Come on in.” I wave at the shelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling. “There’s a rolling ladder at the end. Help yourself.”
Harper lingers at the end shelf, browsing through the books at eye level. She has a tiny waist that nips in and I imagine my hands spanning across the entire width. For such a small thing, she has a fine ass. It’s my Achilles’ heel and I force my gaze up.
Too late.
I imagine grabbing her ass and pulling her flush to my body, feeling the heat of her skin through her clothes.
I sit on the bar stool, one leg dangling, fighting a hard-on that I’ll have to adjust when I stand. Still, I’m a glutton for punishment and reluctant to stop watching her since she isn’t paying attention to me.
“Can I take this John Grisham one?” she asks and turns to face me.
I nod. “Take anything you want. But no dog ears. I hate those. Please use a bookmark.”
“You’re serious? I won’t. You can trust me.”
“My sister would turn down page corners on every book I owned. We used to fight over that. It’s the reason she named her bookstore Dog Ears.”
Harper pulls the Grisham book from the shelf. “You and your sister are very close, huh.”
“I guess.” I roll my head back and look at the ceiling. “She can drive me insane, but she’s also my best friend. We’re twins.”
I don’t know why I’ve told her this. The story is really one of those inane details.
“You don’t look a thing alike. So you’re not identical.” She throws both hands to cover her face. “I cannot believe I said that.” She drops her hands and her face turns a bright shade of pink.
I cannot quit grinning at the way she’s so embarrassed over her thoughtless remark. “I hope we’re not.”
She holds up the book. “On that totally stupid note, I think I’ll be leaving. Thanks for the book. I’ll bring it back when I’m finished.”
“You’re welcome to borrow all you want. If you need help with something heavy, or whatever, please let me know.”
“Thanks, Leo.”
She closes the door behind her and I stare at it. Harper is someone I could be interested in. Not that I’m looking. But if I wanted more than a hook-up, Harper would be exactly the kind of girl I’d choose. She’s the opposite of my ex, Tori—a woman I now know was all flash and dishonesty.
6
Grandma Lulu’s Litmus Test
Harper
Desperate times call for desperate measures. Take reading for instance. I’ve never been opposed to the task. My daddy asked me read to a Bible verse a day and that was okay. A verse is pretty darned short. Now, I’ve suddenly taken a shine to the written word. Specifically, I’m fond of books that belong to Leo and must be borrowed and then returned.
I thought I had everything under control with fake reading until the second book I borrowed. Yesterday, I’d returned the book, ready to guide the conversation to what he might be writing.
“How did you like Gone Girl?” he asked me.
“Loved it. That book was such a page turner.”
“What about the plot twist in the middle?”
I’d given him a puzzled look.
One corner of his mouth quirked. “You know. When you discover Amy’s an unreliable narrator.”
What. The. Heck. There went my easy ruse.
Now, I guess I’ll have to really read.
It is interesting how his eyes sparkle when he asks me about the stories. He turns his head ever so slightly, like he might miss something important I have to say.
I’m lying on my bed and fluff two pillows underneath my head so I can better position my current read, a zombie novel. Leo’s tastes range from classic to trendy. It’s been a week of borrowing books and so far, those few minutes are the only time I see him. I’ve tried a little of everything he has in his library, as if I’m at some buffet taking a bite of this or that and knowing I can always go back for a different dish.
On the next page turn, I find a piece of paper serving as a bookmark. It’s a business card for a hair stylist. Interesting. Wesley always went to a barbershop, as far as I know.
But then again, he had lots of secrets I only uncovered bit by bit. I grip the card tighter. I close my eyes for a second and shake off thinking ill of the dead.
I flip the card over. There’s a phone number on the back and the word ‘cell’ printed above the numbers. There’s also two tiny hearts drawn next to the name. I turn back to the front and examine it. The card lists a business name and at the bottom, “Stylist Tori.”
I wonder if Tori borrowed this book also. Maybe Leo has lots of friends who borrow reading material.
My cell phone chimes and I grab it from the end of the bed. “Hello.”
“Hi Harper. It’s Josie.”
“Hey.” I gently place the card inside the book and close the cover. I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I’ve been the only one running the store because my help decided to go to Disney World. As if people deserve a vacation.”
I’m silent, since I can’t tell if she’s kidding or not.
“Harper? You there? You OK?”
“Yeah. Things have been good here.”
“Did you find a job yet?”
“Oh. I did. I’m going to be a concierge at a dog hotel.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Um…no.” I sit up and pull my knees forward. “Well, that’s what they call it. It’s really a dog walker and assistant type thing at this glorified dog boarding business. But they can call me whatever they want at Le Frou Frous. I start work on Monday.”
Josie’s deep laugh puts the happy in my day. It’s nice to talk to someone.
“Want to come by?” I ask.
“Oh. That’s why I called. Could you go next door and tell my brother to check his voicemail or pick up th
e phone?”
“Sure. Is that all you need?”
“Tell him I need help. It’s not like I’ve asked him to pick up tampons or anything.”
“He’ll know what you’re talking about?”
“Oh yeah. Just tell him I can’t go pick up Grandma Lulu and take her to the quilting thing. He’ll have to do it this week.”
“Got it. Take your grandma to quilting.”
“She’s not really my grandma. She’s my dad’s second cousin. But we call her—”
There’s a crashing sound in the background. Josie makes an irritated noise deep in her throat that resembles a warning growl. “Listen, I need to go. Some kid knocked over a shelf. Thanks.”
Silence.
I glance at my cell to see she’s disconnected. At least she thought of me.
I really had no friends in Tacoma. As soon as I made any, Wesley found reasons to dislike them. He’d say the females were bad influences on me. Once I went to the movies with a girl who lived down the road. Wesley accused me of meeting men with her. All I wanted was watch a movie and meet a bucket of buttered popcorn. Laugh and talk to another girl. Be silly.
Having a male friend was out of the question.
So, I’ve gotten accustomed to being self-sufficient, detached, alone. But I want it to be different here.
Our building is noisy in the mornings. The bakery downstairs rumbles with the banging of sheet pans into ovens long before customers enter the doors at 6:00 am. I don’t mind the sounds. It comforts me in a way. The sweet smells remind me of childhood and Mama.
I walk across the hall to Leo’s door and listen for a moment. Monitoring his schedule like I have, I know he’s awake. It’s puzzling to me if he gets any sleep at all since he wakes early and stays up late into the night. My soft knock brings him to the door immediately.
He’s showered already with wet hair slicked off his handsome face. A smell of shampoo and wood and man envelopes me. I have an insane desire to step closer and inhale more of that goodness into my lungs. He’s more scrumptious than the bakery’s cinnamon rolls.
Somebody should package him up for resale.
