Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (11 page)

The shit of it was he’d do it all over again, if it meant saving her from another humiliating moment with Dr. Dumbass. Yup, Harper with her coat-of-many-colors fashion, bright smile, and big doe eyes got to him. Bad.

Then again, maybe he was the dumbass in question. Watching Harper flutter around the bleachers, greeting every person she came across like they were an old friend, he knew going any further with her would be an exercise in extreme stupidity. They were a train wreck in the making, yet he couldn’t seem to stay away.

Instead of focusing on what was important—cleaning up his reputation—he’d somehow missed Baby posting a new photo of her in his jacket. Which took his current situation from annoying to disastrous. When Roman found out, and he would, he’d blow off Adam’s left nut.

And if Lowen found out, he’d blow any hope Adam had for making lieutenant right out the fire station door.

“I’ve called Baby a dozen or more times,” he admitted. “I can’t get hold of her.”

“Man, that’s rough,” Dax said, shaking his head. “Wanting some kind of closure and only getting radio silence? Total dick move.”

“I don’t want closure, I just want my jacket back,” Adam clarified and, sure, at the first signs of complication or drama he simplified things by dumping plan A and moving on to plan B, and eventually plans C, D, and E when necessary. But he always made sure when it ended there were no hard feelings. So what if he’d avoided a few calls from time to time in his day? That didn’t make him a dick.

That made him smart. Although he didn’t feel so smart right then.

“Her generation texts,” Dax explained as if he were slow. “Did you try that?”

Adam’s face went slack. “Her generation? How old is she?”

Jesus, he really needed to get his jacket back and clarify that when she said she was a graduate she meant college and not high school.

“I don’t know, text her and find out,” Dax said. “Add one of those emojis to it. The one with the googly heart eyes. Girls love that shit.”

“She’s twenty-four,” Jonah said, coming off the mound. The second his feet hit the grass the “Final Jeopardy!” theme song came though the speakers—indicating that a powwow was taking place on the field. “Something you should have known before you slept with her. Now can we get back to the game?”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Adam said, breathing a sigh of relief that Baby was in fact not jailbait.

“How about that event planner Megan?” Dax asked.

“I didn’t sleep with her either.”

“What about your girlfriend? You sleep with her?”

He didn’t have to ask who the specific
her
in question was—the stupid grin on his brother’s face said it all. “I’m not dating Harper. And no, we haven’t slept together.”

“Facebook says otherwise. On the dating,” Dax clarified. “Because it’s obvious by your pissy attitude you haven’t gotten laid in a while.”

Try more than a month. Between training and everyone thinking he was in a relationship, he was practically a virgin again.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I am helping her out with some stuff for her grandma’s shop. There was a misunderstanding, that’s it.”

Adam stopped, not comfortable with going any further. First, because when he was with Harper it felt like a whole lot more. It felt good. Mostly though, he kept silent because it wasn’t his place to explain to anyone what had transpired between Harper and the doctor. Or between Harper and Adam for that matter. “It’s complicated.”

“You don’t do complicated,” Dax pointed out, as if Adam weren’t well aware of this fact. “Especially with someone you’ll have to see around the family table.”

It was the main reason to steer clear—Harper was going to be around for the duration. Jonah’s marriage to Shay increased the potential for weirdness, but the moment Dax proposed to Emerson, the line was officially drawn. Crossing it would be more than complicated.

He was sure there were a million other reasons, but he was too busy imagining all the ways to get complicated with Harper to think of any.

“Oh man.” Dax gave a sad shake of the head and rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “You’re losing your touch, bro.”

“He’s losing something,” Jonah said dryly. “Otherwise he wouldn’t even consider telling his superiors that his proposed event planner, for a department-sponsored event, is a girl he tried to sleep with but didn’t quite close the deal. Now he wants to use department money to pay for the girl’s services. It doesn’t get more complicated than that.”

Adam cringed because when put that way he could see how it might be construed as a problem. But Megan was his ace in the hole. The meeting was tomorrow morning. And if he went in there without a plan, Lowen might just demote him to the FNG and he’d wind up answering to Seth and McGuire.

“Megan is my best bet at this point,” Adam admitted, wondering what the strange tightness was in his chest.

“Well, that is a bet I don’t think you should take, because the only outcome of mixing business with pleasure is getting fired,” Jonah said.

“What if I make it clear that there will be no pleasure?” God, he was totally losing his touch.

“As long as you’re using department funds to pay someone you’ve hooked up with, it’s a bad move.”

“Shit.” Jonah was right. Adam needed a new plan, and fast. He couldn’t walk in there with his New Year’s hookup on his arm, just like he couldn’t walk in there without some kind of plan to prove to Lowen that he had this thing handled. “I’m so screwed.”

“Just not in the right way, bro,” Dax said with a shit-eating grin. “All you have to do is find someone in town who knows how to plan a party who you haven’t slept with.”

“We going to play or stand around clucking like a bunch of girls?” McGuire yelled from third base.

“You ever see that movie
Anaconda
?” Adam hollered back, and McGuire zipped it. He had no qualms whatsoever referencing the python incident in front of a crowd to keep McGuire in line.

Adam rubbed some dirt on his hands and went back to the batter’s box. Finding someone he hadn’t slept with to plan the party shouldn’t be that hard. Especially with the current drought going on.

Then again, the budget was practically nonexistent, the schedule impossibly tight, and St. Helena was a small town.

The music stopped and the crowd stilled. Jonah returned to the mound while Adam and Dax returned to the batter’s box. Jonah chalked his hands, stared down Adam, wound up, and released the ball. Adam saw it speeding toward him—not toward the plate, but
him
. At an alarming rate. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t step back in time and the ball smacked him in the thigh, making a loud thud and no doubt leaving a mark.

“What the hell?” Adam asked.

“Whoops,” Jonah said, not pissy in the slightest for just costing his team the game.

“Whoops?” Adam threw the bat and stalked toward the mound, the tightening in his chest growing with every step. “No whoops. That was on purpose. You just threw the game.”

“Did I?” Jonah shrugged as McGuire made a big show of prancing over home plate and throwing his cap in the air as if this were the fucking World Series. “Guess you needed the win more than we did.”

H
arper had once read that the best way to eat an elephant was one bite at a time. And since there were too many elephants in her life to address, she decided her first bite of the day would be a cookie. Which was how she found herself at the Sweet and Savory—instead of at the fire station.

A girl needed a hearty breakfast before tackling her problems. She also needed a cute dress, something she’d justified as she’d slipped on a little strapless summery number she’d kept at the back of her closet, just waiting for that perfect event to wear it to, like say, facing a certain funny, gorgeous, sex-lebrity.

Checking her makeup in the bakery’s window, she touched up her lipstick, Sensual Seduction, then practiced eye contact. It was bold and direct and—

“Oh God.” Everything inside her stilled. Everything except her heart, which pounded as she took a closer look at herself—surprised at what she found looking back. Scared even.

The dress was silky and flirty and spoke of a woman who knew what she wanted. More importantly, a woman who went after what she wanted—and got it. Which was why it had sat at the back of the closet for so long. Once she took it out and wore it for the world, she’d never be able to put it in the back again.

The dress was designed to be noticed, and deep down Harper wanted to be noticed. But what if she put herself out there for the world to see, stepping directly into the glare of the spotlight, and was still overlooked?

Telling herself that it didn’t matter, that being recognized for who she was and how she cared for others was more important, Harper dug deep for confidence and pushed through the door. Immediately she felt her nerves settle as she was greeted by a warm blast of vanilla, fresh baked pastries, and home. The smell of baking cookies reminded her of summers with Clovis in the kitchen. Safe, cherished, loved.

Helping herself to a sample of peach scone, which sat on a tray held by a cardboard cutout of David Hasselhoff in board shorts—a leftover from before the renovation—she bypassed the usual suspects in breakfast pastries and went right for the cookies.

Face pressed against the glass display window, she considered her options carefully. A friendly lemon scratch cookie was calling her name, and nothing said breakfast like fruit, but somehow she knew her day needed a buttered-rum blondie.

After her talk with Emerson last night at the game, Harper realized she was being selfish. Counting on Adam as the quick fix to her problems, when it could land him in trouble with his boss, wasn’t a friendly thing to do. And Harper was, above all else, a good friend.

Who always did the right thing.

So why did her stomach hurt? It wasn’t just thinking about the dress or the evening that was causing it, but thinking about Adam. Before she could really process that, an instant smile appeared on her face as if on automatic.

As if a small part of her thrilled at the thought of doing the wrong thing—with the Five-Alarm Casanova. He’d opened up to her, showed her a part of the real Adam, a guy who wanted to become more than people’s perceptions, and she couldn’t look past that.

“You’re early today,” Lexi DeLuca said, coming out of the kitchen. Lexi balanced a tray of éclairs in one hand, a rolling pin in the other, and had matching toddlers with blonde pigtails and freckles hanging on to each of her legs like monkeys. Both baker and daughters were speckled with chocolate.

As owner and mastermind behind the most popular French bakery on the West Coast, Lexi was the local sugar supplier. She had three daughters, one of the hottest husbands in town, and a way with buttercream frosting that could only come from divine intervention.

“I actually counted to ten after you flipped the sign to
OPEN
before I came in. I didn’t want to look desperate.”

Lexi laughed and grabbed a paper bag. “Inventory time at the shop?”

“Among other things,” Harper said, nibbling her fingers because choosing was impossible.

“Sounds like a half-dozen kind of day.” Lexi traded in the bag for a pink box, then reached for a confetti cake batter cookie. “The usual?”

Harper shook her head. “I’m trying to live outside the lines and try new things.”

“So I’ve heard,” Lexi said with a mischievous grin, and Harper blew out a breath.

“You heard wrong,” Harper said. Lexi smothered a laugh behind her hand.

“If you say so, but
new things
is a good look on you.” Lexi took inventory of Harper’s zigzag lime-green backpack with little lemons on it and smiled. “In fact, I have a key lime kringle that would match your backpack.”

Although that sounded delicious, Harper wanted something decadent. Something flirty and bold. Something that told her she was more than the town’s #1 Sitter—she was a sexually attuned woman who could handle her world on her own.

Just look at her hair, she thought, leaning forward and letting it slide over her shoulder. Thanks to some nuclear-grade straightening gel and a YouTube tutorial, it was now straight, sophisticated, and so full of allure she couldn’t help but run her fingers through it. Or swish it back and forth as she walked.

“I’ll try a black velvet whoopie pie with cherry-cream frosting.” Then she looked at the bright orange frosted cookies on the next tray. “And since I would hate for that bad boy to get lonely, throw in two of those sangria sunrise minis.”

After all, it was morning, and she did love sunrises. And the last two
were
minis, which everyone knew meant calorie-free. Plus, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt.

“You got it.” Lexi loaded up the order in a box that could hold another three goodies at least. “How about a few firecracker fudge bars to match that glow?”

“I’m not glowing,” Harper said.

“It’s a firehouse favorite,” Lexi said, all singsongy.

Not even a bite of cookie and already the inquisition had begun. “Contrary to the current gossip, Adam and I are just friends.”

“Friends,” Lexi said, her face taking on an expression that was impossible to translate. With a smile, she filled the last three spots with firecracker fudge. “Then I guess Adam’s the one trying new things. Interesting. And telling.”

Before Harper could ask what was so interesting about Adam making friends with the town’s friendliest person, a bony finger jabbed her in the shoulder blade.

“Excuse me, dear.”

She turned around to find Peggy Lovett, owner of the Paws and Claws Day Spa, clutching her phone. She wore jeweled high-tops, a yellow pantsuit, an orange cardigan, and enough dog hair to cause acute asthma.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Peggy asked and thrust her cell, which was set to record, in Harper’s face.

“Okay, uh . . .” Harper leaned into the phone and gave a self-conscious “Hello?”

The older woman’s brow furrowed with disappointment. “Not with a question mark, but how you would normally greet a customer. So I can practice my greeting and get the inflection down.”

“Inflection?” Harper asked as Peggy moved closer, and that was when Harper noticed the grapefruit-shaped buttons on the sweater. “I have a cardigan just like that.”

And wasn’t
that
lovely. She and her grandma’s best friend had the same taste in clothing.

“Oh this,” Peggy said sheepishly. “I actually borrowed it from your closet.”

“She saw it at yesterday’s Panty Raid, and I told her you wouldn’t mind,” Clovis said, walking over in a black-and-royal-purple corset and matching broom skirt. A Panty Raid was the equivalent of a Tupperware party for Clovis, only instead of selling plastic storage with matching lids like other grandmothers did, Clovis threw pleasure parties for the town’s geriatric sector. “She’s trying to impress that new fella Roland down at the senior center. The one who, if he weren’t a retired dentist, I’d think had teeth that are too white to be real.”

Jabba plopped at Clovis’s feet, his sides heaving as if he’d just run the Boston Marathon, not waddled five storefronts down.

“Roland came into the shop asking about our Better Breath Biscuits for his Maltese, canine,” Peggy explained, “and we started talking about the importance of doggie dental care. When he left, he said he hoped to see me at Singles Night next week, and I figured if I walked in wearing your sweater, it was like saying I’m bringing sexy back,” Peggy said, then gave a little shimmy that sent her grapefruits swaying.

“It looks lovely on you, Peggy,” Harper said, and the older woman blushed. To her grandmother, she said, “And explain how your Panty Raid ended up in my closet?”

“We didn’t go in your closet,” Clovis said, sounding appalled. “Shame on you making it sound like I’d violate your privacy that way. We had it in your bedroom.”

Harper choked. “My bedroom?”

“Worked like a charm,” Clovis said. “It was my biggest moneymaker of the year so far. I even managed to get those starched blouses in the active living community off Vine Street to agree to start looking locally to satisfy their needs. Plus it skews our average customer age lower.”

Harper didn’t bother to mention that the development off Vine was a fifty-five-and-older community and still skewed their average way too high. “My bedroom is a mess.”

She couldn’t remember just how bad it had been since she’d fallen into bed after 2:00 a.m. and gotten up before the sun, but if memory served, her entire apartment was a mess. Between testing out Mother’s Day craft ideas and trying to singlehandedly save her grandma’s shop, Harper’s apartment looked as if a lingerie and glitter piñata had exploded.

“We tidied up a bit, because what better place to sell sin than in the private sleeping chambers of our very own Hometown Temptress?” Clovis paused as if she’d had an epiphany. “I coined a phrase.”

Peggy clapped delightedly, and before Harper knew what was happening the two fist-bumped like homies, even adding little explosions at the end.

Harper rubbed the headache growing between her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you know that orange is the new black?” Peggy said, running her hands over the sweater, her voice all atwitter. “And you are the new sexy?”

“In what world?” Harper asked, because the last male she’d made direct eye contact with had freckles and a milk mustache.

“The one where you landed yourself Mr. July,” Peggy said in awe, and Harper realized she had somehow landed herself a fangirl.

“Mr. July?” Oh God, this was the last thing she needed today. She was supposed to be clearing up the rumors, not encouraging them.

“So many have come before, most only getting a few nibbles, but my granddaughter reeled in the Moby Dick of men.” Clovis took a moment to let that settle, then fanned herself. “Although if you want Moby rearing out of the water you might want to consider new sheets. That’s not the kind of kitty he wants to snuggle up with, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, she knew exactly what Clovis meant. An official Panty Raid had been thrown on her Grumpy Cat sheets.

If this was anything close to what Adam had been experiencing the past week, then she needed to put an end to it. Immediately. Then let him off the hook. She might need him for the shoot, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice his promotion to get a photo.

“Look,” Harper said in her best inside voice, then remembered that Clovis only had one volume. And it was “Can I get a witness?” She took the ladies by the arm and led them to a quieter part of the store. “Adam and I aren’t dating.”

“Labels are so passé,” Clovis said. “I told Giles that we didn’t need to DTR in order to get DND.”

“DTR?”

“Define the relationship,” Peggy said. “And DND means to get down and—”

“Got it.” Harper held up a hand and tried not to picture her grandma and Giles getting DND.

“Harper, order up,” Lexi said from the counter where she was dangling Harper’s box of courage.

“We aren’t DNDing or LH6ing or sexting or any of the other terms you might come up with.” Although they had been KISSing. “Adam and I are just friends. F R N D S.”

“Say what you want,” her grandmother said, “but I know women, and I know lingerie. No woman wears Luscious lace cheekinis for a friend. Especially when that friend ranks a solid fifteen on the man-candy meter.”

Harper didn’t bother to ask how her grandmother knew her lingerie of choice—the woman had a God-given gift. But she also had a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon, so Harper needed to make herself clear. “We. Are. Not. Dating.”

“But Facebook—”

“I lied. Okay?”

Clovis tsked. It was a sound that always managed to make Harper’s throat fill with guilt, even if she hadn’t just confessed to lying.

“Oh, honey, you’re a horrible liar. You always look like you’re
going to cry when you fib.” Clovis patted her on the arm, and if she weren’t Harper’s grandmother, Harper would say it was condescending in nature. “Kind of like now. But a word to the wise, even if Facebook is saying you had him at hello”—Clovis looked at Harper for so long she felt her ears heat—“if you want to have him screaming
Oh
, you might want to be more forthcoming with your cookies.”